The Most Complicated Philosophical Ideas to Fall Asleep To

God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off of us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement? What sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?

This passage, written by Friedrich Nietzsche, poses a fascinating question: What do we do when we no longer find meaning in our religions and long-standing traditions? What do we do when the very foundations of society have been broken? How do we overcome the void that nihilism leaves behind? Nihilism is the belief that life has no meaning, that morals and values don't exist, and that all the structures and institutions we seem destined to live by aren't real. You don't have to care about anything because nothing matters.

At first, the idea of nihilism is liberating. Some might even say it's comforting. Imagine waking up without that feeling of the weight of the world being on your shoulders, or going to bed without feeling like you've let everyone around you down. You're no longer bound by religion, moral codes, or sacred traditions. You're free to live life on your own terms because, at the end of the day, nothing matters.

The philosophy of nihilism was popularized by 19th-century philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. But, contrary to what people think, he didn't want a nihilistic society. Instead, he believed nihilism was necessary to break down the institutions of morality of the time and to allow something new to take place; in a sense, to allow us to become gods. His philosophy was that we need to overcome nihilism, not get stuck in it. He believed the world has no order or structure except what we give to it; essentially, what we think about the world is what is. If we believe that nothing matters and that life has no meaning, then we're destined to live in a world void of meaning, community, relationships, or anything else we might value. He felt the effects of this philosophical approach would destroy any conviction society had, and we would see a full-blown crisis of humanity. Some of that came to pass in the 20th century after he died, when themes of nihilism were resonating with artists, social critics, and philosophers. The second half of the 20th century was defined, in part, by anti-foundationalism, an attitude of indifference to social structures, business, and what some might have called "The Man." By the 2000s, a mood of gloom, anxiety, anger, and despair had taken hold and, in many ways, still has a severe grip on people. Still, people turn to nihilism not to feel despair, but to try and find an answer to the question we all have: Why? Why do I have to wake up every day and work 8 hours at a job I hate? Why do I have to follow religious traditions that I don't even believe in? Why do I have to live my life according to the rules of others?

These questions have become even more prevalent in our post-pandemic society, where it feels like the world is crumbling every day. We hear of a new war in a different part of the world, and there's a cost of living crisis everywhere you look. AI is taking some of our jobs, and flowers are blooming in Antarctica. When faced with this horrifying reality, the concept of "nothing matters" can be freeing. By taking the meaning out of things, they stop being so bleak. Instead of worrying about the future, you have an escape, an opportunity to not deal with the questions that you might not have the answers to. It's why the subreddit r/nihilism grew from 31,000 people before the pandemic to around 150,000 members today.

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Now back to the story. The world, its problems, and our questions and worries about it can feel infinite; it's overwhelming. But nihilism offers an opportunity to feel insignificant within it all, to feel like you don't matter because none of it matters. There's endless freedom in that; it allows us to feel indifferent about things that would otherwise occupy our attention 24/7. The world doesn't affect us, and therefore we don't affect the world. Politics doesn't matter; hardship doesn't matter. But the challenge with nihilism, and the problem that Nietzsche was unable to solve, is that at the same time, that means friendships don't matter, family doesn't matter, love, happiness—none of it matters. If we fall too far down the nihilism rabbit hole, we start to feel a sense of loss—loss of the things that bring us joy in a world that's already hard to live in, and loss of our own selves. Embracing nihilism is understandable and sometimes helpful, but it can create a loss of purpose and motivation in our lives. That sense of indifference about the world means we're also indifferent about our lives and the path we want to take. This makes us feel emptiness and despair about who and what we are. It can lead to destructive behavior. If nothing has meaning, then our actions don't have consequences. We end up not feeling any sort of personal responsibility for what we do, even if we do bad things. Nihilism also makes it very hard to establish an ethical framework. I mean, it questions the very existence of morals, values, and ethics, and without these, there aren't really any universal principles to bond us all. Sure, we don't have to agree on everything, but if we stop trying to be good people and caring about others, society will fall apart. It means we become disconnected from not just strangers but also the people closest to us. Nihilism questions the mere existence of relationships and institutions; essentially, it challenges community. It fosters a feeling of detachment. Sure, not all institutions are good, but many are important to how we build our lives. We go to school to learn, but also to socialize. We play pickup basketball at the local park to exercise, but also to socialize. We go to places of worship to perform our religious practices, but also—you guessed it—to socialize. Because, at the end of the day, we're social animals, and community is one of the most important things in living a long and healthy life. These actions that we use to bond with others are also teaching us empathy. Humans are the only species that are able to understand and experience without living it; we have empathy for others. If nihilism asks us to get rid of that empathy, it is not only asking us to let go of a vital part of ourselves, but it's also creating cracks in our social cohesion. This is the destruction that Nietzsche was worried about.

He dedicated his life to understanding nihilism. He saw it as the result of people's frustrations while searching for meaning and purpose in religion. Nietzsche was writing about this after the Enlightenment, when people started questioning the religious principles that had guided society for so long. Suddenly, the age-old purpose of living for God didn't hold meaning anymore because people stopped believing in God. The collapse in meaning also meant a collapse in purpose. Whether we like it or not, purpose in our life often comes from suffering and pain—things Nietzsche felt were essential to experience to live a profound life. He told us it was out of the deepest death that the highest must come to its height. Nietzsche wanted to turn nihilism around. He believed that if we survived a takeover of nihilistic principles, we could discover the correct course for humankind. In this sense, nihilism is a transitional stage of life that needs to be overcome to find meaning in why we suffer. However, Nietzsche also believed that not everyone has it in them to overcome nihilism. "Passive nihilists," as he called them, would never find meaning in the world. Their approach to life embraces a feeling of nothingness and despair. This, unfortunately, often leads people towards mass movements that like to tell them what to believe: cults, political parties, and religious groups give passive nihilists an easy way out. On the other hand, active nihilists might recognize their purposeless existence and strive to work their way out of it. This can look like destroying old values and constructing new ones that are meaningful to how you see the world and your own personal evolution. Think of a piece of stone—meaningless when it is just plopped in front of you. But if you start chiseling away at it day after day, you can create a spear, a statue, or jewelry and give it purpose and meaning. Of course, we don't always get the stone plopped in front of us; it can be hard to figure out where to start looking for that meaning. We might not be born with a single passion or life purpose, but if we allow ourselves to feel our suffering, difficulty, and pain, we can get an idea of what we want from life. If we envy a friend who has been practicing tennis day after day and finally wins a competition, maybe that's a sign we should try tennis or even just pick up a new hobby. If we see people suffering in our community, we can turn our sadness into action by volunteering at a local soup kitchen. When we study our emotions, we find meaning, and we can overcome the despair that nihilism might cause us. But how do we know when we've overcome it? Well, imagine you were told you had to live your exact life repeatedly. If you're okay with that, despite the hardship, you're not viewing your life or the world in a nihilistic way. You've learned to celebrate life as a miracle and embrace every piece of it, even when it doesn't seem great. Nietzsche has a metaphor of a shepherd and a snake: the snake had crawled into the shepherd's throat, and at first he's choking on the snake. Then he bites its head off to save his own life. He spits out the head and allows the pain to be a part of him so that he can continue living. He takes control of the despair and the pain. When we allow others to dictate things for us, it doesn't feel good. We want to be in touch with our feelings and tackle our problems from a place of purpose. Nihilism doesn't let us do that; it leaves us instead susceptible to being controlled by others.

The good news is that although Nietzsche thought that once the Enlightenment happened and God became less relevant, people would spiral into a catatonic nihilistic state, they didn't. So now, even if nihilism feels like an enticing philosophy to embrace, it won't be the end of society as we know it. And, in fact, if we play our cards right, it might help us by removing something like God or government from being a central figure in our existence. We take attention off the *so* meaning of our life and put it on something bigger. Maybe our one life doesn't hold all the meaning we thought it would, and maybe that's okay. The author Wendy Shalit wrote a book arguing that a meaningless life could make us happy. Some principles of nihilism can be a savior for the current state of hyper-individualism, a cure for our obsession to find meaning in everything, from what job you have to what you eat for dinner. She coined the term "sunny nihilism," which suggests a chance to enjoy the moment, even if it's chaotic and even if it doesn't feel meaningful. The odds of us just being alive are worth making the most of it. Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more; it's a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Have you ever met someone who calls himself a nihilist? Maybe you have a friend from college or a family member who says they're a disciple of Nietzsche at every opportunity. They love to wax poetic about the meaninglessness of life. Briefly indulging them in their philosophical ideas can expand your mind and help you to see things you never would have. But the truth is, outside of philosophical discussion, leading a nihilistic life is bleak. Think about it: if nothing matters and we're all just specks of dust floating through space and time, what's the point in trying? It all building healthy relationships with friends and family doesn't seem worth it because, in the end, everyone you know will die anyway. All attempts at self-improvement are futile because, in the universe's grand plan, none of it matters.

Even if you're not all doom and gloom, there will be days when getting out of bed will seem pointless, where life itself will seem kind of pointless. And the current state of the world, with issues like the climate crisis, the rise in extreme politics, and economic instability, doesn't help with our psychological state. This glimpse into the void might dissuade you from wanting to do anything with your life. You're staring down nihilism—the belief in nothing—and framed like this, it makes life sound pretty awful. But there's another way to look at nihilism, one that teaches you not to see the glass as half full or half empty, but instead to throw the glass away and drink straight from the faucet until you're satisfied. This is optimistic nihilism—the realization that the universe's meaninglessness is the most liberating thing in the world. It's the type of nihilism you get when standing on the precipice of a huge mountain or watching a mother bird feed her young. It's the profound smack of insignificance you feel when faced with the miracle of your existence, the amount of luck and chance that it took for you to get here in the first place. According to the optimist nihilist, you and I don't matter; nothing does. Religious morality or societal norms don't restrict your existence; you are entirely free in the control of making your life mean something. Once you accept the meaninglessness of your life as a gift rather than a burden, you find peace with the life you have because life is brief and fleeting; it's precious.

Writing in the late 19th century, German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche was worried about modernity. He was very critical of the traditional European morality and the religion of his time, which placed Christian beliefs at the center of social and political life. In his 1882 book *The Gay Science*, he proclaimed the infamous line: "God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him." Here, Nietzsche didn't make an argument for atheism. Instead, he observed that believing in one true Christian God was no longer central to European society. People's lives no longer revolved around the church's calendar or teachings. Industrial means of production gripped Europe, flooding the pockets of factory owners and enforcing a standardized workday on everyone else. With that, personal freedom and agency became core values in society. People no longer yearned for a higher power to guide them through life, explain what comes after death, or show them right from wrong. Increasingly, people took these matters into their own hands. While Nietzsche was critical of religion, he was equally skeptical of what society could become without it. He understood that without Christianity as a guiding principle, people might move through life confused and disoriented. A world without God creates a void of understanding in our lives, and humans aren't psychologically capable of a pure belief in nothing. We're always searching for purpose in anything, even when we're not aware of it. Think about how you start your day. Imagine you wake up and look out your window to see a beautiful owl perched on your balcony railing. You might associate that with having a good or bad day, depending on the culture you are raised in. We're constantly making connections and associations like this in our lives, down to the most mundane things. People aren't built to remain in a constant nihilistic state; it's only a phase that allows us to gain perspective on the structures that govern our everyday life. According to Nietzsche, we fill the void where God once was with ourselves; we become our own tiny gods, so to speak. We give ourselves the authority to distinguish right from wrong and determine our individual meanings in life. If nihilism from a Nietzschean point of view interests you, we made an entire video on nihilism, so you can check that out by clicking on the link in the description.

The existentialists who came after Nietzsche, like French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, expanded on this idea. To Sartre, we have complete freedom over our lives in a world without God or objective meaning. But with great power comes great responsibility. You have the power to shape the life you want to live. Let that sink in for a moment. Yes, you can make good choices for yourself, but how are you supposed to know which choices are good? And how often do you do things that are against your own self-interest? In good moments, when things are going well for you, you might feel empowered and in control. You may get the promotion you deserve or marry the person you love. You might move to a new city and establish a community of friends that you couldn't imagine life without. You've invested time, energy, and love into making a meaningful life for yourself without following arbitrary rules or some intangible plan ordained from above. All the good things in your life have come from you. Yet, in the trenches of everyday life, it can seem overwhelming, especially when you're in charge of making sure you have a good one. To give our lives meaning, we create internal narratives about ourselves, and this is where we start to run into issues. We tell ourselves we're hard workers, and consequently, the importance of our jobs and the identity they provide us with start to weigh us down. It's the same at school: students get sick with anxiety about test scores and grades, as if getting into the perfect college will finally confirm their life's worth. Similarly, you inject meaning into your love and family life. You strive to be the perfect parent, child, or partner because of your belief that these relationships will make your life meaningful. This is what keeps people in unhealthy or toxic relationships; they've attached this idea of meaning or worth to something that's ultimately meaningless. Having to constantly reaffirm who you are because there's no higher power to do that work for you can be exhausting. While we have the freedom of total control, that also bogs us down. What happens when you're busy shaping the life you think you want, yet you're still unhappy? All this meaning-making, trying to make sense of your life, contributes to a plague of depression and anxiety, especially among Millennials and Gen Z. People are burned out, stressed out, and exhausted. So why do we chase meaning, even with this feeling in the back of our minds that none of it matters? There's a contradiction between our pursuit of meaning and the reality of a meaningless universe. It's devastating to confront the idea that all the hard work we put into making our lives mean something is for nothing. Optimistic nihilism is the solution to this anxiety that we inherit when we're forced into the position of making meaning out of our lives. Yes, nothing matters, but isn't that a relief? You can find yourself responding to seemingly urgent work emails at 3:00 a.m. or over-obsessing over your Instagram caption, but in the moment, it feels like the weight of the world rests on these things. You spend late nights tossing and turning, all your mistakes and wrongdoing spinning until you've convinced yourself that you're the worst person on the planet. But embracing that none of these things ultimately matter is freeing. Forgive yourself for your past mistakes and look forward, excited to experience the future. When we're at the center of our own structures of meaning, every choice we make, good or bad, becomes weighted with significance. When you find yourself in one of these mindsets where your life feels too big to handle, remind yourself that you're small and insignificant. The universe is indifferent to your worries, struggles, and mistakes, and in the end, none of it matters. You'll die one day, and in the future, no one will remember your brief flight on this planet. There's no use fretting about trying to create the perfect life because the energy spent making your life mean something is worthless when it's all said and done; you're dust. It's completely normal to allow the squirming sensation of your insignificance to wash over you for a moment, but staring nihilism in the face is only uncomfortable if you let it be. If you call yourself an optimistic nihilist, it's probably good practice to confront all the different emotions your meaninglessness makes you feel; otherwise, you won't reap the actual benefits of optimistic nihilism. Instead, it'll be a bandage to your problems, something you just tell yourself to believe in order to get through the day, instead of a true guiding principle. You need to sit with your nothingness and accept it for what it is. Then use the objective meaninglessness of life to relieve yourself from the pressure that meaning-making entails. Take a look at your life and all it means to you: your relationships, the values you hold close, the things that get you out of bed in the morning. You have to be willing to part with all of them and embrace the void that they leave behind. Suddenly, the choices you make, the problems you face every day, things that take up so much of your mental capacity, don't seem so overbearing. Optimistic nihilism frees you from the crushing burden of meaning-making. Of course, it doesn't absolve you of wrongdoing; your actions still have consequences, and you shouldn't give into all your impulses for the sake of it. Continue creating a life that you love, one that you're excited to live, whatever that means. But just know that in the end, everything you've made will dissolve into the ether, and you'll leave nothing behind. In the face of this reality, take advantage of all the sweetness life offers. The good things in your life are made all the more beautiful because of their fleeting insignificance: sharing a meal with those you love, the smell of blooming lilacs and spring, and even petting your cat. It's such a miracle that you're here, able to experience anything, so shouldn't you spend your life enjoying yourself instead of worrying so much about making your life mean something? Life is precious, beautiful, and all-inspiring, despite its chaos and disorder. It's a wonder that you can find goodness amid a void of meaning. You need to end the hopeless search for meaning-making and dive headfirst into the void. And when you emerge on the other side, you'll find nothing—but that nothing will be clear and bright, a guiding light into a better, yet fleeting, life.

