Relentless Curiosity
Harris's Hawks and How Curiosity Could Reshape Our Division
Finding your way to becoming a falconer 30 years ago was a treasure hunt. Almost everyone my age and older was “bit by the bug” based on a chance encounter. There was no Internet to guide you down rabbit-holes dedicated to unusual hobbies. More than this, raptors were not esteemed. It was still more common to shoot a hawk than to consider what kind of relationship you could have with one when I was a kid. You needed to have one moment that sparked this question and relentless curiosity to find your way to becoming a falconer.
We stole the few library books we could find on the topic. We quizzed people in aviculture relentlessly about who they knew and if they had ever met a falconer. We scoured used bookstores and wrote letters to addresses we found in the back of magazines and in old books.
It isn’t like that now and that doesn’t make it better or worse, but lately it’s been making me think a lot about the beauty of relentless curiosity.
A couple of weeks ago, I attended a chat and workshop that addressed how we might overcome the deep division that colors our time. It was led by Mónica Guzmán, a journalist and author of I Never Thought of it That Way: How to Have Fearlessly Curious Conversations in Dangerously Divided Times. Honestly, I wasn’t really sure why I was invited with all the other community leaders or what I should expect to take from it, but the topic was irresistible. It turned out that the work was eye-opening. I realized how incredibly resistant I am to having hard conversations about beliefs, but what a powerful tool my relentless curiosity could be.
I grew up with my grandparents and my grandmother had a habit of answering my questions with, “curiosity killed the cat.” This quelled my desire to any elder questions, but it did nothing to abate my deep desire to seek answers to any question that popped in my head. So, when I chanced on a falconer’s bird when I was 10 years old, I chased that question until it led me to getting a falconry license in 1994 and then finally finding the people who could answer my questions.
In the mid-90s, every weekend I drove through miles of Delhi Sand Dunes in Southern California, calling out on my CB radio to other falconers on Channel 12. Over the radio we agreed on meeting places and flew our hawks together. These Ontario, California falconers were a mixed group of zealots and usually I was the only female in the gang, but I wasn’t the only minority. My people weren’t my age and we had varied backgrounds, but all shared a passion for wild spaces and wild adventures with raptors.
My friends flew Harris’ Hawks and we hiked long distances, beating bushes in the hopes of disturbing cottontails and jackrabbits, while keeping a constant banter that was always peppered with curious questions. Some were questions about the plants and animals we investigated on our journey and some were questions we asked about each other and. We had different beliefs, different politics, and different upbringings, but we were all incredibly curious and we asked questions. We listened. No one changed anyone’s mind about what they believed, but we still wanted to hear what the other person had to say. We wanted to know why these thoughts mattered to them, what happened to make them believe what they believed, and how they thought it might affect the world.
I don’t ever remember arguing with my friends in the field. I remember listening. I remember being asked questions, even though I was young, a rare female falconer, and surely had little to add. Yet, I never felt dismissed even though much of what I thought in my 20s hasn’t aged well. I remember the Harris’ hawks hunting in groups of twos and threes being equally curious about their own avian and human friendships. I remember belonging, learning, and appreciating all that was foreign to me even if I would never embrace it.
Listening to Mónica Guzmán, I jotted down in my notes that “fear is the enemy of curiosity as is certainty.” How did we get so fearful and certain? More importantly, how did I get so fearful when the most memorable adventures of my young adulthood were filled with curious questions?
It’s time for me to stop greeting uncomfortable opinions with silence, a smile, and a change of subject. I’m going to start asking questions about who people are and why, because I love animals and people are the most fascinating animals of all. I should not be afraid of them or their beliefs. I should be who I always was when I was happiest – relentlessly curious. After all, in the end, we are all far more alike than we are different. And if I don’t ask, I’ll never hear the best stories, the stories about how lives are shaped.
Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Grandma, satisfaction brought him back. And I’m sure I’ve at least nine lives to invest.
Funny, the timing of this showing up in my Inbox. My wife and I were just finishing up dinner a half hour ago, when we got into a discussion of why there seem to be few forums for intelligent, respectful discussion of the issues that divide this country. And yet, when reading your essay, I recognized that I've skipped out on opportunities to participate in exactly that kind of discourse...seeking to avoid confrontation or because the easier road was not to engage one on one. I hope to do better in going forward. Thanks.
I was privileged to participate in the lunch meeting with Monica Guzman. Her book is fascinating. If you liked her talk or her book, I think you will find the non profit organization Braver Angel's of interest. https://braverangels.org/ They encourage people of different viewpoints to work together and believe that understanding each other and why we have the viewpoints we do facilitates that effort. I have joined Braver Angles and plan to get more deeply involved.