At 65, I am not sure that I will become a good dancer. But after spending a great deal of time alone, ballroom dancing has brought new people, movement and fun into my life.

My sixty-fifth birthday contained two surprises.

At lunchtime, I went to a restaurant with my mother, my aunt and my cousin. The restaurant gave me a free meal because it was my birthday.

That evening, I met eight people who had studied with me in middle school fifty years ago. The second restaurant also gave me a free meal.

Two free meals on the same birthday. I did not know restaurants did this.

Sixty-five years is a long time, isn’t it?

Soon afterwards, I met the Mayor for our usual conversation. We were expecting Ritesh, but he did not arrive, and the planned meeting required two members. The Mayor therefore had to improvise.

He asked me what was happening in Brazil.

This was not a difficult subject for me. I like discussing national problems. We spoke about elections, political parties, public services, transport, education and the cost of living. These are subjects I think about frequently, although I do not find many people around me who want to discuss them. Sometimes it is difficult even with people from my political party.

Then the Mayor said, “On a more positive note, how is your ballroom dancing going?”

The direction of the conversation changed completely.

The Best Thing I Have Started

I told him that ballroom dancing is probably the best thing I have started in the last five years.

I was very alone. I like having some time alone, and I am comfortable with my own company, but there is a difference between choosing solitude and having too much of it.

Since I began dancing, I have met good and interesting people. They want to learn how to dance. They want to go out and talk.

I have not met anyone there who is exactly in the same tune as me concerning social questions. We do not discuss national problems, world problems or politics.

But the people are there to have fun.

I think that is great.

Sometimes conversation does not need to solve the problems of Brazil. Sometimes people can simply meet, listen to music and try to move in the same direction.

I go once or twice a week. We practise local rhythms such as chamamé, vaneira and forró, as well as samba. The teacher also wants to create a group for bachata, which seems similar to salsa, although I do not know exactly how to differentiate them.

I am still learning.

Finding the Rhythm

I do not agree with the idea that everything is more difficult for older people than it is for younger people. I do not sign below that statement.

But some things may be a little harder to learn, and dancing may be one of them.

You need coordination. You need to understand something about music and recognise its rhythm. I did not have a musical education, so sometimes I feel a little lost. I hear the music, but I am not always sure how my body should answer it.

The Mayor told me that he had taken several dance lessons but had never been very successful. He thought it might have been a question of having the right partner, among other issues.

It was, he said, not a good subject.

I understand him. Dancing can make a person very aware of what the body does not know how to do.

I told him that becoming a good dancer would be a surprise for me because I do not think I am naturally good at it.

But I have fun.

That is the important part.

She Goes There

I recently heard about people around eighty years old who go out dancing five or six times a week.

I found this incredible. Before entering this world, I did not know that people of that age were dancing so frequently.

There is also a lady who is eighty-nine. She does not dance well, but she goes there.

The Mayor said that dancing well was not the important thing. She leaves her home. She meets people. She is surrounded by a positive atmosphere. She has some exercise and probably laughs a great deal.

Her mind is good. She talks well. She is a very nice lady.

My mother could not do the same because she has restrictions in her movement and cannot move quickly. But seeing this eighty-nine-year-old woman still arriving at the dance gives me another picture of what old age can look like.

She does not need to be the best person in the room.

She goes there.

Perhaps many activities become possible when we stop demanding that we must already be good at them.

I am sixty-five. I am learning movements that do not come naturally to me. Sometimes I lose the rhythm. Sometimes my coordination is not good. I may never become the dancer I would like to be.

If I become a good dancer, it will be a good surprise.

But I already have fun.

Until now, it is something I cannot regret.

Curiosity often begins with a passport, but it doesn’t always need one. Sometimes a new world is only a conversation away.

What does it really mean to discover another world?

For Monica, another world isn’t necessarily another country. It can simply be stepping outside your normal routine. Meeting different people, trying unfamiliar activities, or doing something that feels slightly uncomfortable can be enough to open a completely new chapter.

Rosii immediately connected the question with her own experiences abroad. Studying English for forty-five days in Tampa had been far more than learning vocabulary. It was discovering that real English sounded nothing like the carefully written dialogues in textbooks.

She laughed as she remembered arriving confidently prepared for “How are you?” only to hear completely different expressions from native speakers.

“It was amazing,” she reflected. “I thought I knew English. Then I realised… I didn’t.”

Yet that realisation wasn’t discouraging. It became the beginning of genuine learning.

