I don't know, just ask.

To ask is to lead.

My son is almost three years old and our conversations go like this. (Seriously, this is almost word-for-word from this morning.)

Him: "Da-aaaa-aad... what's this called about?" he asks pointing at some frozen zucchini.

Me: "That's zucchini."

Him: "Why?"

Me: "Uhh, it was going off so I froze it."

Him: "Why Dad?"

Me: "I've heard it's good in smoothies."

Him: "Why?"

Me: "Apparently it makes them creamy.

Him: "... Why?"

Me: "I don't really know. Can you pass me that glass?"

...

How many questions do you ask every day?

On average, children ask 40,000 questions between the ages of 2 and 5. Sometimes it feels like my son intends to double that number! Boy is he learning fast.

But something happens as we grow older. Many of us learn to hide our curiosity. (It's still there, but scared or repressed.)

Last Thursday, I returned from training a group of sports sector leaders in Whangārei.

The taxi driver and I soon got chatting about the meetings at their taxi firm. (Turns out the drivers attend just one meeting a year where they look at the financials, the data - "all that normal stuff", he said.)

"If you owned the company, what changes would you make?" I asked.

"Who me?" he asked, incredulous.

As we pulled into our street, he goes: "You ask a lot of questions."

I wasn't sure if he meant it as a compliment or criticism.

Schools and workplaces quash our questions

"How will this help us in the real world?" was one of my favourite questions in Maths class. I rarely got a satisfactory answer.

Many workplaces are even less tolerant of questions than our schools.

Asking a question can sometimes feel like a mini act of rebellion. You're challenging the status quo. Questioning the perceived wisdom. Shining a light on things people might prefer to stay hidden.

You don't want to rock the boat... so you remain silent.

But when we withhold questions, we withhold possibilities.

What if you asked more?

I've realised recently that I'm a little bit like a headtorch. Pop me on your head and you'll uncover things hiding in corners; you'll make the darkness a little less scary.

Questions are like that too.

Next time you feel a question bubbling up inside you, please - please, I implore you! - channel my two year old son.

Be the headtorch. Don't hold yourself back. Just ask.