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Sisyphus was a great king of Greek mythology, so clever he was able to outwit the gods themselves twice. He cheated death first by capturing Thanatos, the god of death, then by tricking the goddess of the underworld, Persephone, into releasing him back into the lands of the living. The gods weren't happy with this, and so, for his arrogance, Sisyphus was given a deceptively simple punishment: roll a boulder up a hill. The problem was that the boulder had been magically enchanted to fall back down to the bottom every time Sisyphus managed to get it to the top, effectively condemning him to an eternity of repeating the same impossible and meaningless task. Classical interpretations of the myth view it as an allegory for the futility of trying to escape death; no matter how powerful or clever a person is, we're all doomed to meet the same fate. More modern audiences have found something more relatable about Sisyphus's struggle, seeing it not as a simple parable about the inevitability of death, but more like a metaphor for the drudgery and monotony of their own lives. Every day we wake up, make coffee, take the train to work, stare at a computer for hours, get yelled at by our boss, stare at the computer some more, then take the train back home, binge Netflix or YouTube while eating dinner, go to bed, and then wake up and do it all over again. Just like Sisyphus, we seem condemned to repeat the same meaningless tasks over and over and over. Most of us do this every day for the rest of our lives, as though we're sleepwalking, never waking up or stopping to ask why.

For some of us, one day we're standing on a street corner preparing to go to work when, in an instant, we're struck by the strangeness of it all. Suddenly, nothing appears to have purpose; life is haphazard and meaningless. You look around and you whisper to yourself: Why are all of these people even in such a hurry? For that matter, why am I? What's the point of all this? Why am I even alive? Human beings crave meaning; it's part of our biology. We're evolutionarily programmed to search for patterns in chaos, to try and understand why things are happening; it's how we learn. The problem is that existence is, at best, random and irrational; nothing really seems to matter. Your loved ones die; stars explode; natural disasters wipe out entire cities; millions of people spend half their day on TikTok—and for what? Yet we keep going, constantly striving to create order by giving these things purpose, despite the universe denying it. This conflict is what the French-Algerian philosopher Albert Camus referred to as "the Absurd"—an irreconcilable paradox: we yearn for meaning in a meaningless universe. Camus uses the myth of Sisyphus as an allegory to describe this relationship. We can try to push the boulder to the top of the hill, but inevitably it will roll back down. More often than not, the effects of this are intense feelings of anxiety, alienation, and hopelessness. We shout into the void but are met only with deafening silence—not even an echo.

For most of history, people have turned to religion for answers. You didn't need to worry if your life had meaning because some higher power was there to provide it. This all changed in 19th-century Europe as new forms of science and philosophy threatened to replace Christianity as the central axis around which people's lives revolved. Notable texts such as Charles Darwin's *The Origin of Species* challenged previously held beliefs about the nature of humanity, leading to a radical shift in society away from religion. German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche noted this, famously declaring, "God is dead, and we have killed him." Despite what some may think, that statement wasn't claiming that God had literally been murdered, nor was Nietzsche celebrating. Rather, it was an observation that without Christianity, society had lost the foundation upon which it had built centuries-old systems of morality, metaphysics, and meaning. Nietzsche felt a great deal of anxiety about this, fearing that without a clear replacement, people would succumb to nihilism. I've talked about nihilism before in another video, so I won't go into depth here, but to give a brief explanation: nihilism is the belief in nothingness, a belief that rejects the idea of objective truth. According to Nietzsche, nihilism was a necessary step on the journey away from religion, but it wasn't the destination because it presented a very real problem. If people viewed life as having no inherent meaning, it would likely lead them to despair. Because of this, he sought to speed up the arrival of nihilism so that he could, in turn, speed up its departure. He believed that after nihilism had passed, humanity could finally arrive at the true philosophical foundation on which society could thrive. Unfortunately, while he successfully expedited nihilism's arrival, he failed to do so with its departure. In fact, Nietzsche's philosophy was taken up by many of the violent ideologies that defined the early 20th century. Well over 100 years later, nihilism remains rampant throughout global culture. Trust in both secular and religious institutions is at an all-time low. Our governments are corrupt; there are CEOs with more money than some countries; and our spiritual leaders often appear ineffective and out of touch. Most people today report that faith plays little to no role in their lives. Instead, we've begun looking to science and reason for answers, but these haven't been able to offer a sufficient solution to the problem of meaning either. So what are we to do? Should we just simply accept our fate, conclude that our lives are without purpose, and allow the boulder to roll back over us?

Well, 20th-century philosophers Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre didn't think so. Both argued that in the absence of objective meaning, we, as free and rational beings, must fight to create our own purpose. Sartre is credited as the father of modern existentialism, a philosophical school concerned with our plight as individuals forced to assume responsibility for our lives without certain knowledge of truth. Though its roots can be traced back to 19th-century figures like Søren Kierkegaard and Friedrich Schelling, Sartre differentiated himself by rejecting the idea that humans are reliant on an external power like God to provide us with meaning. He claimed that "man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself" and referred to those who would outsource this responsibility to a higher power as acting in what he called "bad faith." In Sartre's view, "existence precedes essence." We are conceived, and only after being born do we figure out what our purpose in life will be. This might seem like an uncontroversial opinion to us today, but in the mid-20th century, this was a radical idea. For most of human history, it was assumed that "essence precedes existence." Since the time of Plato and Aristotle, it was widely believed that our purpose as individuals was assigned to us before birth; the meaning of your life was ready-made by the gods, prepackaged before you were even born. Sartre's claim was a direct contradiction of this widely held belief—a declaration that we as humans aren't beholden to gods or kings to provide us with meaning, only to ourselves. For Sartre, the only problem of existence wasn't its lack of meaning, but rather its absolutely terrifying level of freedom. After all, without an objective meaning or morality, every one of us is responsible for designing our own purpose according to our own ethical code.

Camus largely agreed with Sartre's diagnosis that we live in a meaningless universe where we, as humans, are, in his own words, "abandoned to freedom." However, he didn't agree with the cure. To Camus, the solution to the problem of meaning wasn't as simple as making up your own; the universe would naturally rebuke our attempts to do so, no matter how hard we tried. We can push the boulder up the hill, but it will always fall back down. This, in turn, would still give rise to feelings of the Absurd, as well as the associated sense of anxiety, alienation, and hopelessness that accompanies it. To Camus, there were only three possible reactions to this. The first of these is suicide, which Camus famously wrote is "the one truly serious philosophical problem." Rather than grappling with the absurdity of life, you can simply refuse to play the game. The only issue is when you're gone, you can no longer enjoy life, however meaningless it may be. It also doesn't actually solve the problem; it only allows the Absurd to decide your fate. It's essentially admitting defeat. The second possible reaction is the solution of faith, which Camus dubs "philosophical suicide." Similar to Sartre's concept of bad faith, it's when a person rejects the burden of creating their own meaning by shifting the responsibility to an external ideology. This amounts to a kind of denial where the individual deludes themselves into thinking they've conquered the problem when, in reality, they're just avoiding it. It's simply an attempt to replace the Absurd with a set of man-made beliefs, the consequence of which is the abdication of existential freedom. Importantly, Camus doesn't limit this to religion; any ideological system can serve this function: nationalism, capitalism, or even the values of our own family. When we allow external systems to dictate meaning to us, we give away the potential to determine our life's purpose. How many of us took a job or studied for a degree solely because our parents told us that we should? In a world as complicated and confusing as ours, it can be tempting to contract out our thinking and just go along with what we're told. But the risk of ruin we run in doing this is ending up in a situation where we're unhappy and unfulfilled. That's why many of us pause on that random Tuesday afternoon and ask ourselves, "Why am I doing any of this?" If, instead, we make our own choices, we can decide meaning for ourselves and follow a path that's suited to us instead of one that's just prescribed. Of course, there's no guarantee of success; in fact, according to Camus, you are destined to fail again and again. What he argues, though, is that this is the only true solution to the problem: to acknowledge the meaninglessness of life and continue living anyway. Or, as Camus puts it, "the only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion." The universe will always reject all attempts by the individual to create meaning, just like Sisyphus; we're doomed to forever push the boulder up the hill, knowing that no matter how hard we try, it will inevitably roll back down to the bottom. Yet we must fight back against the Absurd because it is by virtue of our struggle that we empower ourselves to live life the way we want. It's not about the destination; it's about the journey. This philosophy effectively rejects nihilism as nothing more than a stepping stone on the way to absurdism. Life is meaningless, sure, and the only rational course of action is to behave as such. There is no plan, no objective truth, and everything happens purely by accident. But this doesn't necessitate nihilism. If we instead choose to embrace the Absurd, we can view our circumstances as an opportunity to change our perspective. Camus notes that it's not meaninglessness that hurts, rather it's the desire for meaning being continuously rejected. If we can put aside our desires and simply accept life for what it is, we open up ourselves to experiencing it fully, living as passionately and as intensely as we like. In a world without meaning, we are free to constantly invent and reinvent our life's purpose, changing it as often as it suits us. Today you may be stuck in a redundant, dead-end job, but tomorrow you could easily quit and go about completely redefining your existence. Maybe you want to be a chef or a classical composer; maybe you want to spend the next year backpacking through the wilderness or volunteering with an aid organization. All you have to do is find the courage to acknowledge your own freedom, and you can be whoever you want to be. Knowing this, we can abandon any expectations for the future and instead choose to live in the present moment. It isn't necessary that our actions lead to something bigger; there's no goal we have to reach, no afterlife to prepare for. Then we can find joy in every situation, no matter how unpleasant or absurd, because, well, it doesn't really matter. Although we may be fated to fail, there's no reason we can't be happy while we do it. This might lead to greater empathy for our fellow humans as we recognize that every person alive is fighting the same fight that we are. We can feel a sense of camaraderie in knowing that we're all in this together. We'll never make it to the top of the mountain; the meaning of our lives will forever elude us. But, as Camus says, "the struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart." It's because of this that one must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Have you ever heard of Blue Zones? These are areas in the world where a large number of centenarians live—that's people who are over 100 years old. Many people have studied these areas to try and discover the secret to longevity, and the thing they found is *ikigai*, the Japanese secret to a happy life. *Ikigai* literally translates to "your reason for getting up in the morning." It's a state of well-being that comes from pursuing your purpose in life. *Ikigai* is a part of traditional Japanese thought; it's a culturally ingrained concept inseparable from the Japanese understanding of well-being. Although there's no single Western concept that encapsulates *ikigai*, most of us chase some aspects of it daily. The Japanese psychiatrist Kamia Miko was one of the first to study *ik

Connecting back to ikigai, to enter the Flow State, you need to feel ikigai; otherwise, it's too easy to be distracted. Ikigai also aligns nicely with a cognitive behavioral therapy approach to alleviating depression. CBT therapists often recommend participating in activities that give you enjoyment and a sense of purpose—very much in the spirit of ikigai.

While ikigai is most relevant in Japan, the concept has taken off around the world. Its recent surge in popularity comes from a Western interpretation of the Blue Zones research I mentioned earlier. Longevity researcher Dan Buettner investigated these Blue Zones, focusing significantly on the residents of the Japanese island region of Okinawa. In a famous TED Talk, he used Okinawa's concept of ikigai to understand how its residents live such long, happy lives. He noted that the people had strong social connections, a good diet, and, most notably, lived with a strong sense of purpose. This TED Talk was then turned into an almost famous Venn diagram by blogger Mark Manson. The diagram has become almost synonymous with ikigai in the West.

The Venn diagram is intended to help you find your purpose by suggesting four main criteria represented as circles: the first is something you love; the second is something you're great at; the third is what the world needs; and the fourth is what you can get paid for. In the intersection of these four things, you get ikigai. This Venn diagram has probably helped a lot of people reorient their lives, but it's not fair to equate it with ikigai as it's known in Japan. And, if I'm being completely honest, it seems a bit unsound on a philosophical level. The weakness of this Venn diagram is that it ties this feeling of meaning tightly to the external world. It makes our happiness dependent on material conditions that don't always match reality. And, for a lot of people, the intersection of these four circles simply isn't possible. How many people have you met who don't get paid enough for doing the things they love to do or find most meaningful in their lives? Many of us have passionate goals where financial success is just too far out of reach. We pursue lofty dreams like becoming great writers, actors, or performers, but very few of us get paid well in these pursuits, and most of us don't get paid at all. Does that mean that all of those who don't get paid enough aren't chasing their true purpose? To assume that would be ridiculous.

The reality is, if we remove financial compensation from the equation, we might actually find more satisfaction in our pursuits. We can find contentment by acting in smaller roles in local plays or performing stand-up comedy routines in our basement for our friends. The other three circles of the Venn diagram were also unnecessary additions to the traditional notion of ikigai. You don't have to love something for it to give you purpose or satisfaction, and you don't have to be skilled at it either. Most of us don't have an extraordinary skill, but that doesn't mean we're not worthy of pursuing ikigai. Ikigai doesn't need to be something others need either. Your purpose in life doesn't have to be tied to your economic value, nor should it be. It's just not possible for most people to have a perfect career that gives them purpose; the material conditions have to be just right for this to be possible. Now, CEOs tend to love this diagram; they're often in the perfect position to make their Venn diagram ikigai possible. But then again, they'd probably be confusing what other people want for what they need most. CEOs oversee the production of a want and not something essential. So, critics have rightly pointed out that we can't rely too heavily on the external world for our happiness; the events of the universe are out of our control, so we're better off focusing on what we can control.

