Schools teach children to expect solutions in the final pages, but everything outside the textbook creates more questions than answers. There are no tidy conclusions between the chapters of your monograph. Seek not the answer section. To propel the story forward, you must know your eternal questions.
After a party: one friend dissects the social dynamics, another maps the flow of conversations, a third recaps the menu. Not everyone is curious about the same things, but everyone is pulled by questions they can't help but ask. These curiosities are different for everyone.
Your curiosities are linked to deep, eternal inquiries that drive you imperceptibly. They are the grooves you slip into easily. They also reveal the paths you tend to avoid.
The opposite of curiosity is fear. Fear builds walls from untested assumptions—models of the world you consider safer than reality. These fears are also linked to deep questions, but you assume the answers will hurt you. And since you associate pain with death, you stop asking.
Fears are different for everyone too. Your playground is another person's taboo. Questions are simply what you do not know. Eternal questions are things you can never fully know. This is why you keep asking them.
You get to choose how we orient around this uncertainty: as someone worthy of discovering answers or too brittle to even ask. To know your eternal questions, stubbornly follow your curiosity into this uncertain world, and let each question turn another page of your story.