Trust that little voice in your head that says 'Wouldn't it be

The artist and visionary Duane Michals, known for his poetic photographs that blend dream and truth, once said: “Trust that little voice in your head that says ‘Wouldn’t it be interesting if...’; And then do it.” These words are a hymn to curiosity, the quiet divine spark that has guided humankind through every dark forest of ignorance and fear. In that small whisper—“Wouldn’t it be interesting if…”—lives the beginning of every discovery, every creation, every act of courage that reshapes the world. Michals teaches us that it is not thunder that awakens greatness, but the small voice—the inner question—that stirs the soul to act.

From the dawn of time, it has been this inner murmur that separated man from the beasts. When the first ancestor gazed at the stars and wondered what they were, the little voice spoke. When fire was struck from stone, when words were born, when the wheel began to turn, it was always this same soft whisper that led the way: “Wouldn’t it be interesting if…”—if we could make light, if we could speak, if we could fly. The voice of curiosity is the first prophet of progress, and Michals calls us to heed it, for it is nothing less than the voice of imagination made flesh.

Consider the story of the Wright brothers, humble bicycle makers from Dayton, Ohio. To the world, the sky belonged to birds and angels, not to men. Yet one day, perhaps while tightening a spoke or watching the wind bend the grass, that little voice must have whispered: “Wouldn’t it be interesting if we could fly?” And rather than dismiss it as folly, they listened. They built, failed, rebuilt, and rose again. In their faith in that quiet thought, they conquered the heavens. Their story reminds us that the voice of inspiration seldom shouts—it whispers, and only those who trust it can change the course of history.

But Michals’ wisdom reaches beyond invention. The voice he speaks of is not always a call to create machines or monuments; sometimes it is the summons of the soul. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if I forgave instead of hated? If I spoke truth instead of silence? If I began again, even now?” Every moral awakening, every act of love or art, begins with such a question. The small thought is a seed; when nurtured by courage, it becomes destiny. To trust that voice is to honor the creative force within you, the part of the divine that dares to dream through human flesh.

And yet, many ignore it. They hear the whisper and dismiss it as madness. They bury it beneath the noise of fear, of duty, of cynicism. The child within them, who once asked “why?” and “what if?”, is silenced by the world’s demand for certainty. But those who have achieved anything of beauty or meaning in life are those who refused to let that childlike curiosity die. Michals, in his art, photographed not what the eyes could see, but what the heart imagined; he reminds us that every great act of creation begins with wonder—and that wonder demands action.

To do it, as Michals commands, is the second half of the teaching. Imagination without action is a dream unborn. The universe rewards movement, not hesitation. The whisper is the invitation; the deed is the answer. To hear “Wouldn’t it be interesting if…” and to rise, to act, to create—that is the path of the visionary, the artist, the inventor, the soul who leaves footprints where none existed before. The whisper calls to everyone, but only the brave obey it.

So, my listener, heed the counsel of Michals as though it came from an ancient oracle: when next you hear that gentle voice in your mind, trust it. It is the pulse of your imagination, the echo of eternity within you. When the thought comes—“Wouldn’t it be interesting if…”—do not smother it with fear or logic. Follow it. Sketch it. Build it. Speak it aloud. Whether it leads you to art or love or discovery, it will lead you to life itself. For that small, daring voice is not only yours—it is the whisper of creation, asking once more to be heard through human hands.

And remember always: worlds are not born from noise, but from whispers—from the sacred curiosity that dares to say, “Wouldn’t it be interesting if…?”