Unlike the Venn diagram, the Japanese take on ikigai, explored by Kumiya and Kumano, doesn't rely on financial compensation for satisfaction and doesn't agree that your purpose has to be something others need. It's more open and less corporate-minded. Now, for the sake of being comprehensive, there's something else about ikigai I wanted to share: the average person in Japan doesn't necessarily think of ikigai in terms of a larger purpose. Some say it has to do more with small joys rather than aligning your activities with a grand purpose or success in your career. Their idea of ikigai ranges from living with a sense of purpose to enjoying the small things in the here and now. It's a bit more similar to Zen Buddhism in focusing on the pure present. It's difficult to pinpoint the exact meaning of ikigai for everyone, but there's clear value in thinking of it simply as your reason for getting up in the morning. But there's clear value in thinking of it simply as your reason for getting up in the morning. Studies do support that living with a sense of purpose adds years to your life. It can also help alleviate depression and the physical conditions that come from it. That's why, in Japan, policymakers are making efforts to improve ikigai for elders; they've established programs to give the elderly the option of flexible part-time work. Although we often think of retirement as a glorious end goal, it can compromise our ikigai in a big way. One in three retirees report being depressed—a much larger percentage when compared to the rest of the adult population. The reason is likely that retirement removes our sense of purpose and our reason for waking up in the morning.

Finding a reason for getting up in the morning isn't going to be as obvious as analyzing a Venn diagram. French existentialist Albert Camus considered the task of finding meaning to be like Sisyphus pushing the boulder uphill for eternity. But maybe the promise of a long, happy life is good motivation to keep pushing that boulder. If you keep searching for ikigai, you may just find it. It might not be found in the perfect career, but in the smaller activities we enjoy. Who knows, maybe you've found it already. But finding ikigai is still only one side of the struggle; how we pursue it is another. Kumiya documented her own struggle with ikigai in her diary. She wasn't able to pursue work as a writer and scholar for a long period of time and felt a deep lack of ikigai in her life. When she was able to write, she still had her teaching, translating, and domestic responsibilities to attend to. The writing brought its own challenges; she was occasionally filled with self-loathing and boredom. She questioned whether she should abandon writing and just focus on making money instead. But she persisted with writing and found a profound feeling of ikigai in it; it was the only thing that gave her a strong sense of purpose, her reason to get up in the morning. Your ikigai will never be without struggle, and your ability to fulfill it may be limited. But if you're going to get out of bed in the morning, you might as well have a good reason.

Birth is suffering; aging is suffering; sickness is suffering; death is suffering; sorrow, lament, pain, grief, and despair are suffering; association with the unpleasant is suffering; dissociation from the pleasant is suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering. In brief, the five aggregates of attachment are suffering. If you've ever felt your life is an endless wave of suffering, you're not alone. Everything we hear has things going from bad to worse: wars, economic crisis, natural disasters. It feels like the world is always on the brink of collapse. How do we thrive amidst this chaos? How do we find peace when it feels like we're in the middle of a storm? These are questions that Buddhism seeks to answer. At its core, ending suffering is what Buddhism seeks to achieve. It offers a path that is free of those tempests of doubt, one that is free of suffering—Nirvana.

The origins of Buddhism date back to the 6th century BC in the ancient kingdom of Lumbini, now modern-day Nepal. Back then, the region served as a melting pot for religious and philosophical ideologies, much like today. Many traditions explored meaning, existence, life, and the nature of human suffering. Within this tapestry of diversity, Hinduism stood out boldly as the dominant religion. Its influence could be felt through the caste system, along with its many rituals and deities. From this complex status quo, Buddhism emerged as a reform movement, one that questioned and ultimately sought to transcend the prevailing beliefs.

The Buddha is the central figure to Buddhism, yet he isn't a chosen one that was bestowed this role. The figure we currently recognize as Buddha was once known as Siddhartha Gautama, a prince born into a royal family in the region of Lumbini. Rich, sheltered, and luxurious, young Siddhartha had it all. Just for good measure, his father ensured that he was ignorant of the harsh realities of this world. Much of his youth was spent in blissful ignorance of suffering. However, his fate would change at the age of 29. Venturing outside the palace walls for the first time, he encountered the Four Sights: an old man, a dead man, a sick man, and a monk. These encounters influenced the young Siddhartha to question the nature of human existence and the perpetuity of suffering. With the truth of life revealed to him, Siddhartha could not stay on the path he was born into—a life that was essentially a lie. He realized that he needed to break away. Renouncing the royal life, he ventured out on a spiritual quest, one that aimed to find a solution to suffering. To achieve this objective, he studied under various teachers, practicing extreme forms of asceticism. Now 35, Siddhartha was none the wiser compared to when he began. Acknowledging his disappointment, he realized that both indulgence and severe asceticism were not bringing him closer to the levels of understanding he passionately sought after. Instead of following a path on either side of hedonism and self-restraint, Siddhartha sought to find answers down the middle path, one that would avoid the extremes of self-indulgence and self-denial. With a new goal in mind, he meditated under a Bodhi tree. His path had taken him far from home; now in Bodh Gaya, India, Siddhartha took a vow to remain in meditation until he had finally attained enlightenment. 49 days of deep, concentrated meditation took place until eventually he had a breakthrough. This revelation was so profound that its effects remain strong today. Siddhartha achieved insight into life itself; the nature of human existence, the causes of suffering, and the path to liberation were all clear in the eyes of the young monk. He had attained Nirvana. In that moment, he became the Awakened One—Buddha.

Following his enlightenment, the Buddha spent the next 45 years of his life teaching Dharma, or the nature of reality. Much of Buddhism's history remains well-preserved thanks to this. We know that the Buddha's first sermon took place at Deer Park in Sarnath. It was here he laid out the foundational principles behind Buddhism. At that sermon, the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path were first revealed to the world. Those teachings were unlike anything many had seen before. Instead of a leap of faith seen in most religions, there was something akin to a science behind Buddhism. Its approach to understanding suffering as well as spiritual liberation was unique. Over the years, Buddhist teachings attracted a diverse following; people from all walks of life could find something in his lessons. Kings, merchants, and commoners began to follow the Eightfold Path towards enlightenment. With Buddha's teachings spread across the region and eventually outwards, they were passed down through oral tradition; much of it was also written down in various scriptures that are preserved today. Over time, Buddhism evolved into different schools and traditions, with each of these schools interpreting the Buddhist teachings in their own unique ways. Despite the differences that existed, all forms of Buddhism share the same core goal: enlightenment and the end of suffering.

Before we look at the Four Noble Truths, I want to take a moment to thank the sponsor of today's episode, BetterHelp. One of the things that helps me manage the suffering of life is therapy. For the past few years, I've been in therapy, and it's completely changed my life. Fortunately, I know that while most people want that experience for themselves, therapy can often be inaccessible and way too expensive. If that's the case for you, then I recommend BetterHelp, the sponsor of today's episode. BetterHelp's goal is to make therapy affordable and accessible to everyone. All you need to do is answer a few questions, and in as little as a few days, you'll get assigned to a professional therapist. If you don't like the therapist you're assigned to, or you don't feel they understand you well enough, you can easily switch to a new therapist completely for free, without having to worry about things like who will take your insurance and what therapists are available in your network. BetterHelp has made it easy to get started with therapy. Just click the link in the description down below or go to betterhelp.com/aperture, and you can get 10% off your first month and connect with the right therapist for you. Back to our story.

Much like Christianity centers on Jesus as a prerequisite to his teachings, Buddhism's Four Noble Truths are foundational to understanding its philosophy. *Dukkha* is dissatisfaction, discontentment, and suffering; the inherent inadequacy of life. Physical pain, emotional distress, and impermanence are all forms of *dukkha*. Even in moments of happiness, the knowledge that it doesn't last forever is *dukkha*. Finally moving out of your parents' house is an amazing moment, but that marks the end of your childhood and everything you had known thus far. It doesn't need to hurt, but in many ways, it's that gut feeling where life's ceaseless distress is inevitable. Birth, aging, sickness, death—these are all aspects of life we can't avoid, and they come with a dose of suffering.

What causes all forms of suffering? All forms of suffering have a cause, and they boil down to the same thing: craving or desire. We constantly want things in our lives: a better job, more money, a new car, a new phone, approval from others. This endless craving fuels our cycle of suffering because nothing is ever enough. Even when you get the things you want, impermanence persists. If you had to endure extreme physical pain due to sickness, the anguish unquestionably exists. Yet, for a Buddhist, the mental anguish that comes with physical pain isn't something one has to endure. With meditation and the understanding of impermanence, there's a powerful undertone to draw from. If we're not attached to the naturally healthy body, a change in its state wouldn't go beyond the physical pain we are bound to experience. Sickness and injury, but how we react determines the unpleasantness of a situation. Suffering is quite difficult to deal with, which is why the Third Noble Truth exists. The Buddha taught that suffering could come to an end. There's the state beyond suffering known as Nirvana—not the band, but much like the band, Nirvana feels amazing to engage with. When a Buddhist lets go of attachments and desires, they can break the cycle of craving. This way, they won't have to be reborn into another life of suffering. Nirvana is understood as being free from the continual rebirth into samsara, the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. When all craving is gone, your soul is finally free from suffering, creating a state of enlightenment where you are awake to the true nature of reality. The state of Nirvana is profoundly peaceful and liberating. In many ways, one can imagine it as taking a deep breath after life's drowning feelings of suffering have ceased.

The Fourth Noble Truth lays out a guided path to the end of suffering: the Noble Eightfold Path. This path presents eight practices that can help individuals to live a life that is more meaningful and ultimately free of suffering. In many ways, it's the Buddhist roadmap to personal growth and happiness. Beyond just Buddhism, the path offers a poignant approach to dealing with life's problems—the road to Nirvana itself. The Noble Eightfold Path. Buddhism offers guidance, but it's important to not fall into the pitfall of attachment. With this path and the teachings of the Four Noble Truths, you can remain mindful as you seek enlightenment. Like many of the Buddhist teachings, this path is fractal; in other words, it can apply to little things and it can apply to the big questions in your life. It's also a circular path, so guiding principles reinforce one another. Most importantly, it's a lifelong process. Everything that exists is conditioned by a process called dependent origination. This means everything we experience is a part of an impersonal process; nothing is truly random. Everything happens thanks to causes and conditions. If you see a plane for the first time, you wonder how flying works, and this reaction leads to questions, research, desires, and actions related to that original sighting. The Right View in Buddhism involves seeing that the thing we call reality is just a web of concepts that we've created. Now you must recognize this truth and strive to see things as they truly are. This means we need to accept the Four Noble Truths and let go of the idea of a fixed, permanent self (ego). The idea of "me" is actually a collection of ever-changing feelings, thoughts, and experiences. Once you're able to acknowledge this, you can support your journey through the entire path. Your mind is the source of everything you will ever produce, and therefore you need to cultivate ethical and mental self-improvement practices. Do you have thoughts filled with harmful intentions, ill will, and desire? Work on changing that instead. You'll need to foster goodwill, renounce desires, and cast out any desire to harm. The Right Intention might sound like a no-brainer, but the actual practice is important to cultivate. As your mindset becomes peaceful, you'll find that a harmonious state begins to grow within, allowing you to fully align with your spiritual goals. Now, this part might be especially tough if you enjoy a fair bit of gossip. How you speak needs to be aligned with the Right Intentions. Speak with purpose. If you're fond of yapping, this might be a hard pill to swallow. And, more importantly, you should speak truthfully and kindly. Right Speech is connected to your inner monologue as well; no need to learn how to be kind and honest with yourself. Words have to come from a place of truth, so your communication must build up mental clarity and peace for yourself and others. Words are one thing, but actions have always been the real test of intention. On the path, you *must* learn how to engage in actions that are non-harmful and ethical. Don't steal, kill, and engage in sexual misconduct. And while this might seem like common sense, it gets even deeper. Right Action applies to your mental approach to meditation. Allow thoughts to fade away gently without force and maintain a peaceful state of mind. If you have a pink elephant in your thoughts, acknowledge its presence, understand its nature, learn to coexist with it, and let it fade away. This mindful acceptance helps you cultivate a harmonious and ethical way of living.

The path to Nirvana is best forged by living an honest and ethical lifestyle. However, you'll still need to make a living on the path. In doing that, you should choose a profession that doesn't cause harm to others. Traditional Buddhist teachings tend to advise against occupations that involve deceit, poisons, or weapons. For modern jobs, you want to get into fields that contribute positively to society: working in healthcare, teaching, farming, social work, engaging with nonprofits—these are all means of living that aim to reduce suffering. Some jobs that might not be considered in alignment with the past also exist: dealing drugs, working as an arms dealer, being in the gambling industry, and being a shady salesperson generally aren't seen as ethical. Beyond your literal source of living, this step highlights your mindfulness and meditation in every aspect of your life: your friends, parents, kids, and job. Your outer life should mirror your inner life. Meditation. The path to Nirvana is best followed with a persistent amount of effort. Your behavior is one that should cultivate wholesome states and abandon any unwholesome ones. Point your mind towards the goal but don't introduce tension to it. Meditation isn't a one-day affair, so it will take some practice. Eventually, your mind might lean out of the present moment; maintain your focus without being forceful. And while you'll find it difficult at times, Right Effort is about making a diligent, conscious effort to improve your behaviors and thoughts. When you're fully aware of your thoughts, emotions, and actions in the present moment, you can use mindfulness effectively. Like effort, you will constantly need to remain aware; observe your thoughts and actions. It's like balancing a knife's edge; observe it all, notice the nature of your experiences without attachment or avoidance—like an out-of-body experience. You are simply watching, learning, and ensuring that your behavior aligns with the path.

Crafting your intentions and behavior through the path isn't easy. If you're on the straight and narrow, you'll achieve deep meditative absorption (jhana), where the mind finally becomes unified and calm. This is often translated to concentration, but it goes far beyond that; it's a state of calm mixed with a pleasant abiding. With concentration, you can achieve a focused and tranquil state of mind, one that is essential for your personal growth. Buddhism is inherently tied to the belief in an ongoing cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. This is called samsara, and samsara is driven by the existence of karma. While you're likely familiar with this term, karma in Buddhism refers to the law of moral causation—that is, the intentional actions of an individual result in future consequences. In simpler terms, your actions, whether good or bad, have a direct impact on your future experiences. Karma isn't fate or destiny; it's purely cause and effect. Actions, words, and thoughts contribute to our karma, and the same applies conversely. In Buddhism, rebirth isn't reincarnation. Instead of your soul transferring to a new body, rebirth is actually the transfer of a stream of consciousness influenced by karma. It's like a spectral version of the First Law of Thermodynamics: there's a connection, but not a permanent, unchanging self. Our current lives are shaped by past karma, and our actions in this life will influence our future rebirths. For Buddhists, it's possible to break free of the cycle by building good karma. Eventually, one can break free of samsara and achieve Nirvana.

