What do you think of when you think about questions? The upward lilt of a voice? The feeling of inquiry, the urgency of needing to know? I’ve been thinking a lot about questions lately. In a recent newsletter, Jessica Dore wrote of something her narrative therapy instructor said, that “when you ask a question you’re defining a territory.” This makes sense to me intuitively, that the kinds of questions you ask shape what can exist in the answers. There are times I’ve been asked questions in a tone of unwarranted accusation, and my body leapt to defensiveness before any words were formed. There are things I’ve been asked that I desperately darted from, concealing my avoidance with language, because I couldn’t envision a world where I could respond safely and fully. There are questions I’ve held under my tongue until I was ready to return to them. And there are people who have asked me questions I didn’t know were possible to say out loud.
the territory of a question
the territory of a question
the territory of a question
What do you think of when you think about questions? The upward lilt of a voice? The feeling of inquiry, the urgency of needing to know? I’ve been thinking a lot about questions lately. In a recent newsletter, Jessica Dore wrote of something her narrative therapy instructor said, that “when you ask a question you’re defining a territory.” This makes sense to me intuitively, that the kinds of questions you ask shape what can exist in the answers. There are times I’ve been asked questions in a tone of unwarranted accusation, and my body leapt to defensiveness before any words were formed. There are things I’ve been asked that I desperately darted from, concealing my avoidance with language, because I couldn’t envision a world where I could respond safely and fully. There are questions I’ve held under my tongue until I was ready to return to them. And there are people who have asked me questions I didn’t know were possible to say out loud.