to break up with Curiosity.

No, not the robot on Mars… it's already in a long distance relationship with someone

else.

I'm talking about Curiosity Curiosity – the one I can't get off my mind.

Sure, there are a lot of good things about Curiosity: Curiosity taught me language; Curiosity

shared my excitement about the detection of gravitational waves; Curiosity urged me to

see how tall of a tower I could build before it fell over and waited patiently for me to

try a million different paper airplane designs; Curiosity took me to watch the Leonid meteor

shower, carried me through school, taught me calculus, showed me how jig saws work and

how to unclog the toilet.

Yeah yeah, but Curiosity has some serious deal-breakers.

For one, Curiosity's got no loyalty – I mean, how many of you also have a relationship

with Curiosity?

What a player.

And I can't shake Curiosity – no matter where I go, what I do, what I think about,

Curiosity keeps butting in, going off on tangents and asking questions about anything and everything.

Curiosity made me read all of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in one sitting.

And Curiosity tells me things I don't want to hear – like, I'm not going to live forever?

Toddlers are better at learning Chinese than I am?

Genetic modification isn't always bad; sweet, delicious desserts aren't good for me; flying

across the world in AWESOME metal sky-birds is contributing to the destabilization of

our planet's entire bio-hydro-geo-atmospheric system?!.

And after all that stuff I don't want to hear, Curiosity has the nerve to tell me I have

intrinsic biases against ideas that disagree with my world view even if they're right.

But most problematically, Curiosity has no moral compass, and never has.

Long ago, Curiosity taught us how to start fires for cooking, for warmth, and to destroy

neighboring villages.

Curiosity taught us how to manipulate metals taken from the ground and make plows and scythes

to plant and harvest food, and swords to kill.

Curiosity taught us to use long-dead metamorphosed plants and phytoplankton to power the rise

of global civilization and the rise of global temperatures.

Curiosity taught us how to split and fuse atomic nuclei to generate electricity, to

make medicine, and to destroy entire cities.

Curiosity taught us to build miraculous portable personal-augmentation computer-camera-communicators,

and to use them to spy on each other.

Curiosity taught me I can use a magnifying glass to focus sunlight and burn insects.

Sometimes, Curiosity's a jerk.

But still, I haven't been able to break up with Curiosity – I mean, did you know that

if you lift a clock just one meter, earth's gravity causes it to run fast by a few nanoseconds

every year? – and I bet you probably have a hard time with Curiosity, too.

In fact, if there's one thing Curiosity's taught me, it's that human beings fall hard

for Curiosity.

I mean, look at this guy – he's totally in a manipulative relationship.

I suspect we're ultimately just going to have to figure out how to live with Curiosity.

So, here's the biggest lesson I've learned thus far: Curiosity pushes us to unlock lots

and lots of doors, doors to things lifechanging and worldchanging in good and bad ways; if

we listen, Curiosity can help us lay all the facts on the table about what each of those

doors to the future might bring.

But at the end of the day, it's up to us to decide which ones we want to go through.