Stay Curious Even When It Costs You

Every expert thinks they're curious.

We read, we research, and ask thoughtful questions in meetings. But if you watch any expert when their position is challenged, you'll notice something shift: their curiosity disappears, and "asking questions" becomes a more polite form of arguing.

That's not curiosity. That's advocacy with a question mark on the end.

I like the phrasing in Deloitte's 2026 Global Human Capital Trends report, which calls curiosity "a core organizational capability" for the next phase of work.

It moves curiosity out of personality territory and into practice territory.

Which means curiosity is a discipline, not a personality trait, and, like any discipline, you can be terrible at it on Monday and noticeably better by Friday if you know what you're practicing.

Here's the part that took me a while to see.

Real curiosity has a cost.

If your question doesn't put any of your expertise at risk and you already know the answer you're hoping for, it isn't curiosity at all. It's more like information gathering, or worse, persuasion in disguise.

From the outside, the two look identical, and the only difference is whether you're prepared to be wrong.

This gives you a clean test for yourself: if your question feels safe, it isn't curious.

The moments you most want to advocate are the moments curiosity has the highest payoff, and that's exactly the signal you're looking for.

Recognizing the right moment is one thing, but acting effectively under pressure is another.

Here are five steps for people whose expertise can sometimes get in the way, arranged in a specific order: each step allows you to take the next one.

Let’s get it…

This separates inquiry from interrogation. The room hears you as a collaborator rather than someone setting a trap, because you've shown your cards and people don't have to guess what hand you're playing.

You've moved from interrogating to consulting.

"If I'm hearing you right, the case for moving now is X, Y, and Z. Is that fair?"

This does two things at once. It proves you actually listened, and it forces you to do the work most challengers skip: understanding the other side well enough to argue it yourself. People relax when they feel understood, and that's when they start engaging with your real question.

You've earned the room's permission to push.

Ask them.

"What problem are we actually solving for?"
"Who's the customer here?"
"What would have to be true for this to work?"

These questions feel beneath your pay grade, which is exactly why they're powerful when you ask them. Your willingness to look briefly uncertain is a status move, not a status risk.

You've opened space the room didn't know it needed.

Most curious questions get killed by the asker, not the answerer.

We ask something sharp, feel the room's discomfort, and fill the four seconds of silence with a qualifier or a softer rephrase, which kills the question in the qualifier. Whatever real answer was about to come gets traded for a polite response to a watered-down version.

Four seconds feels like forty, but hold it anyway. The discomfort is the point: that's the space where someone actually thinks before answering.

You've protected the question from yourself.

Your follow-up should track their answer, not your agenda.

The tell is whether you find yourself returning to your prepared point or chasing what they just said, and the room can always tell which one you're doing.

You've signaled real listening, which is rare and remembered.

Curiosity isn't a trait; it's a practice.

Experts who treat it like personality stay in the rooms they've always been in.

Experts who treat it like a skill get pulled into the rooms where the real decisions happen.

The next question you ask in a meeting will either be advocacy or curiosity. The room can tell.

Ask the one that costs you something.

Thanks for reading. Be easy!
(You are the advantage.)