270. An Ode to the Humble Question - Ezra Bookman
Pierre Bonnard, The White Tablecloth (1925)
A good question is our humble response to the impossible mystery of another human being.
We had barely made it ten minutes before the first awkward silence.
In my defense, I really shouldn’t have been there. It was a fancy fundraising dinner for big donors to an arts organization, and I am neither fancy nor a donor, just a lover of dinner who happened to be the friend of a friend of a donor who canceled last minute.
After a round of pleasantries about the salad, the conversation at our table stumbled into the habitual, “What do you do?” The man across from me answered, “Wealth manager,” and my mind went blank. I have no wealth, certainly not enough to be managed, so I squeaked out an unconvincing, “Oh, interesting,” followed by a long, uncomfortable pause.
But before the silence could ruin everyone’s night, my friend slid in with a fantastic question: “What do most people get wrong about you and your job?” An hour later and the lively conversation it sparked was still going.
A question is more than just a way to fill silence. It is the recognition that every person is infinite, that even your closest loved ones are never fully knowable. Questions are the clothes of curiosity and smoke signals for empathy. A good question is our humble response to the impossible mystery of another human being.
As a professional ritual designer, I think about this every Thanksgiving. Most people tell me the reason they celebrate Thanksgiving is for the opportunity to spend quality time with friends and family. But I think the language we use here is telling; to “spend time” is to treat it like a transaction. We spend time together on Thanksgiving like we spend money on Black Friday: compulsively and without intention. We work so hard to craft the space—menu planning, cooking, decorating—but then barely consider what happens inside that space.
How might we not just spend time, but savor time? How might we transform Thanksgiving from “a dinner party with turkey” to a meaningful ritual—a space where we get to feel, in the words of Émile Durkheim, “collective effervescence”?
My answer: a good question. That’s why for the last two years, I’ve shared seven better questions than “What are you grateful for?” to ask at Thanksgiving—questions like “Where have you felt most alive this past year?” and “What’s a moment of kindness from the past year that really meant something to you?”
I’ve heard stories from around the country of people using them in all sorts of creative ways, but the response has always been the same: “That was the most meaningful and memorable Thanksgiving of my life.”
At my own table, my little cousin had the idea of writing the questions on cards and putting them randomly under each plate. We went around one by one, trusting that we received exactly the question we were meant to answer—a kind of question tarot.
And something pretty magical happened. Usually my grandmother stays quiet at Thanksgiving; loud crosstalk at a big table is a nightmare for her hearing aids. But this time, not only could she hear the conversation but she could actually participate. She was the life of the party, cracking jokes, sharing vulnerably, and shedding a tear. Us too.
That night, I learned something new about someone I thought I knew entirely. And for that, I’m truly grateful.
- Ezra Bookman
