I remember in grammar school the teacher asked if anyone had any

In the curious and revealing words of Cormac McCarthy, “I remember in grammar school the teacher asked if anyone had any hobbies. I was the only one with any hobbies and I had every hobby there was... name anything, no matter how esoteric. I could have given everyone a hobby and still had 40 or 50 to take home,” we glimpse the restless soul of a mind that refused to be still. These are not the idle recollections of a child, but the early sign of a spirit shaped by wonder—a hunger to know, to touch, and to understand the many corners of existence. In these words lives the heartbeat of curiosity, that ancient fire that has driven humankind to build, to question, and to dream since the dawn of thought.

The meaning of McCarthy’s reflection lies in his unending fascination with the world. To have “every hobby there was” is not a boast of possession, but a confession of longing—a thirst for experience that could never be fully quenched. It speaks of a soul unwilling to confine itself to one pursuit, for it saw beauty and mystery in all things. Such curiosity is the mark of the seeker, the wanderer whose joy lies not in mastery, but in discovery. McCarthy’s child-self, eager to collect all knowledge like treasures, reveals the timeless truth that curiosity is the first step toward wisdom. For one who wonders deeply, life itself becomes a vast and sacred classroom.

The ancients understood this well. The philosopher Aristotle declared that “all men by nature desire to know,” and that this desire is what separates humanity from the beasts. The great polymaths of history—Leonardo da Vinci, for example—carried within them that same insatiable curiosity. Da Vinci studied anatomy and art, engineering and poetry, the movement of birds and the shape of rivers. Like McCarthy’s child-self, he found no boundary between the disciplines of the mind and the mysteries of life. It was this multitude of interests that allowed him to see connections invisible to others—to paint not only with color, but with understanding. The curious mind, though scattered in the eyes of the ordinary, perceives the secret unity of all things.

In McCarthy’s quote, there is also a quiet defiance against the dulling of wonder. The teacher’s question—simple, routine, expected—was met not with uniform silence, but with a small hand lifted high, carrying the light of imagination. It is a moment symbolic of childhood itself, when the world still feels infinite, and knowledge an unending adventure. Yet how often does that light dim as the years grow heavier? Many forget their hobbies, their fascinations, their wild questions about stars and shadows. They trade wonder for certainty, and curiosity for comfort. But McCarthy never did. The man who would one day write of deserts, outlaws, and gods still carried the child who once wanted to hold the whole world in his hands.

This passion for exploration would later define his life’s work. Cormac McCarthy, though a writer of terrifying beauty and brutal simplicity, was a man of vast intellect—one who studied physics, mathematics, and philosophy alongside literature. His novels pulse with this breadth of understanding: the weight of cosmic law in Blood Meridian, the quiet ache of human morality in The Road. His “hobbies,” so many and varied, became the raw material of his art. They taught him to see beyond the surface—to glimpse the hidden forces shaping both the universe and the human heart. His childhood curiosity did not fade; it evolved into a wisdom both ancient and eternal, woven into the bones of his storytelling.

From his words we learn a lesson both profound and practical: never abandon curiosity. To live well is to keep learning, to keep asking, to remain astonished by the ordinary. The world is not a finished book—it is a manuscript still being written, and those who continue to wonder are the ones who help write its next lines. Nurture your hobbies, not as distractions, but as gateways to understanding. Let them teach you patience, perspective, and the joy of creation. Whether you study stars, carve wood, or learn a new melody, you engage in the ancient act of communion with the world.

And so, dear listener, carry this truth with you: the curious heart never grows old. Fill your life with questions, and your hands with crafts. Read, explore, experiment, fail, and begin again. Do not measure your worth by mastery, but by the depth of your engagement with life. As Cormac McCarthy reminds us, to hold “every hobby there was” is not to hoard skill, but to live fully—to dance with the vastness of existence, to taste from many cups, and to find joy in the simple act of seeking. For in the end, it is not the answers that define us, but the courage to keep asking.