The part of Buddhism you're likely familiar with is meditation. This practice is definitely just as cool as it looks, especially once you get the hang of it. But Buddhism's most practical and transformative aspects are centered on the concepts of meditation and mindfulness. Thankfully, the Eightfold Path provides a way to get started. Still, it's helpful to have some tips to get started with meditation, especially in our modern age where some nuances may get in the way of Buddhist teachings. Anapanasati, or breath meditation, is a great place to start. This practice focuses on the mindfulness of breathing. Studies have shown that mindful breathing techniques activate the amygdala, our brain's emotional regulation center. This reduces negative emotions within and stimulates positive changes in your mood. Best part is that breathing is accessible, so you could get started right now. But now you're breathing manually—sorry, not sorry. With meditation, you'll eventually become capable of manual breathing without distress. To do this, sit quietly and focus on your breath. As your mind wanders, gently guide your attention back to your breath. Regular meditation sessions will improve your concentration and clarity, offering a precious opportunity to be with yourself—not as a collection of hopes, dreams, or disappointments, but as a living being. You're not "me" anymore; you're breathing, and that's a powerful relief.

Popular in the United States, Zen Buddhism is a valuable form of meditation that positively affirms every aspect of your growth. This practice centers on sitting and being present. It's the sort of thing where your presence of mind allows you to appreciate life more fully and directly. To practice Zen Buddhism, sit in a comfortable, upright position—as long as you're not baiting yourself into a nap, you should be fine. Ensure your back is straight and let your hands rest on your lap, and keep your eyes slightly open while gazing downwards. When breathing, use the techniques from anapanasati; focus on your breathing, mind the rhythm and flow of each breath. The aim is for you to be fully present in the moment. Incorporate zazen into your daily routine if you're looking to cultivate a deep sense of awareness and tranquility. Zen meditation is the exact sort of thing you need before a big day: job interview, first date, final exam. As crazy as it sounds, Zen, if it's a part of your everyday life, the humongous moments will eventually be seen without the construct of desire. That clarity is exactly what helps with your success. Like the keel of a sailboat, Zen provides stability and balance despite the winds and waves of life. Meditation keeps you stable in a storm.

Even if you're having trouble adopting Buddhism's path towards enlightenment, these Five Precepts are a simple guide to get you in sync. If you want to live a morally good life, here's what you can adopt: abstain from taking life (try not to kill any living beings; for most people, that's an easy box to tick. If you're a semantics type of person, there are some layers worth digging into. On a practical level, this extends beyond not killing; don't mistreat people or animals. Even if you eat meat, you've probably never gone to a slaughterhouse requesting the death of a cow for your sake. Ideally, you should adopt a vegetarian or vegan diet. At its core, treat all living beings with care.); abstain from taking what isn't given (as a Buddhist, you should avoid stealing and learn to respect everyone's possessions. This extends to your integrity and fairness in your dealings.); abstain from sexual misconduct (you should avoid sexual behaviors that are harmful to others, but also yourself. If you're in a relationship, treat it with honesty and care. Practice mindfulness and be intentional.); abstain from false speech (avoid lies, gossip, and harmful talk. Instead, we ought to speak truthfully and kindly, using our words to build up those around us rather than tear them down. Even good lies might be dangerous; at the same time, context matters. If you have a friend displaying questionable life choices, it's not a bad thing to discuss a plan with other friends before a confrontation.); abstain from intoxicants that cloud the mind (vices are an easy way out of life's most aching pains. If we want to avoid suffering, it's important to put in the real work. Avoid substances that impair your judgment and mindfulness; drugs and alcohol tend to be a prime example. Focus on maintaining a clear mind, one that is capable of making thoughtful and conscious decisions).

Following the Buddhist path is clearly not easy. At the same time, it's also super realistic. Once you start approaching Nirvana, you're likely going to need to take things a step further than usual—that means thinking on a macro scale. In many ways, seeking Nirvana means that Buddhism is less about managing your life as an individual but rather confronting existence itself as the state of ultimate liberation and peace. It sounds amazing if you're a highly spiritual person seeking to escape the cycle of rebirth; it's the best deal you can get—the end of a long, difficult journey. As a regular individual with no grand thoughts relating to the universe, what's in it for you? In many ways, Buddhism hasn't really been about putting everyone on the same curriculum; it's not college, it's not Sunday school, it's life. Everyone has growing pains they wish they could confront. These teachings exist to help us on a grand scale but also foster transformation on a personal level. Meditation and mindfulness exist to help you develop a calmer and clearer mind. When you learn how to live ethically, you'll gain a more harmonious life, fostering better relationships. If you've never had a moment of peace, these practices can offer solace. The constant noise, demands, expectations, and stress in your life won't end randomly with Buddhism, though you can brave through it all with a balanced state of being. If you find that the teachings suit you, apply them to your life as much as you can, and if they don't suit you, just leave them be. What these teachings highly encourage is your own research. As a practitioner, don't passively accept everything you hear and read simply because they're from a Buddhist. Instead, learn to question things; much like with meditation, be gentle; don't quickly reject those teachings either. See whether they're applicable based on your experiences along with the experiences of others on the path. You know the feeling when it seems like everybody is against you? Those days when you suddenly feel like the most incompetent person in the room, and every move you make is met with harsh criticism? In those moments, it's easy to subconsciously absorb and internalize those negative comments. Without a strong support system or open communication with trusted loved ones, you might start believing those criticisms and see yourself as the bad things people say. This internalized pain, even without malicious intent, can then be passed on to those around you. For example, if you've had a bad day at work, you might come home and unintentionally take it out on your family or friends. Meditation and mindfulness offer a mental sanctuary away from the things that seem to influence *dukkha* within your life. Just like the Eightfold Path presents, getting in the right frame of mind will take you through the most frustrating aspects of life's journey.

One of the most unique aspects of Buddhism is the lack of strict dogmas or commandments. You're not forced to feel like a failure if you stray from the path. Instead, it uses guidelines and practices to encourage a lifestyle that makes sense for your circumstances. Sure, it asks you to rise to the occasion, but not because a book said so. You are encouraged to learn the Buddhist teachings and test them. If you ever feel confused, there are many Buddhist resources ready to lend a hand. With its flexibility, Buddhism can serve as a practical philosophy and way of life. Like with many religions, Buddhism has opened itself up to some profound thinkers. One of such philosophers was Shantideva, an Indian Buddhist scholar from the 8th century CE that worked on *The Way of the Bodhisattva*. His text outlined the path of the Bodhisattva—an enlightened being dedicated to helping all sentient beings attain liberation. For context, a Bodhisattva is someone that sees awakening and is able to reach Nirvana; however, they have delayed that stage due to compassion for beings that are suffering. It's like the ultimate empath in Buddhism. Shantideva spent a lot of his time as a monk and scholar studying the Bodhisattva. From his works, he highlighted that all the suffering in the world comes from seeking pleasure for oneself; all the happiness in the world comes from seeking pleasure for others. This perspective is quite interesting because it centers on positivity as a way to create an altruistic world free from suffering. Yet, Buddhism as taught by Gautama Buddha emphasized the role of suffering as inherent in life. This perspective from Shantideva complements Gautama Buddha's work but emphasizes the right thinking aspect of the Buddhist path. That's why it's important to never stop learning. Gautama Buddha gave Buddhists a guide that is functional and useful; however, he also said this: "Set your heart on doing good; do it over and over again, and you will be filled with joy."

One of the most recognized voices promoting mindfulness and peace activism, Vietnamese Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh, once said, "To think in terms of either pessimism or optimism oversimplifies the truth. The problem is to see reality as it is." This statement encapsulates mindfulness in a poignant way. Simplistic labels and judgments are easy to attach to ideas; however, the ability to truly see and accept reality can bring compassion not only to ourselves but others as well. Thich Nhat Hanh was a stalwart practitioner and teacher for Engaged Buddhism, a social movement that seeks to apply the teachings of Buddha in order to enact social change. The metaphysical idea of a self is often challenged in Buddhism. The concept of anatta, or non-self, exists. Once we recognize the non-self, we can reach a new height on the path. At that higher level, we are no longer bound by egoistic desires and fears. Famously, the Buddha sometimes chose not to answer questions concerning the self within the universe. Instead of getting into metaphysical debates, it was more beneficial to focus on the sensation of suffering. Such speculative questions only seem to dig deeper into a hole that doesn't help Buddhism's purpose. If the Noble Truths asked us to let go of ego, wouldn't it be pointless to engage with things that aren't inherently true? Many philosophies are at odds with Buddhist ideas, so it is important to acknowledge these counterarguments. The materialist worldview is easily one of the bigger contrasts to Buddhism. What's real is what is tangible; only the things that exist as physical matter are worth accepting. It also proposes that everything, including consciousness, is the result of material interactions. Therefore, from a materialist perspective, your happiness and satisfaction can only be derived from physical possessions and fulfilling sensory desires. That cheeky DoorDash order is definitely real; the taste of a cheeseburger is fulfilling, and you are undeniably happy. See it, touch it, smell it, taste it—it's literally right there. In our consumer-driven society, materialism is quite prevalent; much of modern life is already designed around striving for material goals, and the pursuit of wealth is something heavily sought after. So why strive for spiritual enlightenment? Thinkers like Ludwig Feuerbach argued that religion and spirituality were merely projections of human desires and needs. "Man is what he eats," as he once said. For a materialist, the urge to overcome desire and seek Nirvana is misguided and ignorant. For a hedonist, Buddhism's detachment from desire seems counterintuitive. In hedonism, the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain serve as driving factors behind our behavior. Why should we give up pleasures when they are the things that make life more enjoyable? According to hedonistic philosopher Epicurus, pleasure is the highest goal we can strive to achieve; not what we have but what we enjoy constitutes our abundance. Epicurean hedonism advocates for moderation, suggesting that true pleasure comes from a tranquil and moderate life—an interesting perspective that aligns with Buddhist teachings.

The existentialist view is one of the most opposing to Buddhism. Existentialism challenges the notion of enlightenment. Instead of following a predefined path to enlightenment, existentialists argue that seeking an ultimate truth is a form of self-deception. Prominent existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre once said, "Existence precedes essence," so individuals first exist before anything else, then they must define themselves through choices and actions. The Buddhist goal of overcoming the self and achieving Nirvana is in contrast to an existentialist's plight. For existentialists, the struggle to create meaning in an indifferent universe is worth embracing. Without a belief in any deity or divine being, atheism seems to be something that tangentially agrees with Buddhism. Yet, Buddhism is still a deeply spiritual experience; while it's often considered non-theistic, it still believes in karma, rebirth, and Nirvana. To an atheist, this is unscientific and delving into the supernatural; therefore, it's not worthwhile. Atheists like Richard Dawkins argued for a world that solely focused on science and reason. From his book *The God Delusion*, the supernatural, which includes concepts like rebirth, lacks empirical evidence; therefore, it should be abandoned in exchange for a rational, scientific understanding of the world. Instead of practicing mindfulness with the belief in rebirth and Nirvana, atheists argue that we can adopt these behaviors due to their proven psychological and social benefits, abandoning the need for religious or spiritual justification.

Nowadays, Buddhism has evolved and grown into a global religion practiced by millions around the world. It thrives in Asia with strong numbers in countries like Thailand, Myanmar, Sri Lanka, Japan, and Tibet. In Western countries, Buddhism has gained notable popularity for its practicality. While Buddhism has some spiritual elements, the mindfulness practices it presents are appealing. Values like compassion and ethical living are important for a healthy society. With meditation, it's much more bearable to deal with the fast-paced lifestyle modern life promotes. In many countries, you'll find places like meditation centers, mindfulness workshops, and even Buddhist study groups. With flexibility as a helpful trait, Buddhist teachings are accessible to people from all types of backgrounds. In the same room, you'll find people on a spiritual path, those in need of a philosophical framework, and even folks simply looking to reduce stress. Best of all, it's fully judgment-free.

Much of this video centers on the teachings found in Early Buddhism. It's not a living tradition, so there's no dedicated sangha or followers. However, many Buddhists will still classify under Theravada. The earliest texts are explored in this practice, and interpretations focus on what Gautama Buddha taught. If you're looking further into Buddhism, chances are that you'll encounter one of these three: Theravada, Mahayana, and Vajrayana. It's important to avoid viewing Buddhism according to strict sects; after all, Buddhism centers on the same goal at its core, but all sects have varying differences in interpretation and doctrine. Theravada is the way of the elders. Theravada Buddhism is the oldest surviving Buddhist school and is practiced in countries like Thailand, Sri Lanka, Laos, and Cambodia. In this school, there's an emphasis on your path to enlightenment as an individual. For inspiration and practice, Theravada uses the Pali Canon, a collection of scriptures written by the Buddha and his immediate disciples. Mahayana is recognized as the Great Vehicle. Mahayana came after Theravada's rise; however, it is much more popular. You'll find it practiced in countries like Japan, China, Taiwan, and Korea. The Bodhisattva is the goal; instead of reaching their own Nirvana, there's an altruistic perspective for universal enlightenment for all beings. Vajrayana Buddhism is a distinct branch

You're a Buddhist; you're a kinder person to yourself, and in turn, this makes you a kinder person to those around you. Life is challenging, but together we can make it work, one practical step at a time.

When I was a kid, I loved science, but I felt as though there was no point in becoming a scientist. Everything was already invented; everything we needed to know had already been discovered, right? I mean, we had equations to describe all kinds of things: pendulums, rockets, cars—you name it. We were building massive things, flying very heavy planes. The only thing left to achieve was to venture further into space, so I wanted to be an astronaut.

Then I realized, okay, maybe there *is* a point in becoming a scientist. Every day I learned some new phenomenon in physics. Regardless of whether I truly understood it or not, I went to bed with the reassurance that this was all there was, and it governed the world we lived in pretty well. If the math didn't work, it's because I did something wrong, and most of the time I did. Everything was new, and I picked it up pretty fast. But of course, as you grow older, you realize there are more and more things that we still don't know. Bottom line is, we don't know a lot of things. This idea of not knowing, however, takes on a whole new meaning with quantum mechanics. But first, let us describe what it means for a theory to work and how science is traditionally done.

The scientific method is real; yes, they actually use it. Scientists observe something, then they try and hypothesize what might be causing things to happen the way they are. In the case of physics, they try and come up with equations that describe the behavior they're observing. That equation is then tested to see how well the theoretical model replicates reality. The more closely it approximates reality, the better the theory. But notice here that I said it *approximates*. You see, when it comes to physics, theories approximate reality to varying degrees; some are extremely accurate, others not so much. For example, gases are pretty complicated; they're composed of billions of energetic gas molecules that are constantly colliding and interacting with each other. Because of this, a real gas is extremely hard to determine. So instead, people created the concept of an ideal gas. In short, they're approximations; they bend the rules a bit and get as close as possible to the exact value. No gas is exactly ideal, but the concept of an ideal gas is an extremely useful approximation for most situations—for temperatures near room temperature and pressures near atmospheric pressure. So, under normal circumstances, most of the gases we care about are almost perfectly ideal. However, for situations that aren't normal, a bit more work is required. Some rules work really well on the scales that we deal with every day, but once we tweak the settings a bit to different circumstances, our rules begin to break. There's a saying, and it goes: "All models are wrong, but some are useful," and honestly, I kind of agree with it. Over the past few million years, humans have been impressively wrong about most things, but but it's okay. Models aren't perfect, but some are better than others.