Sometimes another world isn’t far away at all.

The Mayor shared how a simple trip to the neighbouring village for a haircut had unexpectedly become an adventure. After months of spending most of his time inside his office, even familiar streets suddenly looked different.

“I’ve been going to the same hairdresser for five years,” he explained. “Yesterday I noticed the house opposite for the first time.”

Nothing had changed.

Except him.

It was a reminder that curiosity isn’t only about travelling thousands of kilometres. Sometimes changing your perspective is enough to make ordinary places feel completely new.

Sometimes changing your perspective is enough to make ordinary places feel completely new.

For Fruitloop, another world had recently arrived through a YouTube travel series. She had become fascinated by a presenter who travels across the globe tasting local food. Watching Aboriginal communities prepare kangaroo and wallaby, seeing unusual ingredients, and learning how different cultures eat had completely captured her imagination.

It wasn’t simply about exotic food.

It was about seeing everyday life through someone else’s eyes.

That idea sparked another question.

If there was one community or place everyone was curious about, where would it be?

Rosii didn’t hesitate.

She wants to visit the Mayor’s small French village.

Years ago he had shown it to her on a map, and ever since she has imagined peaceful streets without endless traffic jams, somewhere calm enough that life moves at a different pace.

Living in São Paulo means planning almost every outing around traffic. The thought of simply walking through a quiet village felt almost dreamlike.

“I think one day I will go there,” she smiled.

Monica understood exactly what she meant. Having already visited, she remembered the peaceful streets, old buildings, coffee and cake, vineyards and gentle countryside. If she could choose somewhere to live, it would be a small village in Austria or Switzerland where there were bakeries, walking trails, snow in winter, and nature just outside the front door.

The Mayor’s own curiosity, however, pointed in the opposite direction.

Rather than visiting famous landmarks, he hopes one day to visit the homes of Brida members themselves.

São Paulo.

South Africa.

Australia.

Not as tourists see them, but as friends experience them every day.

After years of seeing faces inside little Zoom squares, he dreams of meeting everyone in three dimensions.

That may be one of the quiet gifts of Brida itself.

Every conversation becomes a small journey around the world.

The discussion then took an unexpected turn.

If aliens landed on Earth and only had five minutes to understand humanity, what should we show them?

Monica suggested introducing them to politicians.

Not because it would impress them.

Quite the opposite.

She suspected they would climb straight back into their spaceship after watching people argue over how to run a country.

Rosii chose yoga.

For her, yoga represents something deeply human. It slows the mind, reconnects her with herself and creates a calmness that is often missing from everyday life. If aliens wanted to understand people, perhaps they should first understand that humans spend much of life trying to find inner peace.

The Mayor imagined something rather more French.

A Saturday morning market in Provence.

Fresh food.

A glass of pastis.

A leisurely lunch.

People talking.

Beautiful surroundings.

Not because markets define humanity, but because they reveal one of its greatest strengths: our ability to create beauty, community and pleasure from ordinary moments.

Fruitloop imagined introducing visitors from another planet to something equally universal.

A South African barbecue.

Good food.

Good company.

And, naturally, her son, whose unpredictable personality would probably provide enough entertainment all by itself.

The laughter continued as the group debated Vegemite, kangaroo meat, sandwich spread that schoolchildren nicknamed “camel vomit,” and all the wonderfully strange foods that seem perfectly normal until someone from another country sees them for the first time.

What began as a conversation about discovering other worlds slowly revealed something much deeper.

We often imagine curiosity as something that requires flights, visas and expensive holidays.

But around this table, curiosity looked different.

It was listening to someone describe a peaceful village you’ve never seen.

It was hearing what English sounds like through someone else’s ears.

It was imagining beaches, bakeries, yoga classes, traffic jams and Saturday markets through another person’s daily life.

Perhaps the biggest discovery wasn’t another country at all.

Perhaps it was the simple realisation that every person already lives in a world we have never experienced.

And every genuine conversation offers us a passport to visit it.

Curiosity is often described as something children have in abundance, but I think adults need it just as much. In everyday life we become used to routines. We work, cook, clean, organise our homes, help our children, and solve one problem after another. Many things are simply done because we’ve always done them that way.

But every now and then, life gives us a reason to stop and ask questions.

Lately, our house has been full of those moments. We bought a new wardrobe after deciding the first one wasn’t right. At first we planned for three metres of storage, but while sitting with the IKEA planner we suddenly wondered, “What if we make it four metres instead?” It was actually cheaper, gave us more space, and solved another problem we hadn’t expected. Of course, once everything arrived we realised it might even be a little too big, which meant moving furniture around and changing the guest room as well.

