The Curiosity Roadmap

I have hope for the future.

I gave a presentation last week in my hometown of Sandusky, Ohio (at ​Work Space Sandusky​) and met some new friends. One younger person told me about their knitting hobby.

A few months ago, they were looking to try something different, and a relative recommended knitting. They tried it and immediately fell in love with the craft. They also realized they were pretty good at it.

One day, they shared their current project on TikTok and quickly discovered a community around knitting called ​#KnitTok​ (incredible, right?). They’ve built a pretty engaged following since then.

That following led them to a few in-person knitting events in the area, where they’ve made several new friends. Some came from online, some from simply showing up. Through that process, they learned that a knitting publication was looking for writing help. With a journalism degree in hand, they applied. And now they are writing for that publication.

All of it started with curiosity. With picking up something tactile and human. A craft that requires patience and attention in a world optimized for speed and shortcuts.

What struck me wasn’t TikTok, the hashtag, or even the audience. It was the sequence:

Interest → practice → community → opportunity → meaning.

A hobby became an identity. (“I knit.”) An identity attracted people. (“I want to hang out with people who knit.”) People created connection. (“I’m friends with people who knit.”) Connection created work. (“Sharing my knitting creates new opportunities.”) Work created purpose. (“Knitting helps give my life new meaning.”)

No growth hacks. No funnels. No optimization. Just a person following genuine interest, getting better, sharing honestly, and letting the world respond.

That’s why I have hope.

In a time when so much is synthetic, automated, and optimized, the things that still seem to matter most are the oldest things: learning a craft, finding your people, showing up, and contributing something real.

Later that same day, I spoke at the Hudson, Ohio library. A great group of people, but a very different audience. If the average age in Sandusky was 30 to 35, the average age in Hudson was probably double that.

These were people who had lived full careers. They weren’t looking to build an audience or make millions. They were looking to connect with other human beings.

They weren’t asking about growth hacks, platforms, or how to “build a brand.” They were asking how to stay relevant, how to stay curious, how to stay useful. How to take what they had learned over decades and offer it in a way that still mattered.

Some wanted to teach. Some wanted to write. Some wanted to mentor. Some just wanted a place to belong and contribute again.

Different ages. Different stages. Same underlying need.

To be seen. To be heard. To be needed. To be known by one or a few people.

The Sandusky story is about discovering a craft and a community and letting it open doors. The Hudson story is about rediscovering community and contribution after the main career chapters were already written.

One group is asking, “Who am I becoming?” The other is asking, “Who can I be now?”

And in both cases, the answer wasn’t technology. It wasn’t platforms. It wasn’t AI.

It was other people.

That’s the throughline that gives me hope. No matter how synthetic the world becomes, the deepest human motivation hasn’t changed. We want to make things. We want to share them. We want to find our people. We want to matter to someone. We want to contribute.

Different generations. Same longing. Same opportunity.

So what can I leave you with, beyond warm fuzzy feelings that humanity will survive?

A few concrete takeaways.

First, follow interest before outcome.

Both the knitter and the people in Hudson started with curiosity, not a business plan. The work, the audience, and the opportunity comes later. Ask yourself: what are you genuinely drawn to right now that you’ve been postponing because it didn’t look “strategic”? What are you endlessly curious about? One or a combination of those things will ultimately create ​your tilt​.

Second, practice something slowly and in public.

Not to go viral. Not to build a brand. Just to share the process. The act of showing your work is what attracts your people, whether that’s on TikTok, in a library, or in a community room. Where is your audience hanging out? Who could you learn from or help along the way? The key is to stay curious.

Third, choose community over scale.

Stop asking, “How big can this get?” and start asking, “Who do I want to do this with, and how can I serve?” Go in with a giving mindset, and you will get more than you ever expected.

Fourth, turn experience into contribution.

For the younger group, it was turning a hobby into voice and opportunity. For the older group, it’s turning decades of lived experience into mentoring, writing, teaching, or simply being present for others. Ask: where can my experience reduce someone else’s confusion or loneliness?

Fifth, build something that lets you be needed.

Not impressive. Not optimized. Needed. A group, a practice, a newsletter, a workshop, a circle, a class, a show. Something where if you didn’t show up, someone would notice.

We often complicate this. I know I have, many times, even with this newsletter. But it really comes down to a few simple questions:

What are you endlessly curious about? What would you happily research and think about for hours without losing interest? What makes life worth living?

And ultimately, how can you bring other people into that process and share it with the world?

I can’t think of a better way to live.

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