In the late 19th century, scientists had another such behavior to model: the sun. It's bright, like painfully bright in the sky; it's a glowing white ball of fusion. But as you know, white isn't just white; it represents a small sliver of radiation called the visible spectrum and is composed of every color you've ever seen. Now, humans, and most things that aren't 5,500°C, emit more than just visible light, but we can't really see it with our own eyes. This is where we add the infrared and ultraviolet scales. Scientists wanted to know why these colors showed and if we could predict what colors would emit based on the heat of an object. This sounds like a pretty easy experiment. All objects either emit, absorb, or reflect light, but they wanted an object that didn't reflect anything—something that would absorb all light and only show its radiation: a black body. But, like I just said, all objects emit, absorb, or reflect light, so a true black body just doesn't exist in nature. Notice how I said a *true* black body. For all intents and purposes, the sun, Earth, and other stars and planets are considered black bodies. Remember, models aren't perfect. Now, considering that these objects absorb all light, they should have an infinite amount of radiation to reflect, right? Well, when they applied their classical mechanics—the physics that governed the world at the time—the approximation was so poor that, in fact, the experiment ended up being dubbed as the ultraviolet catastrophe. You can't have an object with an infinite amount of energy like that; it violates the conservation of energy. Classical physics, it seemed, was catastrophically off.

Enter Max Planck. Planck determined that the missing link preventing the black body radiation from being modeled correctly was the assumption that energy could be of any amount. Again, if energy could be any amount, then theoretically you could input an infinite value and come back with the solution. To model it correctly, Planck suggested the use of a packet of energy. And instead of continuous energy being sent, it's neatly packaged and sent in finite amounts. And thus, Planck's constant and the idea of quantization were discovered—a fundamental piece in the foundation of quantum mechanics. For the first time, scientists understood that energy states are discrete and not continuous as previously thought, which is weird. In the quantum world, you play by certain rules—rules that often seem very, very different from what we're used to. It makes all of quantum mechanics rather unintuitive and confusing subject matter, and while there is merit to that accusation, we must also remember that, much like every other branch of science, quantum mechanics also has its humble beginnings rooted in some very simple ideas. So what are those simple ideas, and where does that… [Music]

Unintuitively, the uncertainty principle is something that we just don't experience in the macroscopic world. It talks about a fundamental natural limit to which we can measure things. The uncertainty principle states that no matter how accurately or precisely you try to measure something, you can only do it so well; you can never be absolutely certain of a particle's location and momentum at the same time. It comes down to observation, which is strange yet again, because you would think that our measurements should be irrespective of who is looking and who is not, but in the quantum scale that's no longer the case. Imagine a pool table; there's a cue ball, as well as 15 other striped and solid-color balls. But let's not focus on the game itself. When you hit the cue ball, it collides with the other balls on the table, making the cue ball then bounce off into another direction until it eventually hits the side of the table. At the quantum level, collisions are happening a bit differently than what you would expect at the macroscopic level. When photons collide, out comes a bunch of different smaller particles that didn't initially go in: ions, muons, electrons, and other photons. To understand just how weird this is, imagine a car crash. When the cars collide, you'd expect to just see two destroyed cars with car parts flying everywhere. Imagine that once they collide, a table and a basketball come flying out on impact. There's a complete transformation into something else; it doesn't make sense, obviously. Also, speaking of electrons, they can be in multiple places at the same time, but once measured, a precise location is revealed. It's okay; intuitively, this doesn't make sense to me either. But electrons are essentially a cloud around the nucleus of an atom, and only once we measure them does an actual location show its face. When talking about this small scale, our solutions to problems make much more sense as probabilities as opposed to exact values. The actual formula for Heisenberg's uncertainty principle is this: ∆x∆p ≥ ħ/2. You see the presence of Planck's constant. The fact that Planck's constant comes up time and time again when calculating things in the quantum realm really reinforces its significance; in a sense, it's self-proving. Because of so many different experiments, we now know the value of Planck's constant with remarkable precision.

Now you may think that you have very little reason to care about the uncertainty principle in day-to-day life, and you'd be kind of right in thinking that. But as we push harder and harder into the frontiers of innovation, even these tiny amounts of uncertainty start to matter. In fact, humanity's most ambitious goals need a level of precision that has never been seen before. The bizarreness of quantum mechanics doesn't stop there. Physicists are now theorizing even more ideas of the multiverse—the idea that multiple universes exist simultaneously, all differentiated by the smallest particles—no, demand either going this way or that way. That's just one particle. Factoring how many such particles there are, and well, things get too complicated for me to want to explain. The universe and the events that happened in it all come down to probability.

We've talked about how quantum mechanics governs the world we live in, but we've really only mentioned the microscopic scale. Does quantum mechanics hold up on the macro scale? Well, it kind of has to. If we use classical mechanics and the values it produces in quantum mechanics, then you should hypothetically be able to take the same quantum mechanics and apply them to larger systems, such as planetary orbits, and still reproduce accurate results. In order for a new theory to take reign, it should be able to explain some phenomena that previous theories explained; in short, it works. This is called Bohr's correspondence principle, and it gives quantum theory even more merit. The more and more we test, and the more and more examples that prove quantum mechanics agrees with classical mechanics, helps let us know if we're moving in the right direction. But classical mechanics doesn't get everything right. In fact, quantum mechanics changed the way we view light itself—something we encounter every day we wake up—something that we're still figuring out even today. Wave-particle duality is a concept that changed the fundamentals of nature forever. Through the work of Max Planck, Niels Bohr, Albert Einstein, and a handful of other quantum physicists, it was discovered that light not only functions as a wave in the spectrum, but also functions as a particle at the same time; their existence is intertwined. Einstein proposed that light functions as a particle—photons, a quant of light—deduced from Planck's theories, and it works. Einstein was an amazing physicist, but few people know that he actually won his Nobel Prize for the photoelectric effect—for his involvement in quantum mechanics. It seems as though we must use one theory and sometimes the other; while at times we may use either, we are faced with a new kind of difficulty: we have two contradictory pictures of reality. Separately, neither of them fully explains the phenomena of light, but together they do. Albert Einstein said that, and he explained it better than I ever could. Two different pictures of reality, two different theories and views of the world, come together to explain it all. It's astonishing to think how one constant could reshape the way we see reality forever. We don't know why it's this way, except for the fact that nature intended it to be this way.

Constants are seen throughout nature: Planck's constant, the golden ratio, Pi—the list goes on. As with most definitions in physics, they seem to be used in a very specific manner. Velocity means something very specific; amplitude means something very specific; the word *uncertainty*, too, means something very specific. But it's hard not to feel that this word, *uncertainty*, hits home differently these days. It is perhaps the most single apt description of the past few months for the entire world. While I don't expect everyone to be as fascinated with the uncertainty principle as myself and most physicists are, I do hope that you can take just one thing away from it: there's always going to be uncertainty in life, despite our best efforts. There's only so much we can control, and while it can seem limiting, it can also be the cause for hope and excitement. Uncertainty is, after all, a two-way street.

Even genetic exactness cannot rule out uncertainty. Genetics are extremely powerful, but there's even a limit to that power. Identical twins can not only have the same exact genes but can also share the same environment since the day they're born, and yet they will still grow up to have different brains and become different people. The detailed structure of the brain is partly shaped by genes and environment, but the rest is relatively random—and I use "random" for lack of a better word. Nothing is completely understood, our bodies included. What we see now as random could be seen as obvious in 100 years' time. History, as always, is a good example of this. The quantum world is full of random collisions, but oddly enough, all this randomness brings the order that we observe in the world. Science isn't constant by any means, but it is constantly improving. I wish I could say the same for everything else. [Music]

In life, anything is possible because we can never fully understand how the world works, and the laws of physics prevent us from being able to tell the future. Everything we predict is a probability; some are a lot more probable, others are less probable, while some have astronomically low chances of ever happening. The probability is vanishingly small, but it remains nonzero. Will you get hit by a car? Will you get struck by lightning? Will we ever achieve world peace? If there is a chance that anything can happen, what are the odds? I was scrolling through the deepest parts of the internet one day when I came across this man, Roy Sullivan—the man who has been hit by lightning seven times in his lifetime. The odds of getting struck by lightning once isn't that low; it's just about 1 in 15,000. Even if you live in a small town, chances are that somebody in that town has been struck by lightning at least once. The odds of being struck seven times in a period of 80 years—that's a 1 in 10²⁸ chance. This seems like such incredible and unfortunate odds, until you consider the fact that you're more likely to get struck by lightning seven times than you are to shuffle a deck of cards into perfect numerical order. Those odds: 1 in 10⁶⁸. Probability is something that we can't really comprehend as humans. If we did, we'd stop worrying about a lot of things and stop taking for granted most of the things we should be worried about—like sharks.

No thanks to the movie *Jaws*, humans now have an immense fear of sharks. But the reality is, you're more likely to get killed by a vending machine than you are to get killed by a shark. The odds of getting killed by a vending machine are 1 in 112 million, while the odds of getting killed by a shark are a staggering 1 in 250 million. Now, the odds that you'll be attacked by a shark are much lower, at 1 in 3.7 million, but even that is still too high for the monsters we've branded sharks to be. For context, you're more likely to get killed by a dog (1 in 112,400) than you are to get killed by a shark. But we still keep them in our homes as loving pets. You're more likely to get killed by hornets, wasps, or bees (1 in 630,225) than you are to get killed by a shark. In fact, you're more likely to get killed by the government for committing murder (1 in 119,000) than you are of getting killed by a shark. When you put a little thought into it, you realize that most of the time our fears are sensational and not rational. When something tragic happens and it garners a lot of public attention, we are more likely to be afraid of that thing, even if it is much less common than the less notorious things. The most prominent example of this is the way we treat plane crashes. Now, yes, when planes do crash, it is tragic, but because they cause such a big spectacle and have lots of media coverage, we forget that it is still by far the safest way to travel. Passenger airplane incidents are very rare, and your odds of dying in a plane crash are very slim (1 in 205,000). That's incredibly low when you compare it to your odds of dying in a car accident (1 in 107); for motorcycle riders, it's 1 in 890; and even pedestrians aren't safe (1 in 541). But wait, maybe the reason the airplane deaths are so low has to do something with our fear. Before people go on an airplane, they usually prepare well in advance; no harmful objects are allowed on board; and there's always usually more than one designated pilot who has trained for years on safety practices before they were ever allowed to fly a plane. Compare that to road travel, where we don't really think that much about it, and you can maybe see why things are the way they are. And with the odds that you'll be involved in a drunk driving accident in your lifetime being incredibly high (2 in 3), you can see what I mean; we barely give it any thought. Hopefully, we can all do better; try to reduce the risk by simply designating a driver beforehand or taking an Uber when you go out for fun.

Another thing we should be worried about is right-handed appliances. Yes, it's true that most of the world is right-handed for some reason, but if we're learning anything as a species, it's inclusiveness. We must do the same with dominant hands, because as it is, the odds of a left-handed person dying simply because they used a right-handed appliance wrong is 1 in 7 million. And while the chances look ridiculously slim, it has to happen to somebody. If you don't die, hey, you'll get a lot of free money from that lawsuit! Ambidextrous people among us can help us decide what appliances are better suited for what dominant hand, and we have a surprising amount of them (1 in 100 to be exact). Now, this does not include people who have had to learn how to use their non-dominant hand because of injury or out of curiosity; it's just people who were born with amazing control of both of their hands.

Art is very subjective. What some people might find beautiful, others will find ugly; what one might consider great acting, others might see as over-the-top and annoying. You see, much unlike science, art doesn't have a definitive set of rules, and so they don't have a strict guideline for judgment either. And while this allows for creativity, it also makes it very difficult to find success in the world of the arts. If you want to be a surgeon, for instance, you know that if you pass the school exams, intern, grow through residency, and so forth, you'll make it; you have a set path to follow. But if you want to be a supermodel, or a rock star, or a YouTuber, it's not that straightforward; you have to work hard at it every single day, and even then your odds are very slim. You can be a theater kid all your life, go to film school, practice as much as possible, but in the end, the odds that you'll become a movie star aren't very encouraging (just 1 in 1.1 million). It's amazing that even with the odds as slim as this, every year thousands of people will travel from all parts of the world to LA, trying to fulfill their dreams of being on the big screen. When interestingly, you have a much better chance of winning an Oscar (1 in 11,500) than becoming a movie star. But of course, this Oscar includes all the technical awards that are given when everyone is taking a bathroom break, and most people would much rather take a 1 in 1.1 million chance than to receive an award when no one's watching. If you're a writer, however, the odds are slightly in your favor; there is a 1 in 220 chance that you'll write a New York Times bestseller if you put in the time and the effort necessary. These odds are definitely going to go up, bringing you that inch closer to making your dream a reality.

Sports are more closely related to science than arts, because most of the time, if you work at it hard enough, you'll achieve some kind of success. But how hard can you work when there are only so many medals to go around? Millions of people around the world dedicate their entire lives to competing in the Olympics, yet only 1 in 662,000 will ever win a medal. And that's the thing about scarcity: when there's such limited space, the odds of ever being able to do or acquire said thing just get increasingly thinner. Think about the number of children who have worn a space suit and helmet to career day in school and told everybody that they want to be astronauts. Now think about the fact that the odds of becoming an astronaut are 1 in 12.1 million, and you get sad for those little kids—kids whose dreams will one day have to be crushed. What if they wanted to be president? Well, the chance of becoming a US president is 1 in 10 million. Unless you're a religious, 6-foot-tall Harvard Law graduate and military veteran, then your odds go up astronomically—especially if you're a Harvard alumnus. Because, as surprising as it might sound, the odds that the president of America has attended Harvard is 1 in 3.58. So if you want to have the best chance at becoming president, you know what school to apply for. However, getting into Harvard is almost as difficult as becoming president, with a chance of just 4.6% of getting in. You might want to apply to some backup schools as well.

At the end of the day, we all just want to be successful, whether it's through the arts or going through the so-called traditional route of finishing college and getting a good job. We all just want to have enough money to live comfortably while we're still young. But sadly, the odds are stacked against us. There's a slim chance of just between 6.4% and 22.3% that you'll become a millionaire, with different factors like race, education, wealth status, and age helping to place you somewhere in that range. While the chance of becoming a billionaire… well, there are 8 billion humans in the world, and only around 2,000 billionaires, so basically non-existent.

