I was born with an exceptional amount of curiosity. An inconvenient amount, in fact. When I was a child, I had to be shamed into not asking personal questions or snooping in drawers. Luckily, I have grown up to constrain myself from my urge to know.

And I do have an urge to know everything. Curiosity is just one of the tools we have to learn about the world, and it’s a great thing for scientific inquiry. But my curiosity about the minutiae of daily life could get annoying quickly, particularly when it comes to medical stuff.

For example, I read the obituaries trying to find out how people died. Memorials provide this information, unless the family of the deceased want memorials to be given to the Humane Society or the decedent’s Alma mater, in which case my inquisitiveness is frustrated.

I am a frequent victim of clickbait. A headline like “Hollywood Star Falls Victim to Rare Disease”? I don’t know who the Hollywood star is, nor care, but I want to know all about the disease. I admit that ordinary gossip does little for me, but that rare disease? I’m there. (Note: it’s usually something like diabetes, not a rare disease.)

I resist the more rude parts of my curiosity, like asking someone why they went to the hospital. But I am forever, embarrassingly curious.

Sometimes my curiosity has its benefits. I am on my first day of moulage for New York Hope, making people up to look like human casualties of an inland hurricane. It helps to know what an open fracture, a bruised spleen, or a case of cholera look like from the outside. I’d show you a picture, but we’d have some people getting ill.

How would I describe myself to someone who can’t see me? I assume they never had eyesight. I would have to rely on other senses, wouldn’t I?

I am round. Plenty round. Here’s a hug. My nose slopes slightly, but it’s pretty average. I wear glasses; I almost never take them off. My hair is fine and somewhat unruly.

I am not considered beautiful. It’s not a big concern of mine. I’m sixty; I have aged out of beauty.

My voice is a pretty good indicator of how I look; sweet, like a sticky bun. You have all you need about me.

Daily writing prompt

What’s the story behind your nickname?

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My name is Lauren Leach-Steffens; the Steffens got added when I got married. With a last name like “Leach”, it is only natural that one gets the nickname “Leachie”. This nickname annoyed me all throughout grade school, but I eventually accepted it.

The picture, by the way, is of Leach’s giant gecko (the gecko is not related to me.)So tha The nickname for it is the Leachie gecko. See how natural that is?

Then, in college, I became a denizen of the interactive computer habitat PLATO. PLATO was an educational system, but in addition to lessons, it had chats (called TERM-talk), topical threads (known as notesfiles), and email (called PNotes) — it was a lot like the Internet, only it had been around since the mid-70s. We had signons (what you’d call usernames, but they doubled as email addresses. Mine was lleach@pasrf (as in friend of a PASR programmer).

With a username of lleach, it was only natural to turn it into lleachie.

The name is pronounced in the typical English way: just like ‘leachie’, but spelled with two Ls. In Spanish, I guess it’s pronounced ‘yeachie’. A Polish friend of mine pronounces it ‘ell-ee-otch-ee’. I can’t say that’s wrong.

So that’s it. I have never run into a lleachie on the Internet who wasn’t me.

Those of you who follow me have heard me talk about “flow” before. I’m a flow evangelist, ready to talk about this amazing force in our lives which brings us closer to meaningful happiness.

Why do I mention “flow” with this particular prompt? Because one of the characteristics of flow is losing track of time when engaged in activities that bring flow. If we’re talking about losing track of time, we’re talking about flow activities.

“Flow” is a concept brought to us by the happiness psychologist Mihaly Csikzentmihalyi. It is built into the PERMA model of happiness under “A” for “accomplishment” and “M” for meaning.

What are other characteristics of flow activities? They should engage us with challenge without being too challenging. They should totally absorb us, almost like a meditation. They should provide a sense of accomplishment, even in a small way.

My flow activities are writing and moulage (casualty simulation makeup). I may have others, but these are the two I have discovered. Things that are not challenging enough for flow: Doing dishes. Things that are too challenging for flow: Dancing. Definitely dancing. But one person’s flow is another person’s aggravation.

What are your flow activities?

If I have to pick one thing that bothers me, it’s hypocrisy.

Calling out someone else for failings when one is just as guilty pains me. Often it’s done to detract attention from one’s own faults, and that irks me the most. Other times hypocrisy results from blindness to one’s own faults.

I am a hypocrite. I can’t stand hypocrisy but I’m certain I’m guilty of it. I try to stomp it out, because I can’t stand it in myself. The only way out of hypocrisy I can see is to be unflinchingly honest about one’s faults, to be able to say “I, too, am guilty”. I probably fail at that, too.

I wonder if we are all doomed to occasional hypocrisy, being human, and being less than self-aware as a defense mechanism.

I have an odd definition of romantic that does not involve bouquets of roses, ornate proposals, or diamond rings. What is romantic, to me, needs to be rooted to what’s meaningful to the couple in question.

For example, if your partner likes sunflowers, giving sunflowers will be much more romantic than giving roses. A public proposal is anti-romantic, serving only to satisfy the proposer’s ego, but a private proposal where you two first met has promise. Saving a ribbon, or a playbill or other memento, is a romantic gesture saying “I will remember you.”

Context, the context of the couple, is vitally relevant. Romance is a shorthand for a set of breathless feelings that the two will hopefully remember years later with the reminder of a moment. Generic content creates bland shared language.