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The world is an iceberg, hiding the great majority of itself behind interfaces. The front-end experience, I have discovered, is magnitudes less interesting than the underlying infrastructure. Behind every door, every panel, in every wire and circuit, there are gears and cogs, bits and bytes. They move and spin and flash entirely without pretension, an enormity in an instant.

We are all interconnected, part of one machine. Set aside the metaphysical for a second and consider the physical implications of this. Often less chaos than ordered discord, my actions have real and lasting consequences, and that is exciting! Sometimes the results are small, sometimes they’re large, but for every action, there is a reaction.

“Why” drives me onward, encouraging me to discover why something is. “Where,” “what,” and “how” are greater together as “why” than they are alone. Larger than the sum of its parts, “why” is an insatiable curiosity as great as any hunger or thirst I will ever feel. Is there a limit? In the end, the limit is where I draw the line.

The question that keeps me hacking is “what happens if?” “What happens if I pull this gear out?” “What happens if I type this?” “What happens if [anything]?” Far beyond computers, electronics, or hardware, hacking is an application of perpetual discovery. A hacker is never bored, because there will be an infinite number of questions to be asked, long after the time for questions is finished. In my own mind, I find endless possibilities, and all it takes is a hack or two.

The question shouldn’t be “why hack?” but rather “why not?” How can someone possibly go through living experiencing it in the most shallow manner possible, never looking past what’s presented? It’s unfathomable that someone could spend a lifetime with a toe in the shallow end, for fear of the unknown. In the deep end there be monsters, but they’re far outnumbered by the wonderful experiences that come with discovery.

A life on the surface is possible because apathy is addictive. It’s easier to take things at face value and accept them, because that path is already trodden. Someone has asked all the questions that need asking and provided the answers, and this is abhorrent. I don’t want to just push the feeder bar and receive my pellet: I want to know why a pellet comes out, and what happens if I push it as fast as I can.

Hackers are made, not born. Every one of us was born with the potential to be curious. It doesn’t take a genius to be a hacker. If this were the case, hackers would be few and far between. The difference, as with most facets of a person’s personality, lies in the upbringing.

My father was a carpenter, plumber, and all-around handyman. He never sat me down and said “now you’re going to learn to like tinkering, or else.” Instead, I watched him solve problems on his own, often making the product better in the process. Many children believe their father can do anything. When said father comes pretty close on a domestic scale, that leaves a lasting impression. Very early on, I learned that with a little bit of knowledge and the willingness to try, a person can accomplish anything.

I started out taking apart old appliances and toys. If a screwdriver didn’t work, I took a hammer to whatever had piqued my curiosity. It was an inauspicious and often messy start, as my mother could attest. True too, it resulted in a few smashed items that weren’t meant for my own brand of exploration, but it was a fantastic way to start learning about the world around me. To this day, nothing makes me happier than disassembling something to see how it works. It was a childhood and set of experiences that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Raising a hacker doesn’t have to be so dramatic. If there’s one thing a parent can do to encourage a child to dream big, it’s to simply encourage them. Show them there’s more to the world than meets the eye. Learn a little bit about nature and then share it. In fact, learn about anything and share it with anyone, for that