Sometimes one small decision creates ten new ones.

Instead of being frustrated, I’ve noticed that curiosity helps. Rather than thinking, “This is wrong,” it’s easier to ask, “How else could we make this work?”

The same thing happens at work.

I spend part of my week working from home and part in the office. Both have advantages. At home I can avoid the long drive and sometimes even put the washing on between tasks. But I also discovered something unexpected. When I’m at home, I can become so focused that I forget to take breaks, sometimes even forgetting something as simple as going to the bathroom.

In the office it’s different. There are colleagues to chat with over coffee, people walking past, and natural pauses during the day.

So which way is better?

The answer isn’t as obvious as I once thought. Working from home gives flexibility. Working in the office gives connection. Instead of deciding one is right and the other is wrong, maybe the better question is how to get the best of both.

Curiosity has also crept into our holiday plans.

This year we can’t simply book the first trip we see. House renovations and unexpected costs mean we have to think carefully. We compare destinations, prices, hotels and reviews. We ask whether flying or driving makes more sense. We wonder whether booking through a travel agency is worth the extra security after remembering people who once spent a night sleeping on an airport floor because flights were cancelled during a storm.

Suddenly a holiday becomes more than choosing a beach. It becomes a series of questions about value, comfort and peace of mind.

Even our children remind me how differently people think.

When we asked whether we should drive or fly, everyone had their own opinion. One preferred France, another preferred Belgium. One worried about speaking English, another didn’t like France. Listening to those different answers made me realise curiosity isn’t about getting everyone to agree. It’s about discovering why people see the same situation differently.

That came up again while talking about school.

The school systems in Germany and South Africa work differently. Some children have homework every day. Others finish most of their work before they leave school. Some subjects are separate; others are grouped together. None of it is automatically better. It’s simply another reminder that there is more than one way to organise life.

Perhaps that’s what curiosity really is.

It isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about being willing to ask another question before deciding that your way is the only way.

Sometimes curiosity helps you build a better wardrobe.

Sometimes it helps you organise your work.

Sometimes it helps you plan a holiday.

And sometimes it simply helps you understand another person a little better.

Life doesn’t always change because we discover a brilliant answer.

Quite often, it changes because we were curious enough to ask a different question in the first place.

At two o’clock in the morning, the music stopped at the Crémant Festival in Cleebourg. For many people, that was probably the end of the evening.

At a village festival, around a fireplace and over thirty apple trees, Fabrice discovers that curiosity depends not only on the question, but also on who is asking it.

For me, it was time to open the barbecue.

I had expected about eight people. In the end, there were twenty-one. We continued until six in the morning. I went to bed, woke up at eleven and started the barbecue again. On Monday morning, I went back to work.

It was perhaps not the most obvious beginning for a conversation about curiosity, but it gave Janita plenty of questions.

She had never heard of the festival. I explained that Crémant is a sparkling wine and that the event is organised by the local brass band. There is music, local food, a large tent and many people sitting together. The weather was good, and I was there with friends.

Janita wanted to understand what happened at the festival and why people went there. These were simple questions, but they opened a real conversation. That is important to me.

A Good Question Needs Somewhere to Go.

When Janita asked what kind of questions I enjoy, I had to think about it.

For me, the subject should be interesting to me or to the other person. It does not always need to be one of my own interests. I like music and history, but if somebody is interested in cycling, for example, I can ask questions and learn from that person.

A good question gives us something to discuss.

“How many degrees is it today?” is a question, but the answer may be very short.

“Two degrees.”

“Okay. It is cold.”

After that, we need another subject. We cannot easily continue for half an hour.

Curiosity is different. Curiosity means that I really want to understand something. The question should lead somewhere.

Who Is Asking?

Then Janita asked when a question becomes too personal.

For me, the first question is not only what somebody is asking. It is also who is asking.

Is it my wife? A close friend? A colleague? Somebody I have just met?

The closeness of the relationship changes the question. The intention also matters. A direct question is not automatically a bad question. I can be direct myself. But if I feel that a person is asking with malice, or simply wants to irritate me, I react differently.

When I meet somebody for the first time, I usually have an impression after two or three minutes. That first impression may be wrong. After five minutes of conversation, I may change my opinion.

When I meet somebody for the first time, I usually have an impression after two or three minutes.

