Wha?

Answers are Overrated

Hello Friends,

Even though I've been alive for what seems like a long time (some days longer than others), I have come to terms with the fact that there are a lot of things I don't know.

That is just life—you can't know everything, even if you're a know-it-all. Some might even say the not knowing is what keeps us going.

But, recently, what occurred to me is that I'm way more amazed by the fact that there are questions I don't even know to ask.

I believe it is not our answers, but the questions that are meaningful.

I read a recent article in New Scientist (one of my favorite science magazines) that discussed something called quantum Darwinism. The writer of the piece asked a question that I never thought to ask:

"If, in the quantum world, objects only have a probability of being in a certain place at any moment in time, then how do you and I agree on what things look like in the non-quantum physical world?" (paraphrased)

Consider the atoms that make up the table that my computer rests. They are all spinning around in an interrelated quantum goo. But when I drop my butt into my chair to start typing, I am at a specific concrete table, banging on a concrete keyboard.

If someone were to walk into the room, they would see me sitting at a table that more-or-less looks like the table I think I'm sitting at, even though, each individual atom that makes up the table is spinning around in empty space with a slew of uncertainties.

I never thought to ask that question.

The implication of quantum Darwinism is really interesting, and I will go into it in a later article.

My point here is the question that it serves to answer.

In my other life, the one I occupy to pay for things like tables and computers, I manage a team of software developers. Over my career, I've hired many developers. Each one sat through several rounds of interviews where I evaluated how I thought they would perform as an employee on my team (No AI involved).

When I interview someone, I don't care what their resume claims. I don't give them a technical test. Nor do I have them stand in front of a whiteboard (pre-covid) and write code—all activities that are part of a normal developer interview.

I prefer to have a discussion with them. I am looking to see what kinds of questions they ask—not the "does this company offer healthcare" or "how many vacation days" types of questions. Or the other, "you better ask questions on your interview" type of questions.

I look for human questions. Questions that reveal thought and curiosity.

One of my favorite interviewee questions is "What development tools do you use and why?" It seems like a simple question.

But, for a developer, tools and programming language choices reveal development philosophies. Programmers see their work through their tools, whether they prefer bare-boned command-line tools or sophisticated, AI assisted, visual environments.

It gets down to them trying to understand their new potential job from an everyday problem solving perspective and how they will fit in—finding and negotiating their place in the world.

I also like questions I don't have the answers to. I mean, how can I hope to hire employees who will improve my team if I only seek to hire people who ask the questions that I can already answer?

Sycophants need not apply.

Then, last week, I was struck by this thought: Why is it I sometimes struggle to remember certain memories (even important, fond ones), but my body always remembers what makes me anxious and stressed? (Yeah, I know, they call that trauma… but why can't we remember everything equally?) I'm sure there is a chemical / physiological explanation that I don't know.

Yet, to me, the question seems too profound to write it off as "that's just how the brain works." Perhaps something to do with being present in a moment (mindfulness newsletter still waiting to be green lit).

I guess this comes down to curiosity. There has been a lot of neuroscience research (and self-help books, courses, and programs) into how being curious in the face of stress can minimize it.

The theory goes that if, during an episode of stress, you were to ask yourself where in your body you felt it, and without focusing on the why you felt the sensation or anxiety, you focus on more, non-judgemental questions: Is the pain sharp or dull? Is it all over or localized? Is it familiar? In these instances of self-exploration, the feelings of anxiety can actually lessen.

There is a mental/emotional opportunity that occurs when we ask a question. We open our minds to receive new information. We make a shift that deregulates the anxiety.

This is important, because when we know the answer and want to demonstrate that we know it, we shut down reception and focus on transmitting our knowledge. We replay on all the narratives that cause us stress and enter a feedback loop that gets harder and harder to break out of.

Questioning stops the feedback.

This is kind of remarkable. Rather than swallow pills or drink alcohol to reduce the panic, act like a toddler and annoyingly ask yourself where and what.

Asking why, while a good question, doesn't help in this situation. Why is a question of cause and blame, and cause runs counter to alleviating stress in the moment. You simply want to observe and take yourself out of the anxiety cycle.

Obviously, we need answers. And we can be grateful for wisdom and learning. This is particularly important at a time when there seems to be an assault on higher education in our country. But authentic, useful answers can only come from legitimate, intelligent questions. Questions don’t serve fear.

Of course, my favorite expression of curiosity and asking questions is from Ted Lasso. Enjoy.

Happy reading, happy writing, and happy asking.