I’m not naturally a question-asker.

It’s a tad awkward to admit, considering my line of work is in the ‘telling stories’ business, which usually requires a bit of back-and-forth with other people.

And sure, I can summon a sentence with a question mark tacked onto the end of it with a bit of effort.

But outside of work? Nup. Nope. Nada.

My hand remains firmly by my lap whenever a presentation ends and the host eagerly asks the room if there are any questions.

If I’m on a city tour, I marvel the grand architecture in silence, satisfied with the information presented by the guide.

If I were a lawyer, my favourite line would be ‘no further questions, your honour!’. It’s all I’d say!

I don’t know what it is. Perhaps the combination of fearing I’ll make some kind of social faux pas, possibly mixed with a slightly introverted personality.

Most likely though, it’s my fear that I’ll annoy someone.

My mum, on the other hand, has an insatiable appetite for questions. She will natter with anyone and everyone. A naturally curious person, she’s constantly asking questions about this and that, why and how, pushing and probing people until she gets an answer. She’s not afraid of asking the hard Qs, either, gently sifting through for information until she finds a nugget of gold.

She would have made a great journalist.

I’ve been inspired of late to ask more questions. To be present in the world, to listen with intention and to succumb to curiosity. So I have set myself a challenge; to slink out of my comfort zone and ask questions of total strangers. I will feed my curiosity! I will be armed with fun facts and knowledge thanks to my desire to dig deeper. I will have anecdotes for dinner parties!

Opportunity One.

I’ve recently joined a new yoga studio. Lemon myrtle wafts across the bamboo flooring, which makes a pleasant change from the Eau-du-sweaty-balls that usually accompanied my last gym. I change into my faded yoga pants and cheap cotton tee, realise I’m parched, and make a bee-line for the complimentary tea station.

Oh no. There’s no water in the jug.

Normally in this situation I would just accept my fate that my mouth will feel like the sandpaper while I try and concentrate on my downward dog for the next 45 minutes. But not the new, curious me. I will... ask for some water.

Okay, not exactly the hard-hitting journalism question I was going for, but still. A slightly uncomfortable-to-ask question! This was my moment. My new yoga teacher walks into the room, and I clear my throat, but she quickly picks up the water jug and takes it to the kitchen to fill up.

I guess there’s next time.

Luckily I don’t have to wait too long for my moment.

Opportunity Two.

A week later, I’m down at the beach with some friends. It’s one of those days where the water lights up like a thousand sparklers in the sun, the sky is the bluest blue, and the slightly-dodgy-looking Mr Whippy van is doing a roaring trade. Pelicans float in the shallows, eyeing a sheltered table optimistically. Every so often there’s a squawk and a flurry of bulbous gullet, as a fish carcass gets thrown their way. A fisherman wearing the preferred fashion of small coastal towns - speed-dealer sunnies - walks past with a huge shark head.

“I wonder what kind of shark that is,” one of my friends ponders out loud.

This was it. My big moment. I was finally going to ask a total stranger a question and get some information.

Boldly, I step away from my group towards the fisherman. I wave to catch his eye.

“Excuse me,” I feel a rush of adrenaline. What a high. “But, um, we were wondering, what kind of fish is that?”

Speed-dealer sunnies looks at me. “Gummy shark, love. What you call flake at the fish n chip shop.”

“Thanks!”

I rush back to my friends. “Gummy shark!” I announce

“Cool,” my friends murmur, before the conversation moves on to what we’re going to eat for lunch.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.