Educator and economist Amy Willis has a new Substack newsletter, Amy’s GoodRiches, and lately she’s been diving into the nature of curiosity. Recently, she posted about Zena Hitz’s book Lost in Thought: The Hidden Pleasures of an Intellectual Life, writing about lifelong learning. She challenged me to consider what gave us the desire as adults to pursue educational or reading goals purely for the pleasure of it. Or, as Amy asks “what does it mean to pursue learning for its own sake?”
When I met her for dinner last week, I was full of thoughts about what sparks curiosity and drives lifelong learning. Of course, entire books have been written on curiosity (like Ian Leslie’s 2015 book Curious: The Desire to Know and Why Your Future Depends on It), but I was more interested in the practical level.
What drives us to learn as adults? Certainly, many adults today research skills for a job or gain a certificate or degree, but do they push the boundaries of their worldviews on a regular basis? In the wake of the alarming data about how many adults read for pleasure, one has to wonder: How do we become interested in gaining knowledge for the sake of simple pleasure and enjoyment?
In my work with scholars from around the world, I’ve had the extraordinary please of seeing them rediscover great literature, explore authors or genres they would have ignored, and expand their thinking about the past and future. It’s been an honor to watch people who are experts in their fields (say, philosophy or economic theory) grapple with grand classics or politically charged graphic novels for no other reason but pleasure and the desire to learn. The classics unite us in learning about past authors and eras as we search for ways to improve the future.
With practice, reading becomes an appetite, a steady desire to fill gaps in understanding and test one’s mental views of the world against unfamiliar voices. Reading for its own sake becomes a kind of intellectual play rewarding on both internal and external levels. Classics and histories present engaging events, rich characters, action and plots, well-honed arguments, historical distance, and linguistic textures that can reshape how we think about the past, present, and future.
But that makes me wonder what lights the fire to learn for the simple sake of learning. Some may believe it’s the desire for superiority or snobbery, but I’ve found that to be untrue. Learning humbles you more often than it sets you on a pedestal. Which leads me to believe that adults pursue learning because it answers a variety of deep needs. It offers an escape, characters (fictional or not), and the value of testing one’s own current view. Reading helps define who we want to be, morally and intellectually and widely equips us to enter conversations across perspectives.
I’m convinced that too many adults were forced to read the classics in secondary school before they were equipped to discover their own thoughts. This lack of understanding combined with outmoded curriculum forced students to read terrible examples of “great work” that killed their desire to try again. Exposure to classics (like Shakespeare) is important, but so is giving them work they love as a tool for teaching analysis and exploration.
An example. I read a lot of classics on my own from junior high onward once I discovered that they weren’t all soul-sucking miseries. Turned off by classics like House of the Seven Gables, we all thought all dusty, old tomes were unrelatable or filled with outdated language and ideas. But on my own, I read Jane Eyre and The Count of Monte Cristo and discovered worlds rich in romance and revenge. It opened my eyes to how the classics underpin today’s great works. I’ve re-read Jane Eyre many times for pleasure and literary analysis and discover something new every time. (A recent re-read of House of the Seven Gables, however, cemented for me how much I dislike it on a number of levels with the confidence to say why.)
So, how to begin walking a path of lifelong learning? It merely starts with a desire to discover something you simply don’t know whether it’s history or literature or current events. The process follows a path from initial confusion to moments of clarity, then a confidence in your own views. Sometimes, the work is just not your cup of tea. You may vehemently disagree with the author. And when you discover those moments, you begin to trust your ability to learn and analyze. Once you discover how this process works for you, you discover the foundations of an intellectual life. Deep reading or sustained attention becomes a joy, not a chore, and spending long evenings with a book, making notes in margins, and having conversations with others over months or years becomes a pleasure. And as you learn, you’ll find lifelong learning involves humility, revising beliefs, and tolerating ambiguity. It earns us the enjoyment of thinking well and the social, moral, and intellectual growth that follows.
Connecting. Creating. 
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