The case for curiosity in a high-speed world 🌐
The sacredness of slow and inconvenient. ✨
Growing up, Saturdays were often my favourite day of the week, especially when nothing was planned. My guess is I’m not the only one. An early riser, I enjoyed the quiet morning hours when I could indulge in the activities I didn’t have time for during the school week. I’d stay in my pyjamas as long as I could. And though watching cartoons or cozying up in my sun-splotched bedroom were enticing ideas, often I’d take the stairs down to the main floor, grab a snack and a warm blanket, and continue down towards the concrete floor of the basement.
Past the cupboards of seasonal decorations and old wardrobes pressed against unfinished walls, tucked beyond the stacks of old sporting equipment and tools organized on a pegboard, there was a large desk. Above, an exposed lightbulb; beside the desk, an old standing lamp that, when you plugged it in, gave you a mild electric shock. Nearby the desk, large shelves were affixed to the wall to contain what was to me a metaphorical goldmine. In that dim subterranean world, the shelves glowed with the corn-yellow hue of a vast collection of National Geographic magazines.
We had such a large collection that it warranted a special edition book, published by National Geographic, which provided an index of topics and issues they had featured in the magazine. Sometimes I’d pick a magazine at random; at other times, I would browse by topic — TORNADOES, SIERRA LEONE, ENDANGERED TIGERS — and see if we had the issues indicated in the index. I can still feel the sensation of my fingers working through those perfect-bound, yellow spines as I scanned the black ink etched across them.
I have this distinct memory of sitting on the desk, wrapped in a blanket to ward off the cool air of the basement. I turned page after page of the iconic magazine, absorbing images and articles that told me stories from places far beyond the realm of my awareness and existence. I had no inclination to escape the earthy dampness of the basement and take the magazines to a sunny room or soft couch. I liked to be cocooned. It gave me the feeling that I was being transported to a different place. My imagination sparkled. I would be so captivated by my “desktop travel” that I wouldn’t notice the sound of water draining in a nearby pipe or the footsteps shuffling on the floor above as fellow family members started their day.
There in my cocoon, the experience felt sacred. The only thing that would end it was a crick in my neck or my rumbling tummy. Even then, I might dart up the stairs for some lunch, then scurry back down again.
This was before the Internet, photo-sharing platforms, and the mass consumption of media we know today. This was before I’d ever set foot on a plane or travelled beyond Canada or the United States. This was a gloriously simple and magical era — the last of its kind — where everything was analog and humans had the attention span to engross themselves in something so slow as reading the pages of a hard-copy magazine.
Looking back, I often yearn for that scroll-less, digital-less, call it “inconvenient” existence.
When I’ve been asked what originally sparked my interest in adventure and travel, or even the modus operandi I bring to my life and work, I think back to my basement reading sessions and recognize it mostly comes down to one thing: my sense of curiosity and how much time I spent — that I spend — nurturing it.
For me, curiosity keeps life interesting. It fosters empathy. It allows me to live in the space of not knowing and not caring that I don’t know. It allows me to accomplish things far beyond my know-how. It allows me to make decisions without fear. It allows me to ask questions and live out the answers instead of waiting for all the stars to align.
Things back in the early ‘90s might not have come as easily as they do today. We certainly couldn’t Google a question, talk to Siri or order takeout online. But I’ve noticed in myself the true cost of “easy” and “convenient” and what those words mean in this day and age. We’ve lost so much more than our patience and attention spans. I don’t think I’m the only person who has fantasized about throwing in the towel on the stressful life of the 21st Century and moving somewhere remote where I can live off the grid. Convenience breeds speed and efficiency (and vice versa); we over-consume pretty much everything because it’s quick and easy to get our hands on it.1
Convenience threatens to stifle curiosity.
I see this play out in various realms, even in outdoor adventure, where aggregated beta provides GPS-driven, step-by-step directions on how to get to places that, not too long ago, involved at least a slice of intrigue or discovery. I see apps that will summarize a book for you. AI is shortcutting pretty much everything, including the creative process.
