Ever since I was a child, I have taken great pleasure in asking questions. I believe it is my superpower. You know, the thing I do like no one else; my sweet spot, the free money. Not general questions, like how things work and what something means, but deep questions, probing questions. The kind that make people uncomfortable. At first, I didn’t know this was the case. I had the great gift of a grandmother who made me feel like my questions were normal and welcome. She opened herself up like a book and poured out all the wisdom she accrued throughout her life and I soaked it up like a thirsty plant. I wanted to know what made her tick. Why she did the things she did. I wanted to understand her motivations and because I listened to her heart I could deeply love her. Even though it was no secret that she wasn’t a perfect person, I could overlook all the ugly because she had allowed me to see the beautiful. Not...