Getting old has a bittersweet taste to it. On the one hand, you're getting wiser, more mature, and you have a much better understanding of the world than you did when you were younger. But on the other hand, you're also getting weaker; you're forgetting things more, and sadly, your body just keeps breaking down one after the other. And the stats don't really help at all. If you're under 20 right now, there's a 1 in 4 chance that you'll be disabled before you retire. And it gets worse: there's a 1 in 2 chance that at the age of 75, you'll have disabling hearing loss. This is why whenever people say they want to work hard now so they can enjoy their retirement, I kind of feel bad for them, because most times at that age you don't really get to enjoy anything. All you can really do is sit around and reminisce on a life that once was. And when the Grim Reaper comes, you say goodbye to your loved ones and move on. And that's why you should do everything you want to do right now. For some reason, there's a 7% higher chance that you'll die on your birthday than on any other day—going out with a bang, with the candles. But for a few of us, living to 100 is possible, with the odds of that happening being approximately 1 in 5,780, with those odds increasing significantly if you're biologically a woman.

On the other hand of the spectrum, one of the most incredible human achievements is being born. If you're here watching this video right now, you deserve a round of applause. You ran, you fought, you survived, and against all odds, you made it. The odds of you existing were 1 in 5.5 trillion, but here you are. You might have been the 1 in 20 chance of being born on your mom's exact due date, or you're like most of us who were born around 2 weeks before or after. You might be the 1 in 250 who are geniuses, burdened with the weight of advancing our civilization, or like the rest of us who are cheering them on. Whoever you are, whatever it took you to get here, that was an incredible feat—one that is unrepeatable, not in this lifetime at least.

As light travels through space, it behaves like a wave, but light is also made of tiny particles called photons. This is the paradox of wave-particles, and it has completely revolutionized modern physics. The universe is filled with intriguing paradoxes like this—statements that challenge our understanding of reality and force us to question our deepest assumptions. These paradoxes have the power to change our lives in profound ways, opening us up to new possibilities and reshaping the very fabric of our existence. Here are paradoxes that will change your life…

Well, the lottery jackpot has grown to over $64 million. It all started with a lottery ticket. You got the memo? If you go out and buy a lottery ticket, knowing fully well that your chances of winning are 10 million to one, it'd be logical to assume you didn't win. You'd also be justified in thinking that your friend, your uncle, his sister, their cousin, and their dog all have losing tickets. You're justified in believing that everyone who bought a ticket will lose, even when you know the lottery was fair and there has to be a winner somehow. You're justified in believing something you know to be false. This demonstrates that truth is relative; it depends on context, prejudice, and your perspective about the world. Because the truth is, the only thing you can prove with certainty is that nothing is certain. This is why people don't consider Pinocchio saying "My nose will grow now" to be a paradox; his nose will not grow because he didn't lie, he simply made a false prediction. If we have a set of all sets that do not contain themselves, does that set contain itself? Imagine there's a barber who shaves all men who don't shave themselves and only men who don't shave themselves. Does the barber shave himself? This is an example of Russell's Paradox—a paradox that shook the mathematical world.

These paradoxes playfully nudge us into realizing that self-reference can often lead to unexpected contradictions. Contradictions aside, though, we all want to be happy. But those who seek out happiness directly often don't find it. This is the Paradox of Hedonism. If we truly want to be happy, we need to stop searching for happiness and pursue other meaningful activities, like nurturing our relationships or serving others, and only then can we be truly happy. The pursuit of pleasure in its raw form often leads to disappointment, while a life lived in service can lead to unexpected happiness. Deep down we all know this: endless partying, decadent eating habits, and shopping sprees—we know these activities are never as fulfilling as we think they are, and more often than not we're left with a sense of emptiness after the dust settles. It's called post-indulgence clarity. We see this paradox even in our relationships: expecting your partner to completely control your happiness often makes them unable to make you happy, at least not in the way you want it. The reality is that to have good relationships, we need to be somewhat independent of them. People think that to find the right partner, they need all the options in the world to pick the perfect person, but in truth, having more options isn't always better. Just look at the fact that we have all these dating apps at our fingertips, and many of us still can't find a healthy relationship. This is the Paradox of Choice, and contrary to what we think, many options often leave us less satisfied with our final decision. I once watched a TikTok where this guy said men today see more beautiful women while scrolling through TikTok for 5 minutes than kings from the past did in their entire lives, and although it was a joke, he was entirely correct. But it's not a good thing. According to biological anthropologist Helen Fisher, the human brain isn't built to deal with more than five to nine options for a partner; after that, the brain goes into decision paralysis, where it almost refuses to pick. So the next time you feel inundated by options, remember that less is sometimes better, and more data may not always be more informative.

Learning is great; asking questions and figuring out how things work is how our species has gotten to where it is today. But learning is also a paradox, because the more you know, the more you realize you don't know. It's an amazing paradox—one that encourages you to never stop learning. Paradoxes are everywhere in mathematics and statistics, like Simpson's Paradox: trends that appear in different groups will disappear or even reverse when the groups are combined to form a larger group. In the 1970s, UC Berkeley was accused of gender bias against women in its admissions process. At first glance, the admissions data made it seem like men were more likely to be admitted than women, but when the data was broken down into individual departments, most departments had admission percentages that were significantly in favor of women. The problem was that a higher proportion of women were applying to more competitive departments with lower admission rates. So when compared to all the men in the school, it seemed like women had lower rates of admission, but when compared to the men in each department, it was clear that the women actually had a higher rate. This is unfortunately how misinformation spreads; it's usually not with wrong data, but with the correct data expressed without proper context. Because the reality is that, often, as paradoxical as it may seem, the whole is different from the sum of its parts.

Change is ever-present in our lives. The human body replaces billions of cells daily, and every seven years or so you are an entirely different cellular collection. So if we're constantly changing, how do we know the person we are today is the same person we were seven years ago? One might say the essence of who we are remains, but that essence is really just the result of our thoughts, beliefs, and experiences, which are also changing. So who really are you? Maybe you like defining yourself based on your struggles—how hard you pursue something you want to achieve. But have you ever thought that sometimes trying too hard to get something almost makes it impossible to get? It's the backwards law, and it's an interesting concept with lots of layers to uncover. If you're interested in a dedicated video about this subject, just let me know in the comments below.

In 2016, after his infamous penalty miss against Chile, Lionel Messi hung up his boots with his beloved Argentina, in what seemed like the last nail in the coffin. Messi simply had enough. On the club stage, success seemed to come to him so easily, but where he really wanted it—where he desperately tried to do it all by himself—victory seemed elusive. Consider the Paradox of Achilles and the Tortoise, coined by Zeno, the father of Stoicism. In this paradox, Achilles gave a tortoise a head start and races it to infinity. Zeno argued that Achilles will never truly overtake the tortoise because when he reaches where the tortoise started, the tortoise will have moved a little further, and this pattern will continue till infinity. The paradox is silly, but it challenges our perception of movement, space, and infinity. And the realization it leaves with us, especially with Messi's story, is that sometimes, no matter how much you try, some things seem just that little bit out of reach. Messi had to accept that part of his legacy was beyond his control. The Argentine Football Federation was underfinanced and poorly managed, and there was no one around him when he needed support, with criticism pouring down from all sides and embarrassing defeats one after another. The dream would remain just that: a dream. Yet, as soon as he let go, the tide began turning. Messi took almost a metaphorical back seat, dropping deeper than his traditional role, playing further from the goal than he had ever played. His job now wasn't to shine himself, but cast light on the others, many of whom were young kids who were fans of him when he hung up his boots in 2016. But there he was, on December 18th, 2022—nearly six years after that missed penalty—lifting the World Cup. Very few stories are as remarkable as Messi's.

Most of us live and die without doing or being anything special. Or is that so? If there's nothing oddly special about us, the Earth, and the life it holds, then the universe should be teeming with life, and yet it isn't. You might say maybe that it is, and we just aren't advanced enough to search the galaxy to find it, and you'll be right. But considering how young our galaxy is compared to others out there, and that if given enough time any advanced species should be able to figure out interstellar travel, if there are any aliens, we should have seen them by now. This is Fermi's Paradox, and put simply by a New York Times article, it exclaims: "If life is so easy, someone from somewhere must have come calling by now." Maybe equally paradoxical is the insignificance of the question: "Are we special?" When you boil it down to the individual, there are around 20 quintillion animals on Earth (that's 20 billion billion), yet the value of a single life isn't questioned. So why do we think that the universe teeming with life will make us any less unique? There's something innately valuable about life; what exactly it is may remain forever elusive.

And speaking of elusive things in life, the Coastline Paradox is a geographical conundrum that originated in the mind of British scientist Lewis Fry Richardson. It's a concept that challenges our understanding of measurement and infinity, revealing a surprising contradiction that's not only mathematical but also physical. Essentially, this paradox states that the length of a coastline depends on the length of the tool used to measure it: the shorter the ruler, the longer the measured length of the coastline. This is because a smaller ruler can capture more of the intricate twists and turns of the coastline. But here the paradox arises: theoretically, as the ruler gets infinitely small, the length of the coastline becomes infinitely large. Consider the coastline of Britain as an example. If we were to measure it with a 100-km ruler, we would get a significantly shorter length than with a 1-km ruler, which would capture more details of the coastline. And if we used a 1-cm ruler, the coastline would appear even longer. Following this logic to its extreme, the coastline seems to stretch to infinity as the ruler shrinks to zero. But how can this be? After all, Britain is an island of finite size. The paradox stems from the fractal nature of coastlines; they have a high degree of complexity and self-similarity at all scales. This is a real-world example of a mathematical concept known as fractal geometry. The Coastline Paradox is not only mind-bending, but it also has practical implications for cartography, geology, and various other disciplines. It teaches us a humbling lesson about the limitations of our measurements and how they can be influenced by the scale at which we look at things. It's a testament to the unexpected complexities that can emerge from something as simple as measuring a length. The Coastline Paradox is a stunning illustration of how reality can defy our intuitive assumptions, revealing an infinitely intricate, endlessly fascinating world of surprises. It's a poetic ode to the idea of paradoxes themselves.

From being incorporated into movies to revolutionizing reality and the sciences, paradoxes have captured our imagination. Intellectual enigmas—that's what they are: beautiful puzzles that tease our intellect, challenge our perceptions, and invite us to look beyond the apparent. They hold up a mirror to the complexities of life in the universe, reflecting an intriguing and elusive existence. Paradoxes gracefully illustrate that our universe isn't a mere collection of absolutes, but a symphony of mysteries, wonders, and unfathomable truths.

For the past month or so, I've been thinking a lot about life, and when people say that, they usually mean what they want to do in life—whether that be their career, or relationships, or entertainment, or leisure. But I've been thinking differently. Of course, I've been thinking about those things, but I've also been thinking about how much of your life is really yours; how much of your life is really being lived to its full potential? Are you living, or are you just existing? On average, you're going to get about 79 years on this big rock called Earth. If you live in Monaco, it's closer to 90; if you live in Chad, you'll be lucky to get 50. Regardless, we don't get 79 years of freedom; we have responsibilities and things that we can't ignore—most importantly, our bodies. Assuming you sleep 8 hours a night, on average, about a third of your life, or 26 years, is going to be spent

Nearly 29,000 hours of your life, or about 3 years, will be spent on bodily functions. 29 years left. Eventually, all that food and water has to leave your body somehow. You'll spend about 3 months of your life just sitting on the toilet. Yeah, of course we also waste time, and we do it pretty well.

Over the course of our lifetimes, we'll spend about 115,000 hours on our phones, or about 13 years. This, of course, is just your phone; this doesn't include watching TV, playing games, among other things. 16 years left.

Assuming you can afford to retire at the average age of 62, you'll spend the rest of your life living the luxuries of retirement, if you can still function properly. Over 50% of retired people over the age of 65 have some sort of disability, with 15% of those people having three or more. Chances are, if you are one of these people, you'll be in and out of medical care pretty often. So those final 16 years of freedom you have—it's a coin flip that doesn't exactly entail freedom. Overall, you have one year in your 79-year life to really and truly do what you want to do.

But despite the age you might be—young or old, nearing the end of your time with some of the most important people in your life—for example, while you're young and in school, from ages 1 to 18, you'll most likely be spending nearly every day in the presence of your parents. After you finish your schooling, assuming your parents are in their mid-40s, we'll say they have about 30 years left in their life. The real world starts to set in: your job, your possible relationships, your important things to do in life take priority. Eventually, if you leave your hometown, you'll only be seeing your parents around holidays and special occasions, maybe 10 days a year. So 300 days left with the people who brought you into the world, whereas before you would see them almost every single day. You have already spent 95% of the time that you will ever spend with your parents in the first 18 years of your life, and now you only have the remaining 5% for the rest of your life.

At the end of the day, there's only one thing that matters, and that's your own happiness. What many people don't realize is that they do so many things in life just to try and succeed as opposed to fulfilling a purpose. They work a job they hate for 40 years just to make that extra $30,000 a year so they can afford a car that they only drive to work. It's temporary happiness, not genuine happiness. People go to school to become a doctor because their mom or their dad or somebody else told them to, not because they actually want to. I really hope that every single person watching this video gets insanely rich and famous so that they can finally realize that this isn't the point of life. The point is to be happy with what you're doing while you're doing it.

All right, sure, the 45 working years, or however long you're working, is going to be hard to get past, but what if you don't hate waking up every day to go to work? What if your work is your happiness? You see, life isn't a straight path; you can't map it out perfectly, one-to-one. It just doesn't work like that. We spend every day planning on what we're going to do next instead of just taking in the day for what it actually is. Sure, we have to eat, duh, but what if we spend that time eating with friends or family, or just people who make your life better? Your commute to work might be long and tedious sometimes, but what if you spend that time listening to podcasts or carpooling with coworkers and friends? The 13 years we waste on our phones might seem useless, but what if we use that time to build the business you've always wanted to, or build the brand you've always wanted, or make a YouTube channel to talk to people about the random ideas you get? You'll bring so much value to people that you never even thought was possible.

Let's say you take care of yourself and regularly work out and eat decently well; your chances of being healthy later in life are much more likely, and you'll have much more free time to master the things that you really want, whether that be a skill or just relationships with others. No matter what you or I or any person on this planet does, time doesn't stop for anyone. Time is the one thing you cannot get back. If you lose a lot of money, it's fine; you can get more. If your friend decides to turn their back on you, it's fine; there are millions of people out there in the same situation. But time—you can't get it back once it's gone, it's gone. How many days have you spent doing the same mundane tasks that you hate, and more importantly, when is it going to end? Life is about choices. Every choice you've ever made has led you to this exact moment, watching this video, and given that you only have one life—at least in this universe—why not make your own decisions? So many people live life predicated on somebody else's opinion, which is dumb. People have so many barriers in life, but they aren't really about money, they aren't about time, they aren't about how you look; it's about opinions—other people's opinions. Probably about 90% of people are unhappy because they value someone else's opinion more than their own. When you're old and unable to do the things that you could have when you're younger, you'll regret, and regret hurts more than any breakup, failure, or anything else ever could. Life doesn't have to suck; you don't have to regret everything. That FOMO, or fear of missing out, is a poison. Instead of living trying to mimic people you see on Instagram or YouTube or social media, just live based on your own terms. Instead of just observing and living passively, really start to think about what you do with your time. Does that mean call your boss and tell him you quit? No. Does that mean drop out of school tomorrow? No. All it means is to truly decide what you want in life and put yourself in the right direction. It's not going to happen overnight; that's not the point. There would be no journey then. As cliché as it sounds, your 79-year journey here is very short. Sure, it's technically the longest thing you'll ever do, but the universe is 13.8 billion years old. If the universe's history was condensed down into 24 hours, the world as we know it, with cars and airplanes and civilization as we know it, would only come into existence in the very last second. Block out any and all negativity in your life, and once you can truly realize that the only opinion that matters is your own, life can get pretty clear, and the noises inside your head get pretty quiet.

