Curiosity Caged in a Cozy Home

They say curiosity killed the cat, but luckily I’m not a cat — just a human with a radar tuned only to my tiny universe. You see, I’m not the type to wonder if aliens eat pasta or if penguins have best friends (although now that I think of it, do they?). My curiosity has a GPS—it doesn’t roam far. It circles my family, my kids, and anything that might threaten the sacred peace of my home Wi-Fi.

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper,” said W.B. Yeats. But my senses are already razor-sharp when it comes to spotting a half-eaten chocolate under the couch or decoding a suspicious silence from the kids’ room.

I’m the Sherlock Holmes of missing socks, the Einstein of school lunchbox inspection, and the philosopher queen of bedtime questions like, “Why does time go faster on Sundays?” (It just does. Don’t question it.)

Outside world? Not my problem. I don’t care if the stock market’s crashing or if Jupiter is moonwalking — unless it affects dinner plans. Curiosity, for me, is not about the unknown universe, but the unread group message in the family WhatsApp chat.

“Be curious, not judgmental,” said Walt Whitman. That’s why I only mildly judge the kid who hid broccoli under the table. I ask why before I scold (usually).

So yes, I’m curious. Intensely. But only within my bubble. And honestly, that’s a big enough world for me — full of mystery, drama, chaos, and unconditional love.

Thought to Ponder:
What if the most fascinating universe you’ll ever explore isn’t out there in the stars, but sitting right across your dining table, asking for the 5th time, “Why can’t we have ice cream for dinner?”