Curiosity Killed the Comfort Zone

Earlier this week I met with my history professor about an essay I was writing for her class. I was dressed foolishly; the bottom half of me in horseback riding attire, the top half in a coffee stained college tee and my signature half up half down ponytail. I rattled off my new research topic, anxious to get started on this ground breaking argument. I smiled so large, so proud, that I thought it may split my face. She met my gaze and responded with a half-smile and a quiet word. "Halle," she said softly, "you're cursed. You're cursed with the gift of curiosity." I responded, "...so I guess that's a no on changing my topic?" She laughed, shook her head, and told me to save it for my independent study. Only slightly disappointed, I sheepishly shuffled away from her office. But it made me think. I'm cursed with curiosity, she said. What does that even mean?

When I woke up yesterday morning I said, “I’m going to go to Maryland.” My plan was to stop when I got there - where “there” was, I wasn’t sure yet. I knew I planned on grad school in Towson and a corporate job in Glen Burnie ultimately fulfilling my lust to get out of Lancaster County. I took I-695 west towards Baltimore when I should’ve taken it east towards Towson. I fought my way through the merciless Baltimore Beltway and the blinker-less BMW’s as we all toggled between the right and left lanes. I watched the headlights of planes emerge from a cotton candy sunset as I passed signs for Baltimore, Owings Mills, and Glen Burnie knowing those were my exits. But I didn’t stop. I wasn’t far enough away yet. By this time it was dark. I was an hour south of my original destination so I planned on getting a panic attack shortly, being so far from my home and by myself. My car was illuminated by blue interior lights and the orange glow of my gas tank begging to be quenched. I had to find “there”, soon. I saw exit 24, Annapolis, and took it.

As I came off the ramp I was instantly confronted by the intimidating illumination of the “N*” symbol on the Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium to my right. I followed Range Rovers with “United States Naval Academy” stickers through cobblestone roads feeling horribly out of place in my yellow VW Bug and “Millersville University” tags. Everywhere I looked all I saw was dark blue — a dark blue sky and dress blues. I clutched my over sized Coach bag closely to my faux fur vest hoping my navy blue Sperry’s screamed, “she’s one of us!” I went everywhere. I studied the harbor, the buildings, the signs. I walked through alley’s, side streets, and St. John’s. Not once did I feel scared, sick, or nervous. I was too busy being curious. I opened up a Wiki page of Annapolis and timed myself using the seven minute long live version of “Hotel California” to walk from one historical building to another. My curiosity was my own tour guide and fear can’t fit into seven minutes.

Perhaps my curiosity killed my comfort zone and that’s why I ended up in Annapolis, alone, at 8pm on Friday weaving through seas of Mid’s and their gushing girlfriends. But honestly, leave me cursed for the rest of my life. I lived 23 years in such a small, small world because I was too scared to leave what I already knew. In the past three months, I’ve been on a plane four times, traveled to two new states, and made friends that I didn’t even think I needed. I quote Thoreau and Hughes on a daily basis and buy books on theories and philosophies of English, history, and sociology. I was reminded of Dr. Weis words and thought, “what a terrifying thought it would be to harbor a mind where curiosity doesn’t exist.”

I don’t know if Annapolis will be my home, but what I do know is that I didn’t associate it with any part of my past. I didn’t feel like I was there trying to rebuild something I lost or find a better version of something I once had. I came here because I was curious, I stayed because I saw a future. My curiosity isn’t a curse. However, my recent-ish enchantment with Navy boys, is.