The Question That Changed Everything

It started rattling around in my head when I was 19, about halfway through my sophomore year at Northwestern. At first it was a whisper, an imperceptible sidewalk crack — something I could easily ignore. 

Eventually it transformed into something big, bellowing and tectonic, a question I couldn’t evade: What do you really want to do with your life? 

I had come to Northwestern certain I knew my destiny: I planned to study social policy, apply to law school and become a U.S. senator. But the more I learned about the realities of policymaking, the less I saw myself pursuing that role. The question haunted me. I found myself zoning out during my public policy classes and slogging through the assigned reading. 

That is, until one project changed my entire trajectory. As part of a course on human development, we were assigned to interview our grandparents about their life stories. The purpose was to understand essential needs and experiences across the lifespan. 

I interviewed my maternal grandparents, who lived in Chicago. I thought I knew their stories. But as I questioned them, they revealed parts of themselves I’d never known: the isolation and desperation my grandmother felt as she raised a special needs son (my uncle) and how constantly moving as a young boy during the Great Depression had forced my grandfather to become a master at quickly forming friendships. 

During those conversations, I witnessed the power of questions to transform our relationships, creating tighter bonds and a deeper understanding between us. Questions unlock knowledge that can change the way we see the people we love the most. 

Later, I’d learn that questions transform more than just our relationships with others. Questions also change the relationship we have with ourselves — if we’re asking the right ones.  

That led me back to the big question about my career. I knew a career in journalism would allow me to regularly conduct interviews and craft questions. I’d been the editor in chief of my high school newspaper. But my parents were also journalists, which meant embracing it as my calling was complicated: Part of the reason I’d chosen social policy was because I wanted to carve a unique vocational path for myself. 

Now, I saw a different way: Even if my parents and I started out on the same path, it didn’t mean I couldn’t look out for untrodden offshoots. 

Lucky for me, I was only a few steps away from one of the best journalism schools in the country. 

By the end of my sophomore year, I had declared my major in journalism, while continuing to take classes in political science and psychology. And I developed and deepened a love for questions that eventually led me to write my first book, How to Fall in Love With Questions: A New Way to Thrive in Times of Uncertainty. 

Inspired by poet Rainer Maria Rilke’s encouragement to “love the questions themselves,” the book is all about how we can use the uncertainty in our lives to propel us forward rather than keep us stuck. 

I want to inspire others to listen when a big question is whispering to them. Maybe it’s How do I find a career that gives me a sense of purpose? Or How do I know if I’m in the right relationship? 

Through research and reporting, I’ve found that there’s a way to live with, and even love, these questions. It starts by listening to them when they call out to you. 

Elizabeth Weingarten ’10 is an author, journalist and applied behavioral scientist who works at the intersection of science and storytelling. She writes the Substack “Time Travel for Beginners” and lives in Northern California with her husband and son. She is a former Northwestern Magazine intern.