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As kids, we believed a lot of different things, from thinking that the gifts under the Christmas tree were kept there by Santa to imagining a tiny fairy that came in at the dead of night to steal the loose tooth from underneath our pillows. Most of the things we believed in as kids are magical information pieced together by stories that we've been told by adults or things that we watched on TV. One of those things that some of us watched on TV and actually believed in was Barney. That's right, the purple dinosaur. Barney's theme song, while nonsensical, offers us a rather interesting paradox. The song goes, "Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination." Barney shows us lots of things, like how to play pretend, which begs the question: if Barney was the one who taught us how to play pretend, then how did we imagine him to be in the first place? It's the classic causal loop, where an event in the future creates an event in the past, which creates the event in the future, and so you're left without a point of origin. Paradoxes are all around us, from the shows we grew up watching as kids to the songs that were stuck in our heads throughout middle school. You know that one song by One Direction that goes, "You don't know you're beautiful, that's what makes you beautiful." Just think about it for a moment. For her to not know that she was beautiful, she had to have been beautiful in the first place, which means that she couldn't have known what made her beautiful. As if that wasn't enough, the song is all about telling the girl that she is beautiful, so does that mean then that when the song is over the girl stops being beautiful? Because now that she knows that she is beautiful, shouldn't that make her no longer beautiful? But if she stops believing she's beautiful, doesn't that then make her beautiful again? It's a weird thing, and the more you think about it, the less sense it makes.

Relationships are also weird. Two random people meet each other and decide that they want to spend all, or at least most, of their time together. You're asking each other silly paradoxical questions, like, "If a person who can read minds and a person who can predict the future fight each other, who would win?" Soon after, you're both in bed on a cold, windy night, sharing secrets you said you'd never tell anyone. You're lying down there with your partner in a windowless room, and then it begins to rain. You don't have any idea of what the weather outside is like; you have no weather app or anything like that. And so when your friend walks in and tells you it's raining outside, you don't believe them. In that scenario, your friend can say, "It's raining, but JN doesn't believe it," and it would be perfectly acceptable. So why is it that if you say the same thing—"It's raining, but I don't believe it"—everyone in the room might think you've just lost your mind? Why is the second question absurd and not the first? Why is it absurd for us to say something that is true about ourselves?

Speaking of truth, what do you think would happen to Pinocchio if he said the words, "My nose will grow now"? If Pinocchio's nose grows, then that means he was telling the truth, so his nose shouldn't have grown. But if his nose doesn't grow, then he just told a lie, and so his nose should grow. Some people don't consider this to be a paradox; the argument is that Pinocchio's nose would not grow because he didn't lie, he simply made a false prediction. But hey, where's the fun in that? A lot of the times we say things that make sense to us on the surface; however, on closer inspection, you quickly realize things are not as they seem. Let's say you go out and buy a lottery ticket, knowing fully well that your chances of winning are 10 million to one. It would be perfectly normal for you to conclude that you did not get the winning ticket; in fact, it would be considered a bit crazy for you to think that your ticket won. You'll also be justified in thinking that your friend, your uncle, your sister, his sister, their cousin, and their dog all have losing tickets. You look around you in the store; you're justified in believing that everyone you encounter will probably lose, and in turn, that no ticket will win. However, knowing fully well that the lottery was fair and there must be one winner, you are justified in believing something you know to be false. Just how this only goes to show that truth is relative; it depends on context, on knowledge, and perspective about the world. Because the truth is, the only thing that you can prove with certainty is that nothing is certain.

I watched a couple fighting outside Starbucks the other day. The woman turned to the man who was with her and, in a slightly raised voice, she said, "Deep down, you're really shallow." And while the rest of the coffee shop pretended that they didn't just hear that, I had to pause and think about it for a moment. If he had a deep down, then how can he be shallow? But I bet that's not what was in his mind, or was it? For all we know, he was probably thinking of shallower thoughts deep down in his heart. For a relationship to succeed, everyone in the relationship needs to trust one another. But this is real life, and sometimes people are insecure, and sometimes it's not their fault. Everything from anxiety to past traumatic experiences—the reality of the world forces us sometimes to be insecure. This is why people often find it easier to talk to strangers about their deepest, darkest secrets than the ones they claim to trust. It's the paradox of trust: we claim to trust this person, yet we fear they would judge us for our secrets; and on the flip side, we feel most comfortable telling people who we do not trust the secrets that could damn us.

Not long before the couple finished their argument, the baristas in the coffee shop walked out to the little girl and her mom in the chair adjacent to me. They handed the little girl a tiny birthday cupcake and sang the "Happy Birthday" song to her as she closed her eyes to make a wish before blowing out the candles. I quickly glanced around the room and I thought to myself, "Huh, what are the chances that someone else in here right now also has their birthday today?" And like most rational people, I concluded that it was far too unlikely. There were less than 30 people in the coffee shop that day, and there are 365 days in a year, so of course the chances that two random people would have the same birthday would be slim, right? Well, most people would say yes, but according to the birthday paradox, most people would be wrong. Because if there are 23 people in a room, there's a 50% chance that two of them share a birthday. Now, to fully understand this one, we're going to need some math, so permit me to do a little bit of probability analysis here. Let's start small, with just two people. Let's ignore leap years or twins or any patterns that suggest babies are born more often at certain periods of the year than others, because those are just too confusing. Okay, say you and I are in a room together; there's a 365 out of 365, or 100% chance that I have a birthday—I do—and a 365 out of 365 * 364 out of 365 chance that we both do not share the same birthday. Now let's say one other person in the room joins us; the probability that this new person does not have the same birthday as either of us becomes 365 over 365 * 364 over 365 * 363 over 365, and that multiplication just goes on and on and on for however many people you want. When you get to the 23rd person, this incredibly long series of multiplication gives you the number 0.492, which is basically 49.2%. Now this is the probability that we do not share a birthday. To find out the probability that two random people in this coffee shop do share a birthday, we have to subtract that number from 100%, which gives us 50.7%. If you don't fully understand the math, honestly, I barely did too, but it checks out, trust me.

While we're on the subject of math, a teacher once walked into her class on Friday and announced that there would be a surprise test sometime next week. As she left the class, the students began to murmur to each other about when they thought the test would happen. One clever student stood up and told his mates that the test couldn't be given on Friday because when Thursday comes around and they don't have the test, then they know that the test is on Friday. But it has to be a surprise test, so it can't be Friday because they already know it can't be Friday. If it's by the end of Wednesday and it doesn't happen, then they'll know it's Thursday, so it can't be Thursday either. The student continues his analysis for the rest of the week until Monday, and finally he comes to the conclusion that the test cannot be given at all since they would know. But the teacher said it would be a surprise, so when the teacher walks in on Wednesday and hands them their test sheets, the students are all surprised. How could this have happened? They all ask themselves, puzzled.

We're living in unprecedented times, with Russia's attack on Ukraine. The whole world is currently sitting on basically a live grenade; one wrong move from any of the world powers and we could very well find ourselves in the middle of another World War. It's in times like these when you just pause and think about paradoxes in the way that our society operates. We claim to be free, but there is no freedom without law and order. And as the Latin saying goes, *“Si vis pacem, para bellum,”* which, despite my poor pronunciation, translates to, "If you want peace, prepare for war." It's a strange thing to think about and an even stranger thing to be living through. In World War II, pilots could only get out of combat duty if they were psychologically unfit to fly; however, anyone who tried to get out of combat duty proves he is sane. Today we call this a Catch-22, after the satirical World War II novel written by Joseph Heller. We see Catch-22s everywhere in our world today. To get a job, you need work experience, but to get that work experience, you need to have had a job. We've all seen it: companies asking for 5 years of experience for entry-level jobs, or coal miners who only have two options: to quit working and die of starvation, or to keep working and die of pollution. Most people pick the latter because then they can say, at least they tried their best. The world is unfair; some people are born into wealth, power, and privilege and never have to work a day in their lives. The rest are forced to struggle and slave away just to make ends meet. Truly, all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others. On the surface, this statement might not seem logical; however, on close inspection, it may prove to be well-founded and even true.

If I told you right now that humans are perfect organisms, and that in our mother's wombs we first are fishes, who then develop into amphibians, then reptiles, birds, primates, before finally becoming what we know as human, I'm sure you'd look at me like I've gone insane—and I have—but that's besides the point. Just as recently as 1811, because of the works of scientist Johann Friedrich Meckel, everybody thought that was true. And this is because science is transient; what we once hold as truth quickly fades away. Upon closer inspection and looking back, we can only laugh at ourselves for the scientific facts we once held dear to our hearts. Some other times, these aren't even actual scientific facts; they're just very popular opinions that all of us have collectively agreed to be true, even though they are, in fact, not. These are all the times we were wrong. Not everything Meckel said was wrong, though; in fact, he was the first scientist to correctly predict that embryos have gill slits on their neck that closely resemble gills, at least. However, unlike what he suggested, we don't pass through a fish phase in our mother's wombs. These slits are most likely due to the fact that both humans and fish share a common ancestor and some DNA, and not because we're trying to attain some kind of biological perfection. I mean, who are we kidding? We're far from perfect. But for a long time, scientists believed this to be true, well, until the late 19th century when Charles Darwin's theory of evolution started to gain traction. We realized that a linear series of evolution in our mother's womb was completely illogical.

The theory of evolution is one that has been completely riddled with lots of false claims and ideas that are simply not true in reality. Evolution is a very difficult subject to research because of the limited amount of fossil information available. As a result, a lot of times all we're left with are hypotheses, some of which are brilliant and others not so much. For a long time, scientists believed that all of life was aquatic until one day, many millions of years ago, a brave fish dared to walk on land. Starting with very short periods on dry ground, the fish started spending more and more time on land, and gradually its gills got replaced with lungs and it became an amphibian. Then the amphibians became reptiles, who became birds, who became mammals. And while the scientists got the process of evolution right, that one brave fish was not the first animal to step on land. The Earth was rich with insects, funguses, and was bubbling with life before that fish ever came into the picture.

Another hypothesis that we all seem to collectively get wrong is where humans come from. If I ask you right now, you'd most likely tell me that we evolved from chimpanzees, our closest living relatives. But while the second half of that statement is true, the first half is completely false. We didn't evolve from chimpanzees. Yes, we evolved from apes; however, we did not evolve from any apes living today. We, monkeys, chimps, and gorillas all evolved from a common ancestor, the so-called great apes that lived in Africa around 7 million years ago. It was around that time in the evolution chain that we split. So although chimpanzees are our closest living relatives, we're further apart on the family tree than a lot of us think. Our much closer relative, although now extinct, are the Neanderthals. Modern humans split from Neanderthals just around 500,000 years ago. But even these guys certainly came with their own controversy. For a long time, scientists believed that Neanderthals and humans never lived together, with some believing that Neanderthals evolved into humans. But again, that's not true. Archaeologists have since found ancient human skeletons that prove that modern humans and Neanderthals coexisted for thousands of years. In fact, they didn't just coexist; they actually interbred, which is why most humans living outside of Africa have anywhere between 1 to 4% of Neanderthal DNA still in them today.

When we start talking about the theory of evolution and ancient humans, we can't help but talk about dinosaurs—you know, those giant, scary, lizard-looking things from *Jurassic Park*, the ones that have earth-toned, lizard-like scales and roars more earth-shattering than that of a lion. Well, in reality, the dinosaur was none of those things I just mentioned. First, dinosaurs are more closely related to birds than lizards. In fact, every single living bird today is a modern-day dinosaur, a descendant of theropods, a species of ancient dinosaurs. And because they're birds, they mostly had feathers covering their scaly skin. Fossil evidence has shown that a lot of tyrannosaurs had feathers, which means that even the great T-Rex probably had a few as well, mostly on its head and tail. Dinosaurs also never ran fast because they always had to have one leg on the ground; they could only get to around 25 mph, which is still pretty scary because, well, one, they're massive, and two, the average speed of a human is 15 mph. But if you're Usain Bolt, you've got nothing to worry about; you can outrun these guys any day. And let's be honest, have you ever heard any bird roar? Yeah, me neither. Which is why a recent scientific study has shown that the T-Rex most likely hooted, peeped, or made deep-throated, booming sounds like the emu, not a trembling roar like a giant lion. It's funny when you think about it. Now we can forgive ourselves for getting these details wrong; after all, all of these things happened tens of millions of years ago before any of us ever existed. But if you look much closer in time, you'll see a lot of things we get wrong every day, even things that are as simple as George Washington's teeth. In 1789, when George Washington was inaugurated as president, he only had one natural tooth left. But because the president needed an amazing smile, he wore dentures. Now, in reality, these dentures were made from hippopotamus ivory, brass, and gold, but for some reason we like to believe they were made from wood. Why we believe that, I have no idea, but it's not too late to change our minds.

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a person who often changes their beliefs or behaviors in order to please others or to succeed is called a chameleon. But are chameleons really chameleons? This definition is derived from the assumption that chameleons change the color of their skin to match their surroundings, most likely to camouflage. And while there are animals that excel at using this tactic, like the octopus, the chameleon is not one of those animals. In reality, most chameleon species can only change from green to brown and back to green, and they don't change color to blend into their surroundings; they do it to regulate their body temperature. When the chameleon is cold, it becomes darker to absorb more heat, and when it's hot, it turns pale to reflect more heat so it can cool down. There is one species of chameleon that can change into any color, though, and that's the panther chameleon, but even those guys don't do it to match their surroundings. Their flamboyant display of colors helps them fend off against males competing for territory and also to attract females. I mean, isn't that why we all buy designer clothes in the first place—to impress each other?

