The Lost Language of Curiosity

As I get older, I’ve learned how difficult it can be to maintain relationships when everyone involved is still growing. It’s often said that most relationships fail because of poor communication and while I agree that misunderstandings and misalignments can fracture even the strongest bonds, I think there’s something deeper happening beneath the surface.

We’ve lost our curiosity about one another.

As society has evolved, we’ve placed an incredible amount of dependency on social networks to tell us who people are and how they’re doing. An updated story becomes a pulse check, a post replaces a phone call, and silence online can be interpreted as distance or distress. We fill in the blanks based on digital breadcrumbs rather than direct conversation.

Social media, in its strange way, has become both a mirror and a mask. It breeds a kind of performative connection where people feel pressured to center themselves in every conversation, to comment, to react, to insert their perspective in solidarity. And while it creates visibility, it often erases intimacy.

Recently, I came across a TikTok that revealed a great insight: many introverts end up receiving the short end of the stick, even in their closest relationships, because people have forgotten how to ask questions.

Introverts: those who recharge in solitude, who prefer depth over noise, and who often lead with thoughtfulness, are not necessarily disengaged. They’re just less likely to compete for conversational space. They are the conscientious ones, the quiet observers who often prioritize emotional intelligence over attention-seeking. But when relationships rely on loudness or self-promotion to be noticed, those who move gently through the world are left unseen.

And truthfully, I’ve felt that myself.

I cannot tell you how many relationships I’ve drifted away from and not out of resentment or anger, but because curiosity was missing. People who once felt close stopped asking questions about me, my thoughts, or how I feel. Instead, they rushed to assumptions or centered themselves in a way that demanded I answer for their emotions. Somehow, that always turned into me being labeled as distant, poor at communication, or uncaring.

But the truth is, I deeply value people who ask before assuming. People who give me space to be known, not decoded. It’s rare, and it means everything. Because when someone chooses curiosity over conclusion, they give you permission to take up space. And I think more people should learn to do that.

So if people aren’t getting what they need in their relationships and if visibility and validation are reserved for the most vocal…how do we make sure everyone feels seen?

Maybe it starts with relearning the art of asking. Not the surface-level “how are you?” but the questions that require listening, not scrolling.

Curiosity is an act of care.

And maybe, in a world full of distraction, it’s the only way we’ll ever really hear each other again.