But when something does not feel right, I become more closed. I may decide not to answer. I may explain that the question is not acceptable. Sometimes I simply leave.

That is also an answer.

Janita put it very clearly. People can ask her anything, she said, but that does not mean she will answer everything. If a question is too personal, she will say no.

I agree with that.

You can ask the question. The answer is another matter.

From Heating to Romance

The conversation itself soon gave us a practical example.

Janita had explained that it was winter in South Africa and that the temperature had fallen to two degrees. We began comparing the ways we heat our homes.

She uses a movable gas heater and blankets. In my house, we have underfloor heating and a fireplace.

This was still a normal conversation about winter.

Then The Mayor became curious.

He asked whether my wife and I sit together on a carpet in front of the fireplace during a romantic evening.

I said no.

Janita immediately said, “Let’s leave it there.”

The truth was practical: we do not have a carpet there. We have tiles because of the underfloor heating.

But the subject had already moved from heating to my marriage.

The Mayor then asked whether I am a romantic person.

I said that perhaps I was romantic many, many years ago. Apparently, I also started to become red. The Mayor was quick to point out that it was not because of the heat.

He then asked how I had met my wife.

This was now a very personal question. But I decided to answer it.

Flowers and Thirty Apple Trees

I had known my wife earlier because I once helped with a move. Afterwards, we lost contact for several years.

When we met again, we began talking. She later invited me for dinner.

I brought flowers.

I also brought many apples.

Janita wanted to know why I had arrived with so many apples. The answer was simple: I had about thirty apple trees. When you have thirty apple trees, you have a lot of apples.

Perhaps the flowers were more romantic. The apples were practical.

That first dinner was in November 2011. We married about six years later.

The questions had gone quite far into my private life, but I had continued answering. Nobody forced me. I could have said no at any point.

This is why it is difficult to make one fixed rule about personal questions. Sometimes a question surprises me, but I answer because I trust the people in the conversation. At another time, the same question from another person may feel completely wrong.

When It Is Dangerous Not to Ask

Curiosity is not only about private life. Sometimes asking questions is part of being responsible.

Janita asked whether it can be dangerous not to ask.

Yes, it can.

At work, or in another situation where something may become dangerous, it is better to ask one time more than one time too little. When an instruction is unclear, asking again is not a weakness. It may prevent a mistake.

Even something simple, such as getting lost, shows this difference.

When I am alone, I normally continue searching. I think I will find the right road today or tomorrow. In the end, every road goes somewhere.

When my wife or other people are with me, I ask for directions more quickly. Then I am not responsible only for myself. Other people are depending on me.

The question has not changed, but the situation has.

The Answer Belongs to the Other Person

So, how curious is too curious?

I do not think there is one answer.

It depends on the relationship. It depends on the intention. It depends on the moment and on what may happen if nobody asks.

A direct question can still be respectful. A personal question can sometimes begin a good story. An uncomfortable question may even be necessary when safety or responsibility is involved.

But the person answering must always have a choice.

You can ask me a question. I can decide that it goes too far. I can explain, make a joke, change the subject or simply say no.

And sometimes, because I trust you, I may tell you about the apples.

An Anti-Handbook for receiving instant answers without becoming an idiot.

Imagine that the government creates an Emergency Question Department.

Before citizens may ask anything, they must prove that they have already thought about it for at least thirty seconds. I believe this could improve society. Unfortunately, the longer queues would become the first problem requiring an answer.

Standing in line might force us to think. Maybe. It might also force us to speak to the person in front of us or behind us. A conversation could begin. The people who have waited longest would have more time to prepare better questions, which means the Emergency Question Department itself would need to be extremely well prepared.

Whether it would be is another question.

Naturally, real emergencies involving life and death would receive priority. Nobody should have to spend thirty seconds developing a beautifully phrased question while the building is on fire.

For everything else, however, a small pause might not be such a bad idea.

Curiosity Needs Preparation

My recent travels reminded me that curiosity does not always begin when we arrive somewhere. Sometimes it begins earlier, with preparation.

I had always been curious about Edinburgh. Halifax was different. Until recently, the word Halifax made me think of the Canadian province, not the town in England. Then I saw pictures of the Piece Hall and thought: wow, that looks great.

In hindsight, I could have prepared more thoroughly and perhaps enjoyed the visit even more.

Something similar happened during a trip to Mainz on an extremely hot day. I wanted to know how the temperature would develop into the evening and night. It was still 28 degrees at midnight.