Speaking of fancy, who else was taught that diamonds are made from coal? Sorry, but that's not true at all. It's a terribly common misconception. In fact, most of the diamonds that have been dated were found to be older than even the very first plants that appeared on Earth. And because you need trees to make coal, it's impossible for coal to produce diamonds when diamonds existed long before the material that makes coal even existed. Anyway, NASA researchers have even found a number of nanodiamonds in meteorites. Nanodiamonds are diamonds that are just a few nanometers in diameter; simple enough. They're too tiny to be considered gems, but it's still pretty cool that you can have these precious objects just floating around in space. Still, it makes you question why we deem them as so precious when in reality they're extremely abundant in our universe. There are planets in space where it literally rains diamonds. Anyway, of course these asteroids are floating because there's no gravity in space, right? Well, unfortunately, wrong. There is gravity in space; it's what holds the moon in orbit around the Earth and the Earth close together around the sun with all the other planets. It's just that as you get further away from the Earth, the Earth's gravitational pull on you weakens, and other gravitational forces begin to take priority. But in reality, everything in space is falling in every direction imaginable, all the time. The only reason it seems as if you're floating and not falling is because space is very large and, most importantly, very empty, at least compared to Earth. For instance, on Earth, if you were to—and I really, really don't recommend it—jump off a building, you could feel the strong winds on your face; you would see the ground appearing closer and closer; you can tell that you're falling quite easily, and in just a few seconds impact, you're on the ground because the distance between the height you fell from and where you landed isn't that much. In space, there is no air, so no whooshing sound to accompany your fall, and because it's so large, it takes you anywhere from a few hours to many years to land on one surface when you fall from another. So it feels like you're floating, but you're not; you're falling really, really slowly, and that's because of gravity.

One of man's most important discoveries. When you think about the fact that it is one of man's most important discoveries, you would imagine that the story behind it would have been preserved carefully. But the version almost all of us have heard has not been preserved at all. The old tale goes that Newton was tired from all the many failed experiments he had in his career; tired and frustrated, he sat under a tree to rest his head. As he sat, a ripe apple fell down from the tree and hit him on the head, and in a Eureka moment he discovered one of the most important forces in physics: gravity. But the truth is much less dramatic than that. In reality, Isaac Newton was observing the apples falling from the tree of their own accord when he discovered that there must be a force behind it. He wasn't sitting under the tree; an apple certainly didn't fall on his head. You see, sometimes I understand why we make up some of these stories; they help make us feel better about ourselves. When we believe that some of humanity's greatest achievements couldn't have happened without a huge slice of luck, we can keep hope alive for our own share of luck, our own piece of the apple pie. It's the same with the story of Albert Einstein. We all heard growing up about how he failed in class but still went on to become one of the greatest physicists the world has ever seen. But that's just not true at all. Einstein always excelled in school; he didn't learn to read late in life, and he most likely didn't have a learning disability. Our teachers must have told us these stories to make us feel good about ourselves, give us hope that even if we have rough starts in school, we could still become geniuses later in life if we worked hard. And while there are a thousand examples of this exact theory, Einstein simply wasn't one of them.

Aristotle is one of the greatest philosophers to have ever lived and was the first true scientist. He practically invented logic, and he described and explored the different scientific disciplines and the relations to one another. But for all the good he did, there was one thing he got terribly, terribly wrong: he claimed that the Earth was at the center of the universe. I mean, why wouldn't he? Most things you observe point to this exact conclusion. Now, while Aristotle wasn't the first to say this, he championed the fight; he claimed that using logic he had found this to be 100% true and wouldn't back down from his argument. It took the work of Galileo almost two millennia later to discover that the sun was at the center of the solar system and not our Earth, and still people didn't believe him. In fact, they ostracized him. And this is just one of the many times that we, as humans, have overemphasized our importance. In the movie *Lucy*, Morgan Freeman says this in a room full of students: "It is estimated most human beings only use 10% of their brain's capacity. Imagine if we could access 100%—interesting things begin to happen." While it's fun to think that humans are capable of a whole lot more if we could just find a way to tap into that remaining 90% resource, reality is far less exciting. Most of the brain is active almost all the time; while they might not be actively used or thinking, they're working, busy doing other things like keeping you alive—kind of important. Think about it: the brain is just 3% of the body's weight, but it uses 20% of the body's energy. To burn through that much energy, you would have to be doing something right. Even though we get it wrong most of the time, it's fun to explore the world around us. We will continue to make assumptions about everything we see, and chances are most of it will be wrong. But that's a good thing, because if we never know what's wrong, we can never know what's truly right.

Money. Our lives revolve around it. We all want it; we know we all want it. Most of it doesn't even exist beyond the heavy-duty servers of some bank, and yet the pursuit continues for this elusive thing. Despite its presence in everyday life, despite the fact that we spend most of our waking hours working towards money, it's still somehow taboo to talk about. We like to pretend that money is not important to us, and sure, money is not the end goal. In fact, one of the most common regrets of people on their deathbeds tends to be that they worked too hard chasing after money. Of course, for all its value, however, money still can't buy you a meaningful relationship or an experience. But while money can't buy any of those things, it can make them more accessible. Is happiness not easier to achieve once you know the bills are all taken care of? Is happiness not easier to achieve when you are able to give a loved one something you know they deserve? At the very least, more money often equates to more choices in terms of how you want to spend your time, whether that is with your loved ones or in chasing a passion you had as a kid. And even if you disagree with everything I just said, in order to change the world you will still need the backing of financial capital.

Now, with that said, and hopefully having navigated through the awkwardness of introducing such a topic, let's cut right to the chase: how much money should you be making? How much is enough? And mind you, there is a very good reason to ask such a question. This is not just for curiosity's sake. Studies show that when you have actually put a metric to a goal and maybe even written it down, you are more likely to achieve it. People who vividly picture a goal are 40% more likely to successfully achieve it. So how much? What does the literature say? Well, the relationship of money and happiness is a complicated one. First of all, emotions are generally hard to track, and second of all, this question has not been researched all that much. However, anyone talking about this topic has to bring up a piece of literature from 2010, authored by Daniel Kahneman and Angus Deaton. Their paper looks into the relationship between income and happiness, but it goes a bit beyond that. The authors decided that simply looking into one metric as a measure of subjective well-being would fail to capture the complete picture and confound the findings, so they looked at two things: emotional well-being, which is defined as the day-to-day satisfaction; and life evaluation, defined as the thoughts that come to mind when one thinks of life as a whole. You could also think of emotional well-being as the sort of short-term happiness and life evaluation as the long-term happiness. Now, what did the research find? It turns out life evaluation rises steadily with income: the more people earn, the more positively they tend to think of life in general. Emotional well-being, on the other hand, seems to plateau after an annual income of around $75,000. Meaning, until that figure, for the majority of people, each bit of a raise in income will feel great, but after it, your day-to-day happiness won't go up by that much. So there it is, right? That's the magical number? Well, not quite. For one, this is a study from 2010; because of inflation, today that amount is closer to around $93,000. And I should also mention that this study was conducted with US residents as participants. What is considered a good life will definitely vary drastically in other parts of the world; let's get that right.

Just recently, in the first few weeks of 2021, researcher Matt Killingsworth published the latest findings on the very same question: how much money should you be making to be happy? His findings: experienced well-being continues to rise even beyond the coveted $75,000 mark, and not just that—it continues to rise just as steeply as before, meaning the return on investment isn't any worse off the more money you make. Why does this research disagree with the previous findings? Well, for the paper by Kahneman and Deaton, the data that was collected for emotional well-being were answers to questions about the previous day. That has the potential to fail to capture what a person was actually feeling in that moment of happiness or sadness because our minds tend to play tricks with us. Killingsworth's research, meanwhile, is collected via an app which pings users at various times of the day. It is more convenient than the traditional forms of surveying, and as such he had a significantly larger pool of responses to base findings on. This also allowed him to more truly capture what participants were feeling. So if we are to accept Killingsworth's findings, most people's day-to-day happiness, as well as their general outlook on life, tend to improve with higher income. So does that mean we should all just aim for an astronomically high salary in search of happiness and hope that we get there someday? Is that a realistic target? There's a thought experiment to try and answer that question for us as individuals. Author Brad Stulberg came up with the idea

Rich people may feel worse than poor people, even though both likely enjoy their salaries. They also compare themselves to others – if others earn less, they're happy; if more, they're not. Research shows easily accessible money improves well-being more than money saved in pensions. Having readily available cash is reassuring. Even $500 in a bank account can increase life satisfaction by up to 15%.

Of course, how you spend money affects happiness. Making money for money's sake might bring some joy, especially if successful; it's like a game. But that elation pales compared to spending it wisely. Buying time, often seen as the best use of money, lets you focus on joyful activities, offloading laborious tasks. The gig economy makes this more accessible, allowing more time for what matters, even with less in the bank. This could mean paying someone to do dishes so you can read to your child, or buying a more expensive family vacation ticket.

Material possessions also relate to happiness. Research is clear: spend on experiences, not things. Experiences are exclusive; nobody can replicate your trip with a friend. Despite their fleeting nature, experiences endure in memory, enhancing with time. We tend to forget minor inconveniences (delayed flights, poor Wi-Fi) and remember only the good parts. Aim for experiences, not a specific salary. This isn't to say possessions can't be experiences – a song, coffee, or a car can be. But people overestimate the lasting happiness of new things; satisfaction fades, and we're back where we started.

It's troubling, yet true, that money buys happiness, or at least pathways to it. But haven't we known this? The key is what truly matters: people, experiences, and time. This informs career choices and spending, and highlights the importance of generosity and an equitable future. We want money to ultimately spend it.

If you're watching this, you've won the game of life, you just don't know it yet. As of May 2019, there were approximately 7.7 billion people on Earth, each unique. The sheer number of daily events is unfathomable. Even harder to grasp is your existence. A vast chain of events, from the universe's beginning to this moment, led to you. By the numbers, you shouldn't even be here.

To exist, you had to be born; the Earth had to form; the fundamental forces of nature had to align perfectly. A planet collision created our moon, leading to seasons and a climate perfect for liquid water – the only known place in the universe with life. From a single microorganism feeding on ocean thermal vents, millions of years of evolution led to modern humans – beings capable of self-awareness.

Animal minds have advanced, but the human mind is different – sentient, conscious. We don't consciously breathe or blink; our brains create a view of the world from our senses. Our perception is constructed, easily tricked. Listen to a restaurant scene; your brain creates an image from sound alone. We picture things, see from different perspectives, making imagination reality. Every invention started with creative sparks. Our planet provides elements for shelter, technology, and food, and releases brain chemicals influencing feelings, like adrenaline (fight or flight) and serotonin (happiness).

Your existence wasn't random; everything happened as it should. Your parents met – a low-probability event. You watching this video alters your life; future events will change based on this choice. Each day, you move further down a unique timeline. Your parents, raised separately, met, stayed together, and chose to have you (unless you were a mistake). A woman has 300,000 eggs; a man billions of sperm. Only specific ones created you – odds of 1 in 400 quadrillion. If a single traffic light had been different, your parents might never have met. This luck extends back through generations, even to that first microbe.

Your life is a 4-billion-year-old unbroken family tree. You're more likely to be struck by lightning a thousand times than be alive; more likely to win the lottery nine times in a row. Were you put here for a purpose, or just lucky? The universe has 10⁸⁰ atoms; your birth is less probable. Consider the 50/50 chances of your ancestors living long enough to reproduce; it stretches back millions of years. This is even more extraordinary when considering alien civilizations – the odds of two meeting are incredibly low.

Regardless of age, gender, or location, you're alive. This is a luxury you shouldn't have. The regret on the faces of the elderly, unable to do what they wanted, is terrifying. Your existence is a miracle, from an infinite set of possibilities. The number of daily thoughts and neuron firings is inconceivable. It didn't happen by accident; it happened the way it did. Tiny decisions create huge impacts. The improbability of your existence gives purpose; we all have a reason to exist. I believe you have a purpose to find. We shouldn't even be here.

I recently saw a 1962 magazine cover by Walter Molino, depicting a 21st-century road with a four-wheeled scooter ("singula"). While our roads differ, his imagination wasn't far off (hoverboards and scooters exist). Modern writers might imagine the protective glass enclosure, yet the fashion remains stuck in 1962. This made me think about how past people imagined the future (our present).

Predicting the future has always been fascinating and profitable. Forecasting rain or ideal planting times was essential. Accuracy varies; reliable weather apps are relatively recent. Beyond money, we've always pondered possibilities. From *Back to the Future*'s self-lacing shoes to *Blade Runner*'s voice-activated security, predictions captivate. Some are remarkably accurate.

A 1928 *Popular Mechanics* page imagined a futuristic city, realistically depicting aspects of our present and future. They predicted underground traffic and infrastructure (like the Boring Company's initiatives), separated by vehicle types (like carpool, bus, and bike lanes). Spiral escalators are shown; although invented then, they remain largely unchanged. Personalized technology was also predicted – the transition from horse-drawn carriages to personal vehicles was just the start. Video calling and smart homes were even conceived. A Victorian postcard, predicting 2012, depicted video calling; though the device differs from today's, the concept is remarkable. Casual video calling started in the mid-2000s with Skype, only slightly off the mark.

Not everyone was optimistic. Thomas Watson, IBM president, in 1943, predicted a world market for five computers. This wasn't a lack of faith in technology, but due to their size; he couldn't foresee their portability. Ken Olsen, founder of Digital Equipment Corporation, in 1977, famously said there was no reason to have a computer at home.

Some predictions were outlandish. The 1950s envisioned waterproof furniture and appliance cleaning with a hose. In 1901, Thomas Edison imagined pre-designed houses poured into place, a large-scale, water-based 3D printing. There was even the idea of a whale bus by 2000.

These predictions often reflect the time of their creation. *Blade Runner*'s futuristic 2015 shows flying cars and vertical cities, but no seatbelts (seatbelt laws weren't yet in California). Optimistic predictions come from prosperous times, while pessimistic ones emerge from difficult ones, like the Great Depression. They often miss revolutionary technologies like mobile phones and the internet.

Science fiction is a major source, often underrated in its societal impact. Sci-fi captures public attention more than scientific findings, shaping perceptions of technology and highlighting issues. We often focus on fast vehicles instead of AI threats. Depictions of evil robots overshadow the subtle nature of AI development. The lack of killer robots might mislead people into complacency. We were unaware of social media's impact until recently. *Black Mirror*'s "Nosedive" shows a rating-based dystopia similar to Facebook and TikTok.

Sci-fi offers inspiration, like reusable rockets, perhaps humanity's next chapter. SpaceX, in a dispute with Blue Origin, cited a 1959 Soviet sci-fi film on the concept. These predictions are wormholes into the past, revealing aspirations, feelings, and values.

Time capsules offer a different perspective, not predicting but showing the past. The Crypt of Civilization, built between 1937 and 1940, captures life then. It couldn't include everything; creators choose what's important, reflecting anthropocentrism. Accuracy varies; some are designed to be opened later, while others are accidental. The Titanic is an iconic accidental time capsule. Unlike magazine covers, it shows authenticity; people chose between life and death, not which paintings to save. Chernobyl's evacuation, leaving behind items and the horror of abandonment, is another example. Both future predictions and past time capsules highlight time and our place in it. They offer insights into what matters, accurate predictions, or glimpses of a future we strive to achieve.

"God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there to cleanse us? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?"