Curiosity killed the cat
“Oh, but what a way to go!” – Lucy
The above line is from the hilarious show, I Love Lucy. For context, she’s spying on a mysterious new neighbor through a pair of binoculars with her friend Ethel. Ever since I watched that episode ages ago, I can’t think of the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” without following it up with that enthusiastic punch line.
I think it’s safe to say that my life has been entirely driven by curiosity. I’m the type of restaurant-goer who can’t resist trying a previously untasted dish. I rarely order the same thing twice.
Everything I’m proud of achieving in life has an element of satisfaction found in discovering the answer to some curious musing. For example, I once read about Dramaten, the Royal Swedish Theater, in a book by actress Ingrid Bergman, in which she detailed an episode where she nearly jumped into the waters outside the theater after an audition she had perceived to be a failure.
I saw the picture vividly in my mind and wondered what it would be like in real life. So years later, I went and saw it for myself. I was on a tram, passing by the theater. Gilded details with majestic white columns. It filled me with awe. And I was here all because I had read about it in a book.
When I was 19, I wanted to experience a different culture. So I applied to become an au pair. The choice came down to two families — one in Naples, Italy, and another on an island I’d never heard of in Finland. Naturally, I went for the one I knew least about, and therefore filled me with more curiosity. Now I know how to say phrases that a two-year-old Finnish child might say, like, “Äiti, katso!” (“Mommy, look!”) and “Haluan jäätelöä.” (“I want ice cream.”)
This penchant for following the road of curiosity — aka the road less traveled — started when I was young. In elementary school, I remember wondering what would happen if I used scissors on my skin. I found out soon enough. My finger was bleeding, but I had satiated my curiosity, so I was satisfied, not scared.
I recount all this to say, I’m in this space out of wonder. What would it be like to live in a virtual space without links and images? Where it’s just words, like in an old, wrinkled paperback? In my time, we were delighted to learn some HTML to change the font color on our AIM profiles. It gave us some personality. Now you can share your personality by actually being on camera. How wild!
Maybe it’s nostalgia. But analog was pretty fun. Needing to bypass a parent to reach a friend on a landline. Telling people where and when to meet them, and then simply showing up as promised instead of texting, “5 min away!” You see, words were important, because they were all we had.
And, you know what? I consider it a privilege to have been a part of the birth of online culture. It’s like our own Roaring Twenties. Young folks going on joy rides in this new invention called a car. Well, we had our chatrooms, forums, and instant messengers. I suppose it was the beginning of a global community, being able to connect so easily with people who lived on the other side of the world — entirely through text.
Remember your first email address? For me, it was Harry Potter-themed. Something to do with Hermione. She wasn’t even my favorite character. But we were inexperienced in creating online avatars then. I knew a myriad variations on email addresses like wildchild@hotmail.com and gothlover@yahoo.com. We needed to imprint our developing identities in a virtual space. And it was the Wild Wild West! We could do whatever we wanted!
We had no idea what we were doing, but because we had to write everything out, we were relatively slow about doing it. We reveled in the joy of careful word selection that formed our personalities in lieu of photos.
I’d like to see if sitting simply with words can help recover my digital attention span. I’m curious to see if I can return to my roots. Let’s see if I find my answer.