Prompt 304. Flinging the Window Open
Dani Shapiro on the most enlivening trait & Drew McGee on the question that changed your life
I’m Trying Something New—
As I navigate a new health challenge, I’m trying something new: a handful of brilliant friends will be filling in for me every other week as guest hosts of the newsletter. Today, in my stead, you’ll hear from my beloved friend Dani Shapiro, the bestselling author of the novel Signal Fires and the memoir Inheritance, among others, and the host of the hit podcast Family Secrets. An ever-flowing fount of wisdom, she’s one of the first people I call when I’m stuck or puzzling through a big decision, and I’m so honored to have her substitute teaching for me today. —Suleika
Hello friends!
I’m honored and delighted to guest host today’s newsletter. What an extraordinary gathering of creative, passionate, seeking souls! It is, of course, no surprise, given that it is our radiant Suleika who cast her net into the universe and created this magic.
I love you, Suleika. Your friendship is a light in my life, and your very being is a beacon in so many lives, modeling humanity, wisdom, honesty, and grace.
Today I’m going to offer a few words about a subject that matters to me now more than ever: curiosity. As I write these words I am, I suppose, in late middle age. And all my former selves have been lining up, eager to pay a visit. Some of these selves, I’m thrilled to see. I welcome them with open arms. Come on in! The water’s warm! Let me give you a hug! Others scare me a little. What do you want? I hope you’re not too mad at me. And others make me sad. I wish I could have been there for you back then. How can I make it up to you? One of my favorite quotes is from the Baal Shem Tov: “Let me fall if I must fall. The one I will become will catch me.”
I moved from the city to the country twenty years ago with my then-young family. My son was in preschool, my husband and I deep into our lives as writers, and the next time we looked up, our kid was graduating from college and we were… well… in late middle-age. Those were years filled with busy-ness, calendars, plans, to-do lists. And as often happens, we tended to hang out primarily with other people whose lives were on similar trajectories: those who had children the same age, other folks who did what we did, or were in the same seam of life. But there was a notable exception to this, which is that I cultivated friendships with a handful of much older people. I had done this all my life. It’s as if I’ve always sensed that I needed a handbook, a map for how to be in it for the long haul. And the trait I’ve learned is most enlivening and useful in those elders is curiosity. What are you reading? What are you listening to? Seen any good films lately? Let’s talk about the state of the world! These people are passionately engaged with the world. They’re not trying to act young, or anything like that. Rather, they apply their curiosity to all their interactions in a way that I can only describe as optimistic. What are you all about? they want to know. How does this thing work?
I once heard Colum McCann say that he’d rather be the man wearing his heart on his sleeve than that squinty-eyed wiseass in the corner. To be curious—whether approaching the page, a work of art, a human being, a new adventure—is to fling open a window between ourselves and whatever or whomever we see. To be curious is a practice, a risk, a stance, a position. It is something we can cultivate. And so, as you turn to today’s essay and wonderful prompt by the developmental scientist and longtime Isolation Journals community member Drew McGee, may you enter this moment with curiosity about what it might bring.
Wishing every one of you a beautiful week ahead!
Dani
Some items of note from Suleika:
In our last meeting of the Hatch, our managing editor Carmen reflected on literature that rewards attention—that invites another visit and deeper engagement—and the community crowd-sourced reading recs that do just that. If you missed it, you can find it here: “On Reading as Companion.”
“The Alchemy of Blood,” my joint art show with my mom, Anne Francey, has been given an extended run—it’s up until October 6 at ArtYard in Frenchtown, NJ! I’ve loved seeing photos of your visit, so tag me on social or send a pic if you go. And if you can’t make it, you can still see the works and hear my mom and I talk about the meaning we make of them in this video replay of our artist talk.
Prompt 304. The Question that Changed My Life by Drew McGee
There have been many very important questions asked by very important people over the centuries.
Like Martin Luther King, Jr.: “Life’s most persistent and urgent question is: ‘What are you doing for others?’”
Like Mary Oliver: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do/ with your one wild and precious life?”
Some suggest that asking, “Is there a God?” is the most important question you can ask yourself, as a jumping off point for making meaning of the world.
My own very important question was brought to light by a child. Until recently, I was in graduate school, earning a PhD in developmental child psychology, and each week, I had a standing meeting with my advisor. Sometimes we talked about an upcoming paper or a specific grad school challenge; other times we talked about life in general or waxed on philosophically. During one of these conversations, my advisor told me a story about her eight-year-old son—that he had started spontaneously asking people, “What is a question you asked that changed your life?”
Her son’s answer to his own question was this: one day, he asked, “Who is singing this song?” It turned out to be Taylor Swift; now she is his favorite artist. He listens to her endlessly and has seen her in concert. I found the story adorable, but also impressive. His curious child mind had come up with such a simple question, but such a good one—so open-ended, with so many elephant paths you could follow, and so introspective, especially coming from a kid. At the end of our conversation, my advisor said, “No pressure, but if you ever think of a question you asked that changed your life and want to talk about it, let me know.”