When I step back and look at this world I’m raising my kids in, I can’t help but think back to Meghan, age 10, sitting on the basement desk, engrossed in stories and pictures without distraction. It also makes me grateful for my insatiable sense of curiosity that I’ve somehow managed to hang on to. I recognize now, more than ever, how valuable that is. It’s something to be protected lest I get swallowed whole by a culture that values anything ready-made, one-click, self-checkout, instant or summarized.
I hope we can all find space for curiosity and the doors it opens for us to a slower and more meaningful existence. As for me, I’m feeling compelled, now more than ever, to introduce my children to desktop travel.
No devices. No WiFi. Just a blanket and a big stack of magazines.
Meghan J. Ward is an outdoor, travel and adventure writer based in Banff, Canada, a Fellow of the Royal Canadian Geographical Society, and the author of Lights to Guide Me Home. Meghan has written several books, as well as produced content for films, anthologies, blogs and some of North America’s top outdoor, fitness and adventure publications.
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What’s caught my attention lately… ✨
What’s on my nightstand right now? 📚 I tend to read 3-4 books at the same time, interchanging them daily, if not within a reading session. Usually, one book is the “priority” book that naturally emerges, whether I’m on a deadline or I enjoy one book over the others. Does anyone else read this way? Here’s what I’m currently reading:
The Briar Club: A Novel, by Kate Quinn (fiction)
Valley of the Birdtail: An Indian Reserve, a White Town, and the Road to Reconciliation, by Andrew Stobo Sniderman and Douglas Sanderson (non-fiction)
Clearing the Plains: Disease, Politics of Starvation, and the Loss of Aboriginal Life, by James Daschuk (historical, non-fiction)
Heart Stones: A Ukrainian Immigration Story of Love and Hope, by Christine Nykoluk (historical fiction)
Check these out too… 🙌
Lights to Guide Me Home - my memoir (reviews welcome on Amazon and Goodreads)
The Wonders That I Find - my children’s book
My Email Newsletter - updates about my books, projects, and 1:1 coaching
I am an eight-generation Canadian and a descendent of British, Scottish and German settlers living, working, and recreating outdoors in Treaty 7 Territory — the homelands and gathering place for the Niitsitapi from the Blackfoot Confederacy, including the Siksika, Kainai, and Piikani First Nations; the Îyârhe Nakoda of the Chiniki, Bearspaw, and Goodstoney First Nations; the Tsuut’ina First Nation; the homeland of the Métis and Otipemisiwak Métis Government of the Métis Nation of Alberta, and many others. I am doing my utmost, both personally and professionally, to deepen my understanding of the history of Indigenous peoples and the impacts of colonialism — past and present.
As a total aside, I’m on Day 10 of a 14-day safe and gentle liver detox/hormonal reset program prepared by my naturopathic doctor. The program cuts out many inflammatory foods, including sugar (of all kinds) and processed foods. I feel like I’ve been witnessing first-hand the effects of “quick” and “easy” on my body as it detoxes. I’ve realized how empty so many foods are and felt the difference in filling my body with everything prepared from scratch. I think there’s a direct connection between this idea and other things in our culture that come conveniently. What are we giving up to make things easier? Human connection? Quality time? Peace of mind?
I can definitely relate to all of this and how strange it is to think sometimes that we are the last generation who got to experience an analog world. My daughter said the other day that she wishes she would've lived in the '90s, just to know what it was like to live at a time when nobody had smart phones. While I understand that some of my feelings are rooted in nostalgia, I do believe something has been lost and that we have to work harder and more intentionally on our relationships within our families, social circles and our communities today because of it.
There is a discussion on Facebook binders in memoir, on AI in writing work this week, and I found myself rebelling for all kinds of reasons—energy usage, the integrity of work, the value of learning to edit well—but the thing that's foremost for me is exploring how the mind is used. Some of these fast uses make poor brains, they make us questions less, there's little capacity for imagination and vision. As I age, I see that capacity for creativity and intuition is needed far more, at the least to envision a new world.