These were very different questions, but they taught me the same thing: preparation can create greater curiosity. Knowing something in advance does not necessarily spoil an experience. It can help us notice more when we are there.

An instant answer, therefore, is not automatically the enemy of curiosity. It depends on what we do with it.

The Machine That Knows Everything

I now use AI more and more instead of a traditional search engine.

Recently, I was looking for information about hydrangeas. Someone had published incorrect information on a website, while AI gave me the correct answer. In a situation like that, the machine is useful. It saves time and helps me solve a practical problem.

But I would not use it in exactly the same way for every subject.

When I want to understand people or historical developments, I may prefer to research in the old-fashioned way. I might go to a library—assuming libraries still exist by the time I arrive.

When I want to understand people or historical developments, I may prefer to research in the old-fashioned way.

There is a difference between wanting a quick solution and wanting knowledge. If I need to repair something, I may be thankful for a direct answer because I do not have to think about the problem for hours. But if the advice turns out to be nonsense, I will later ask why anybody told me such rubbish.

The quick answer is convenient. The consequences may take longer.

The Missing Ingredient Is Doubt

Bad answers often lack doubt.

A person can make a genuine mistake. An AI system can make a mistake. A website can publish incorrect information. The dangerous moment comes when an answer is presented with complete confidence and no understanding that it might be wrong.

Public figures sometimes behave as though they have swallowed the truth whole, even while the facts disagree with them. Then we hear about “alternative facts,” which is a very elegant expression for something that is not a fact.

When I receive an answer from AI, the internet or another person, instinct remains an important quality-control department. If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

This may become increasingly difficult. Deepfakes created with AI are already convincing, and perhaps in ten years it will be almost impossible to distinguish fact from fiction.

At that point, the problem will not simply be that machines can produce false information. The problem will be that humans enjoy believing things, especially when those things confirm what they already wanted to believe.

People often ask questions and then seem surprised when you give them an actual answer containing your thoughts. They did not want your thoughts. They wanted quick confirmation.

You normally recognise this when you realise that the person you are speaking to lives in a parallel universe.

Your Brain Has Been Left Unattended

Every AI system should perhaps include a warning:

Your brain appears to have been left unattended. Would you like to reconnect it?

The warning should appear when the AI notices that I can no longer explain why I started the conversation.

The machine could then test whether my brain is working again. It could deliberately produce some nonsense or offer a few alternative facts. If I recognise them as nonsense, the connection has been restored.

This would be useful because AI is already training certain habits into us. The most obvious one is impatience.

We were impatient before AI, of course. The machine cannot take all the credit. But when AI fails to answer my question quickly, I am not very forgiving. I am more patient with people.

Perhaps that is because I know a person may need time to think, while I expect a machine to behave like an obedient oracle.

If AI began answering every lazy question with, “What do you think?” humanity would probably demand a refund within seconds.

There are also questions it should refuse to answer immediately. For example: What will the next winning lottery numbers be?

In that case, even an instant answer would arrive too late to be useful, especially if everybody received the same numbers.

The Defence of Instant Answers

I do not view AI entirely positively, but fearmongering is too simple.

Machines can take over mindless, repetitive work. Previous industrial revolutions were, in my view, a blessing because they made much hard and dangerous labour unnecessary.

This revolution may be even more far-reaching, and its consequences are harder to predict. But removing boring work can give people more time for ideas and creativity.

The question is what we do with that time.

We have already seen, even without AI, that convenience changes our relationship with knowledge and culture. Knowledge is available at any moment, which is practical, but it can also become fleeting.

Music provides a good example. It is now consumed through flat-rate services and, at best, paid for in that way. It is no longer always treated as something special to be enjoyed with devotion.

When everything is endlessly available, it can begin to feel almost worthless. It is like spilling a beer during an all-you-can-drink session. There is another one waiting, so nobody cares very much.

I sometimes choose a less convenient method precisely because the effort belongs to the experience.

I go to a record shop. I buy an album on vinyl or CD. Then I listen to it deliberately and with joy.

Travelling can be similar. So can cooking. The quickest route is not always the richest one. Preparation, effort and attention can make us more curious, not less.

The First Rule

This Anti-Handbook chapter could be called How to Receive an Instant Answer Without Becoming an Idiot.

My first rule would be simple:

Do not forget your instincts, and use your head.

Even someone as thick as me does not believe everything.

The rule is meant for humans, not machines. Hopefully, the machines will not need it.

Although, considering who trained them, perhaps they will.