I only had to reflect for a moment before it came to me. For context, I grew up in a family marked by severe mental health issues and challenges, including abuse and institutionalization. As this all was occurring, I had a negative mindset about my life and story, things like, You’re not good enough and You’ll never get what you want out of life. But after my mother died by suicide, I asked myself: “What if I’m not a victim?”
I was nineteen then, and it totally reshaped how I moved through the world. The question “What if I wasn’t a victim?” challenged my mindset of being a passive recipient of life’s hardships. It gave me agency to embrace my life experiences, to revise how I viewed setbacks, and ultimately find meaning and value in whatever I’m facing, be it good or bad. Later, this question would also shape my identity as a researcher and advocate, allowing me to promote the idea that humans are resilient, and that we are active participants in our own growth and healing.
After my mother’s death, I felt numb, which is common with traumatic experiences. When a friend told me that this death was playing a solo in the symphony of my life, but that in time, other parts would come back in—the strings, the woodwinds, the drums—and I would once again hear the music as a whole, I was able to receive that, and I clung to that idea. I had always drawn, sketched, and journaled, but the flavor of my scribblings changed, as I engaged with my own story in a different way.
About six months later, I was on a beach trip with some friends. We stayed up late, talking about what I was going through and things they had gone through too. Eventually people started to go to sleep, but I wasn’t able to, so I went for a walk. I remember watching the sun rise and feeling—for lack of a better word—joy. Suddenly I realized I was feeling things again, that I was starting to come back from it.
That day on the beach was almost half my life ago, and since then, I’ve asked myself that question again and again. The weight of it continues to change and shift as time passes—both the weight of the trauma, and the weight of the question. But I know that shift began with a simple question.
Your prompt for the week:
What is a question you asked that changed your life? Reflect on a pivotal moment in your life when a single question sparked a profound shift in your perspective or trajectory—something as seemingly simple as discovering a favorite artist, or a query that elicited a deep insight about the world and your place in it. How did its answer shape the course of your life?
If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide or mental health challenges, please reach out for support. In the United States, you can contact the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 or text “HOME” to 741741 for immediate help.
If you’d like, you can post your response to today’s prompt in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals. As a reminder, we love seeing your work inspired by the Isolation Journals, but to preserve this as a community space, we request no promotion of outside projects.
Today’s Contributor—
Drew McGee, PhD, is a researcher and has spent his life bouncing between the Rocky Mountains and East Coast. In his spare time, he is a self-described artist, joy-seeker, traveler, and voracious reader. Any views expressed are his own.
For more paid subscriber benefits, see—
Letters from Love, a workshop with the brilliant Elizabeth Gilbert, where she teaches us the transformative spiritual practice she’s used for twenty-five years to combat self-criticism and to access an ocean of unconditional love
Heartbroken Friend, an installment of Suleika’s advice column Dear Susu, where she answers a question from a reader who experienced compounding grief—a cancer diagnosis, then losing a close friend—and doesn’t know how to move on
No Cure for Being Human, a video replay of Suleika’s Studio Visit with Kate Bowler, where they talked about avoiding aggressive futurism, right-sizing our fears, and seeking out joy
Our Isolation Journal No. 1 & Surrender Tote—
Exciting news! We were able to restock a very limited number of Isolation Journals totes embroidered with our forever mantra, and we still have custom journals available too! To get yours, click the button below—
On November 11, 2009, I was on my deathbed in ICU. The doctors told my husband I had zero chance of survival. They didn't know what was wrong but my organs were failing, after a severe bout of pnemonia. I was on life support. Had been in intensive care for several days.
He was asked to make a choice between my dying in ICU or during an exploratory surgery. I imagine the question as "do you want your wife to die in the ICU or on the operating table?" It was something like that. He chose the surgery. I survived. It turns out I had full body sepsis and a toxic mega colon. They removed the colon. I started to improve immediately. They expected me to need longterm care, but I was on hospital for only a month. I grew stronger bit by bit. I had to have one additional surgery and I do have to return to Emergency sometimes but I am alive! I love life. I know what matters. I don't waste time on bullshit. I am full of gratitude: to the surgeons and staff of the Ottawa General Hospital, to dear friends who supported me and my husband during that difficult time and continue to do so but most of all to my husband, whose answer to the question saved my life. On September 23, we celebrate 22 years of marriage. Together.
I also lost family members to suicide...both my brother at twenty-five, and three years later, my father at fifty-one. During that season, I was also seriously mentally ill and suicidal. I suffered complicated grief for a long time, but my desire was to feel better and have a good life for my children. I saw a quote by George Eliot, "It's never too late to become what you might have been." My question...could I become something better? I went back to school at fifty-one and through many roadblocks (including brain surgery) I became a psychotherapist (and an artist). Today, at seventy-three, I believe I am living a joy-filled life, full of possibility and curiosity.