Tell Me Everything

Why other people’s answers are my drug of choice

Khan questions his dinnertime. Photo by the author.

They are my bread and butter, my meat and my wine: questions. Deftly levelled, then followed by a beat or two of eager silence, and I get…relief. And hopefully some truth.

As a coach, people hire me to ask and help them find answers to their most perplexing questions.

• Should I buckle down at work or be done with it and look for something fresh?
• How and when will our adult child leave home?
• Can I ever satisfy my ex-mother-in-law?

It’s what I look forward to most when connecting with someone — a client, a friend, my sister, husband, and sons — asking the questions and hearing all the nuances of what they have to say.

• Why do you want to meet with me today?
• Are you going to the reunion and, specifically, what will you wear and with what jewelry? High heels or low?
• How is your job, and why do you love/hate it more than before? Tell me every last thing.
• Your reading list! Let’s hear it. Why did you pick that particular book, how far in are you, and what will you read next?
• What did you have for lunch and where? Did you like it, how did they make it, and will you have it again? And when?

Their answers are a satisfying drink to me.

I remember as a young child, maybe five or so, helping Mother clean up after Sunday School when a friend of hers slipped into the room to talk about her marriage.

Private adult talk. Hmm.

I continued filing the flannelgraph figures, the ladies’ hushed voices clearly signifying hazy details not meant for me.

Secrets.

My eyes darted the grownups’ way in hopes of reading their lips.

“Hey there, Dumbo. I see your big ears listening.”

Busted.

WHAT did their conversation mean? So many phrases I didn’t understand, not quite.

I had questions, didn’t you? And don’t you still?

• How do I figure out these veiled phrases?
• Am I the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on?
• Why don’t people talk about important things?

As a young adult, I positively devoured The Straight Dope. Readers submitted the craziest and (best of all) often tantalizingly inappropriate questions for the writers to answer right out there in syndicated print, such as:

• If everyone in China jumped off a chair at the same time, would it knock the earth out of orbit?
• Did Disney freeze Walt’s body in a cryogenic chamber?
• What is the deal with belly button lint?
• A favorite: How do they get the little ‘m’s on M&M’s?

It still bugs my husband that I mostly cared about the questions. I figured the answer would always be available if I came across an M&M emergency, you know?

Overly inquisitive though I may be, I’ll tell you when this outsized curiosity comes in handy. At the doctor’s office.

On more than one occasion, a friend or loved one has asked me to ride along to their dreaded appointment, knowing I am not afraid to ask and quiz and query, and I’m not especially concerned with the office’s schedule or the patient waiting in the next room. Isn’t it part of the doc’s job to help us understand what’s going on with our ailing bodies?

You can count on me to riddle everyone from the harried receptionist to the clipboarded physician’s assistant to the almighty MD him- or herself with lots of questions: about the diagnosis (“But ChatGPT says…”), bewildering treatment options (“Might that upset her tummy?”), even jargony insurance edicts (“Can we just start with a sample?”).

It can be a bit much. Off-putting even, yes.

Once, at a perfectly nice lunch, a good friend said, “If you ask me one more question, my ass is out of here.” I do understand. I am The Asker.

At times, with family and friends, I wish someone found me interesting enough to ask…just any old thing. I mean, I know all your stories.

Don't you want to know mine?

It’s the obvious occupational hazard of being The Asker. People get a little spoiled — lucky them — as the objects of my ravenous curiosity. And I’m a little jealous, it’s true. So here are some of my answers:

• My lunch? A ham sandwich and strawberries, at home with the cat scowling my way (see photo). It was scrumptious, and yes, I would have it again, probably soon.
• My schedule? Well, on a Thursday it’s all the laundry and bills, some hope for a call from one of my sweet sons, perhaps a long walk if it’s not too hot, but this is Dallas in August, so who am I kidding?
• My job? Hmm. That’s a good one. I can’t talk about clients, but I can tell you it’s so gratifyingly fun (because I get to ask questions and you can never guess what will come up, though I always try).
• My outfit? Um, the usual. You know, let’s talk about you instead. What‘s for dinner? And where?

To close the loop on my wish, this week I met a new person, an extra-friendly new neighbor, and she wore me out with questions that I wasn’t interested in answering. On and on, so many that I got annoyed and wriggled away.

But in case you’re thinking of asking, right now I’m reading Rules of Civility by Amor Towles and you should too.

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