All the lessons I have written in my blog so far took time to reveal and reflection to unravel. When a crisis hits, you have many theories about what happened. Only when the dust settles and your mind clears do you begin to understand what actually caused it. Sometimes it takes leaving a company, talking to someone you never would have approached before, or stumbling across an unexpected piece of writing to finally see what was in front of you all along. And when you do see it, the answer is almost never clean. It is a mix of factors — your fault and theirs, the situation and the timing, what you did and what you failed to do. It is never a straight line.
We crave epistemic closure. The feeling of having figured something out is genuinely useful — it frees up mental bandwidth, allows you to move forward, and makes you feel less at the mercy of events. For small things like executing your to do list, experiment a side-hustle, closing the loop quickly is the right move.
But the big things resist this. They require you to keep checking in with yourself, to monitor your own progress, to iterate and course correct without ever arriving at a final answer. You cannot know for certain whether you are right. You can only keep adjusting. Some of the lessons I posted is this blog formed through real experience and difficulty, and still subject to revision.
Advice, then, is not a fixed object. It has weight, scope, and a particular purpose. The same piece of advice means something different depending on where you are in life when you encounter it. Some advice must be taken seriously and sat with for a long time before its meaning becomes available to you. The absence of immediate recognition is not a sign that the advice is wrong. It may simply mean you have not yet lived long enough to hear it.
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