The Questions We Stop Asking

By LONNIE KING

I spent part of a recent Saturday watching The Godfather trilogy—again.

I have always loved those movies and the original 1972 classic is probably my second-favorite movie of all time.

Like any great film, it seems to reveal something different every time I watch it. Years ago, I was captivated by the crime family, the cinematography, and the unforgettable performances. At this point in my life, I find myself paying less attention to the violence and more attention to the conversations.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t really watching a movie about the Mafia.

I was watching a movie about the questions people ask themselves—and how those questions quietly shape who they become.

Michael Corleone’s Changing Questions

At the beginning of The Godfather, Michael Corleone is asking questions that leave the future open:

• Can I have a different life?
• Can I love my family without becoming like them?
• Who do I want to be?

Those are hopeful questions. They leave room for growth.

But by the second film, his questions have changed:

• Who betrayed me?
• Who can I trust?
• How do I protect the family?
• How do I stay in control?

On their own, none of those strike me as unreasonable questions. And given Michael’s world, they probably make perfect sense.

But they are very different types of questions. They’re no longer about becoming. They’re about preserving. And somewhere in that transition, Michael Corleone becomes trapped by the very life he once believed he could escape.

Better Answers or Better Questions?

That observation made me stop and ask a much more uncomfortable question.

What kinds of questions occupy my own mind?

Not what answers I would give. Not what opinions I hold. The questions I carry with me every day. Because I wonder if our questions shape us just as much as our answers do.

If I spend years asking, “Who’s wrong?” I’ll probably become more judgmental. If I spend years asking, “How do I win?” I’ll probably become more competitive. If I spend years asking, “How do I protect myself?” I’ll probably become more suspicious. But what if I spend years asking different questions?

• What can I learn?
• What am I missing?
• Why does this person see the world differently than I do?
• How can I love this person better?

Those questions don’t simply produce different answers. I think they produce a different person.

Growth Is Not the Same as Drift

As I thought about this, another distinction became important to me: we spend much of our lives believing our character is shaped by the answers we hold, but I’m no longer convinced that’s true. I think we’re shaped just as much—perhaps even more—by the questions we’re willing to keep asking.

The questions we refuse to ask can imprison us. The questions we courageously pursue can set us free.

To be sure, questioning things and changing your mind isn’t automatically evidence of growth. But neither is refusing to change. We’re all free to our own opinions on anything until the facts of the matter confront us. And when facts contradict opinion, we’re fools if we don’t change and maintain a debunked myth.

Sometimes people stop asking questions. They simply absorb whatever feels comfortable, familiar, or advantageous. And certain that they no longer need to learn and grow, they drift. Maybe not in a visible way. But in a way that subtly separates them from the world around them.

But sometimes people grow…and growth usually looks different. It asks difficult questions. It wrestles. It listens. It is willing to follow truth even when that truth costs something.

From the outside, both people may end up believing something different than they once did. But the journey matters. The reasons matter. The honesty matters.

Remaining Teachable

The older I get, the less convinced I am that life is about collecting the right answers. I’m becoming more convinced that it’s about cultivating the right questions.

Questions that keep me humble. Questions that keep me curious. Questions that remind me there is still something to learn.

Perhaps that’s why I keep coming back to stories like The Godfather. Not because I admire Michael Corleone’s choices, but because I recognize how easily any of us can become imprisoned by the questions we stop asking.

I’ve lived long enough now to realize that the moment I believe I have nothing left to learn is probably the moment I stop growing. So maybe the most important question isn’t whether my answers have changed over the years.

Maybe it’s this: what questions are shaping the person I’m still becoming?

And, lately I’ve been thinking the questions I ask every day are quietly shaping the person I’m becoming: more authentic inquiries and fewer leading questions that I feel like I already have the answers to.

If that’s true, then maybe one of the most important things I can do isn’t defend my answers quite so fiercely. Maybe it’s to become a little more intentional about the questions I carry into tomorrow.