I will always be grateful to the people over the years who answered my questions, humoring my ignorance, feeding my curiosity, allowing me to hold them to account. They were my tour guides through ideas, history, and great human events that I never would have experienced otherwise. They told compelling stories as they went. I could ask anything, go anywhere.
But for all my experience asking and listening, I didn’t appreciate how much more there was to learn about the discipline of inquiry until I tackled this book. The people who talked to me patiently explained how they worked, how they framed their questions, and what they listened for. Each one of them showed me how asking more, in a more disciplined way, could lead to tangible results and deeper understanding. They, too, used their questions to invest in the future.
Simone, my student whose experience encouraged me to launch this project, learned her family secret because she had an assignment to ask. She realized a deeper relationship with her father as a result.
Barry Spodak put his troubled human puzzles together by taking time to slowly build bridges. His work helped the people trying to keep us safe.
Jim Davis built his business by asking for team players, listening for “we” not “I.” His company, New Balance, is global but still makes shoes in America.
Rick Leach enlisted people to take on the daunting challenge of feeding the world by asking them to share a vision: Hunger is a solvable problem.
Tony Fauci, who knew his quest would never end, pushed the bounds of science to take on disease. His questions drove research that saved lives.
Ed Bernero and Gavin Newsom used questions to push people into an imagined reality where they could think differently and imagine a different world.
Terry Gross and Betty Pristera asked people to reveal the essence of themselves. They walked in other people’s shoes and discovered new places as a result.
Anderson Cooper and Jorge Ramos demanded explanation. They confronted their adversaries with the most challenging questions so that everyone could see and judge.
Chris Schroeder’s recipe for dinnertime conversation and brilliant entertaining questions forged new ideas and friendships.
General Colin Powell started with an “estimate of the situation” and used strategic questioning to determine whether the situation was worthy of the investment. He saw that strategic questions must challenge conventional wisdom and groupthink.
Nurse practitioner Teresa Gardner and roofer Al Darby became experts in asking, “What’s wrong?” They knew they couldn’t fix a problem if they couldn’t identify its source.
Rabbi Gary Fink answered a question with a question, prompting a conversation that would provide comfort and meaning at life’s most challenging time.
Profane and Profound
Although the roadmap to inquiry I’ve drawn can help us navigate with a more deliberate eye, there are always alternate routes—scenic drives that take us to unexpected destinations. Questions that spring from pure curiosity can turn into gold. Unplanned detours can lead to serendipity, as I also found during the interviews for this book. One such conversation left me speechless, and I will end by sharing it with you.
As I was talking with Dr. Anthony Fauci at the National Institutes of Health about scientific inquiry and how it could be useful to nonscientists, something was gnawing at me. In his discussion about research in the early days of AIDS, Fauci spoke about the work, about the research and the discoveries, about patients and process. His observations were fascinating, and not without feeling. But he sounded, well, like a scientist—captivated by his research and his breakthroughs and setbacks. Yet Fauci had a perspective almost no one could imagine and I wondered: What was it like for him in those days, caught in the middle of the colliding worlds of medicine, culture, and politics, to see such human suffering? I recalled the headlines from the time, which revealed ignorance, fear and bigotry. I interrupted our science discussion to ask:
Did you ever wonder how can this be happening out there and ask yourself, can I make them see what I am seeing?
Suddenly, this man of science fell silent. His lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears. Finally he spoke. “I am actually laughing and crying at the same time,” he said. “I have a lot of suppressed feelings from back then.”
He paused and gathered himself. And then he slowly erupted.
“The answer to your question is yes. There was a lot of, you know, ‘What the fuck is going on here?’”
Another pause.
“It was not easy when you see everybody die. So I need to say this in a way without getting more emotional about it. There were multiple years, from 1981 to 1986, where you wanted to keep a positive outlook. But everybody died. Everybody died …”
He wiped his tears.
“That was probably one of the things that gave me the phenomenal energy to get solutions. People say, ‘How come you didn’t burn out? You know, thirty-three years and you kept on doing your work for seventeen, eighteen hours a day.’ It was that kind of realization that this was an enormous problem.”
He leaned forward and spoke deliberately, emphatically.
“And the thing that was, I guess, a little bit different was there was something about—and I want to make sure I say it accurately—there was something about the young gay population that was, I think, particularly tragic. Because most of the time—and you never made judgments about your patients and their personality—but in general, as a demographic group, they were gentle, artistic, kind. There were very few assholes among them. There were a lot of good, gentle people who were scared shitless. And for those years, they came in and there really wasn’t a lot you could do for them …
“It was very painful and very frustrating, and the thing that got me to have this response is—you are right, there was a lot of bullshit going on in the outside. Not giving them insurance, throwing them out of their houses. And you think what a shit world we live in.
“It is interesting that you ask that question,” he said to me. “I have not had an emotional response to this in twenty-five years.”
Perhaps I looked away at that moment.
“Sorry. No,” he said. “It’s fine and it’s cathartic.”
Fauci’s comments sprang from his gut, raw and profane, triggered by a single question that had nothing to do with the scientific method. He shared his passion. He took me to the roots of his emotions and displayed his rage and his frustration and his humanity. I felt privileged to have experienced the intensity of this remarkable man. It was like stepping to the edge of a volcano and peering over it to see the molten lava and feel the heat.
This book is dedicated to the curiosity and passion in us all. Questions are humanity’s unique attribute. They are our investment in ourselves and in the future. When we ask more, we open our minds and challenge others to open theirs. We organize our thoughts so we can tackle big ideas and probe with precision. We learn and lead and discover.
Questions are our way to connect with other human beings. I believe that inquiry, not imitation, I believe that inquiry is the sincerest form of flattery. Ask a good question and you convey interest. Slow down, listen closely, and ask more and you engage at a deeper level. You show that you care. You generate trust. You empathize and you bridge differences. You become a better friend, colleague, innovator, citizen, leader, or family member. You shape the future.