The Questions Beneath the Questions: What People Really Want to Know, and Why
- David Sheret
- Dec 24, 2025
- 5 min read
Curiosity is often dressed up as a hobby, something we do when we have spare time and a decent Wi‑Fi signal. In reality, wanting to know things is closer to a survival instinct IMHO. I've always been interested in this part of human behaviour. From watching my Dad buy and sell horses (it's a tough game, that is) to applying it to my own life. So as I continue my personal development on the subject I'm going to share the findings and hopefully this will be well received and you'll buy a copy of AON: THE CALL. If not, not harm, no foul.
The brain is a prediction machine, and prediction runs on information. When we ask, “What’s going on?” we are really asking, “Am I safe, am I welcome, and what should I do next?” Psychologists have long noted that uncertainty is not merely uncomfortable; it is expensive. When the world feels vague, we burn mental energy scanning for clues. Arie Kruglanski’s work on the need for cognitive closure captures that urge to settle ambiguity. And, as George Loewenstein’s information-gap theory suggests, the moment we spot what we don’t know, curiosity pulls us forward.
Curiosity is not only about facts; it is also about relationship. Communication scholars Charles Berger and Richard Calabrese described uncertainty reduction as the engine of early connection: we ask, observe, and test because knowing makes closeness possible. Leon Festinger offered another twist: when our beliefs and actions clash, dissonance demands a repair, often by seeking information that helps the mind “square the circle”. And as Deci and Ryan’s self‑determination theory reminds us, knowledge feels best when it restores autonomy, competence, and relatedness. Knowing is how we claim a little control back today. And that all makes sense to me, at least in general principle.
What people like to know, then, is not just random trivia; although there is a desire for that in many people. It's information with emotional gravity that carries weight though. We reach for knowledge the way we reach for a handrail: to steady ourselves. First, people want to know what things mean. Facts alone are rarely the point; meaning is.
Viktor Frankl wrote about the human hunger for purpose, and that hunger shows up in ordinary days too. Meaning is how we turn noise into a story we can live inside. It answers the quiet question: “Does this matter, and to whom?” Or at least it should more often than not.
Second, we want to know about other people, especially what cannot be seen at a glance. Are they safe? Are they sincere? Are they on our side? Long before social media, Erving Goffman described everyday life as performance: we manage impressions, we read rooms, we interpret micro‑signals. Add Robert Cialdini’s insight about social proof, how we take cues from the crowd when we’re unsure (think TripAdvisor reviews) and you get a simple truth: a great deal of curiosity is social navigation.
Third, we want to know what will happen next. Behavioural economists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky showed how we struggle with probability, yet still feel compelled to forecast. The future is a foggy corridor; our questions are torches. Even when our predictions are wrong, planning offers the comfort of agency.
Fourth, we want to know how to do things. This is the most practical form of curiosity, but it still carries psychology inside it. Albert Bandura’s work on self‑efficacy reminds us that “how” questions are often confidence questions in disguise. Teach someone a method and you also lend them a belief: “I can handle this.”
Fifth, we want to know the hidden rule, the unspoken expectations, the real incentives, the quiet politics. We sense that official explanations are rarely the whole story. This is not cynicism; it is pattern‑recognition. It’s the mind saying, “There’s a game here. What are the rules, and who wrote them?” Once you can see the rules, you can stop blaming yourself for not winning.
Sixth, we want simple explanations. Not simplistic, simple. Cognitive load is real: under stress, our working memory shrinks and everything feels harder than it should. A clear model is a kindness. The best teachers and leaders do what good editors do: they cut through clutter without cutting out truth. Graeme Wood, my business partner, is a black belt at this.
Seventh, people want reassurance, proof they are not alone. Roy Baumeister’s research on belonging highlights how deeply we need to feel connected. A tidy answer can work like a warm blanket: not because it removes risk, but because it says, “You can face this.” In Brené Brown’s language, reassurance is often the doorway to courage. I like this phrase.
Eighth, we want to know where we fit. Identity is a map. Henri Tajfel’s social identity theory helps explain why we’re drawn to signals of “us” and “them”, taste and tribe. Who are my people? What do people like me do in situations like this? This is why advice that sounds like culture often lands harder than advice that sounds like logic.
Ninth, we want stories. Melanie Green and Timothy Brock wrote about transportation, the way narratives carry us into another world. Stories compress complexity into something we can remember, and they smuggle lessons past our defences. They don’t just inform; they rehearse life. For me, they are life, or at least a huge part of it.
Tenth, we want novelty, the delightful shock of the unexpected. Novelty wakes the brain, but it also widens the heart. A strange fact, a fresh angle, a surprising connection: these are small windows that let light into the day. When the world feels heavy, curiosity becomes a gentle rebellion, a way of saying, “There is more here than my worry.”
Put all of this together and you can see why communicators don’t just deliver information; they deliver relief, orientation, and possibility. They answer the question and the human one beneath it.
So, if you’re writing, leading, selling, teaching, or trying to be kinder in conversation, I think it's good practise to aim for the deeper curiosity. People are not just asking for data. They are asking to feel steadier, safer, and more alive.
The ten things people most want to know:
What does this mean for me?
Who can I trust, and who is trustworthy?
What happens next, and what’s likely?
How do I do this, step by step?
What are the hidden rules here?
Can you explain this simply?
Am I OK, am I normal, and am I alone?
Where do I fit, and who are “my people”?
What’s the story I should remember?
What’s new, surprising, or worth noticing?
Now do me a favour and jump on and buy AON: THE CALL please, so we can keep Finn Moray moving in the right direction.
Happy Christmas to all.
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