Who Is Thinking for You?

A teacher's reflection on the fading art of curiosity and the danger of living on default.

Molly B.
Mar 24, 2026

Curiosity might be the closest thing we have to a cure-all.

The moment you think you fully understand someone, every habit, every belief, every layer, you’ve already lost something important. You’ve already decided who they will be to you, what they will look like to you, what you will see.

You stop looking. You stop listening. You stop being surprised. And those unexpected surprises are where the best parts of people live.

Think about the beauty of unexpected moments: a healthcare worker who finds joy in classical ballet, or a finance guru who belts out opera. Consider the once reluctant student reinvigorated when they got to choose what to study. These surprises remind us of the uniqueness we possess, and sometimes we need that reminder to snap us out of waffled thinking, when we allow ourselves to be boxed in by assumptions and expectations.

Curiosity carries weight. It is a personal virtue, but also a precious resource. It’s our responsibility to carry it into our classrooms and communities, because if we don’t, we misunderstand each other and create environments that limit who people are allowed to become.

As a teacher, I’ve witnessed firsthand the impact of these narratives on families and learning.

I see this play out in the staff room long before it reaches the classroom. There is a common practice of scouring a student’s disciplinary history before they’ve even walked through your door. By reading those notes and those labels of "disruptive" or "unmotivated" written by someone else, you’ve already decided who that child is. You’ve killed the possibility of being surprised by them. I make a point of avoiding those files. Unless a student’s behavior suggests a deeper mental health need that requires specific support, I don't want to know who they were to someone else. I want to see who they are to me. Leading with their history instead of their humanity robs them of the chance to start over.

"If we are to teach real peace in this world… we shall have to begin with the children." — Gandhi

Distrust in our public schools has grown as some parents, swayed by fears of safety or morality, choose to keep their children away from these vital institutions, or remove their access to books that reflect the actual diversity of our world—titles that have lived on library shelves for decades without issue, until now.

Any teacher worth their salt knows the gray area is where the good thinking happens in the classroom: challenging them to think deeper, to evaluate the values they inherit, the beliefs they hold, and the ones they pretend to have. Why are we so afraid of challenging each other? How many more times do we have to avoid discussing the important topics? I’m tired of being polite not to ruffle someone’s feathers.

It’s damaging to families, schools, and children to watch adults avoid hard conversations. It’s not hard to see what they’re learning from these actions.

Children mimic and try on different ways of being to figure out who they are. When they see us skirting around issues at the dinner table or in conversations with family or friends, they learn that order matters more than engaging with what is real, even when those conversations are necessary for building wisdom.

Public schools provide diverse classrooms, texts, and an environment ripe for discussion. Parents don’t realize they are risking their child’s own mind, when they pull them or disallow certain texts or assignments. As humans, we must wrestle with the things that tie us up. It is essential for our growth. Even if it is in direct contradiction to what we believe. In fact, especially then.

This need for curiosity is increasingly urgent as I observe a uncomfortable trend, one that threatens public education. When a leader openly says, "Educated people don’t like me," it reveals something deeper: an unease with the blocks that build a healthy and safe society.

This current presidency fuels a dangerous anti-intellectualism that makes us fearful of differences rather than curious about them. A significant portion of the nation has bought into the lie that some people are fundamentally less than, or that they somehow deserve the cruelty they receive. When that message is modeled at the highest levels, it does not stay abstract, it shows up in classrooms where students mirror that same dismissal of other’s culture, religion, or politics. These days, teachers will avoid controversial conversations altogether, weighing their job security against the value of the discussion. When you’ve seen discrimination in real time, it’s hard to justify the risk.

The “top” validates exclusion, so the “bottom”—the classroom—becomes a place where students struggle to see the humanity in their peers. I am desperately trying to stoke empathy and eliminate apathy. Thankfully, literature lends itself to working that essential muscle.

America has evolved through the strength of difference. People bring unfamiliar ideas, beliefs, and ways of life, and learn to live alongside one another despite struggle. This moment requires us to prioritize curiosity and openness over fear, hate, and othering.

It’s disheartening to see an administration trying to force people into unwelcoming boxes. Policies of division chip away at our humanity. All of a sudden, there is no room in government to focus on what really matters, which is putting love, attention, and care back into the same communities and schools that have raised us. Eventually, smaller systems begin to reflect the same rigidity, leaving little room for nuance, growth, or dissent.

Our nation has always celebrated freedom and ambition. You can achieve your dreams, practice your beliefs, and find your place in a community that supports you, or so we say. Recently, however, I find myself asking, "What are we doing?"

We see students who come to class wondering if their parents will be home when the bell rings, or if their legal status will allow them to apply for the colleges we are preparing them for. We are witnessing cruelty in leadership, where families are torn apart, and marginalized voices are continually silenced, even in classrooms. We take steps forward and are pummeled backward.

I can’t stand by while information is manipulated by leaders with self-serving interests. This administration, marked by racial bias, self-aggrandizement, and hypocrisy, works around the clock to maintain power while disregarding the dignity of others.

I acknowledge I don’t have all the answers, but I do know this: education is my focus. This administration’s gutting of the Department of Education harms not only my students but the very foundation of civic engagement. When we talk about “gutting” these systems, we are talking about the potential loss of Title I grants and IDEA funding—resources that over 30 million children, including those with disabilities and those in our most impoverished neighborhoods, rely on just to have a level playing field, if you can even say that.

At the same time, the weight of this anti-intellectual culture is taking hold as students retreat from their own civic responsibilities. It is hard to watch, but there is still a defiant energy in the students who show up and push back. Students stage walk-outs to demand safer schools, use digital platforms to crowd-source community solutions, and show up at school board meetings to highlight local issues. These interventions aren’t always effective, and they are certainly not the norm, but they are proof that we haven’t lost everyone to the “default” yet. Thank God.

Discomfort has become something we avoid, rather than something to learn from. Can we please revive a culture of inquiry and healthy debate? I simply cannot understand why, when people are faced with cold, hard facts, they can’t let go of their pride enough to change their stance, their mind, their behavior, their morals.

These are all expressions of the same underlying problem. A culture that prefers certainty, control, and money over curiosity, humanity, and holistic development. We can’t let curiosity become a casualty, or we lose.

We need people who love their neighbors as themselves, who welcome the stranger, who care for the least of these, who keep an eye on the kids in the neighborhood, who help a friend when they need it, and who challenge their beliefs and hold them loosely, knowing they do not have all the answers.

I tell my students it is dangerous to live on default, allowing culture and niceties to think for you when you haven’t yet learned to articulate who you are.

A culture that values curiosity depends on people who are willing to question themselves and the world around them when it matters. It matters in the choices we make, in what we accept, and in what we choose to ignore.

Leadership was never meant to dominate, but to serve the people.

Watch closely, and take good notes.

Class is in session.