My son works in one of the better Italian restaurants in Australia, and he has been teaching me what service really is.

My idea of service has always been an extreme and refined form of courtesy. But I was wrong, or at least I was only seeing the surface of it. He talks about service the way a musician talks about a phrase that sits perfectly, and I couldn’t follow. I’d spent a working life buying meals, treating the food as the event and everything around it as trimming. The waiter takes your order and delivers your food. You barely notice him unless something goes wrong.

We’ve been watching The Bear together. He’s the one who insisted that I watch it, and I understand now why. I felt that there was something he wanted me to see. He’d explain what good service felt like on the floor, on a full night, when it was going right. Watch the show, he’d say.

I think he wanted me to “get it” just like he did.

I watched all four seasons of it. And in there, what he’d been trying to tell me came through.

What is service

There’s a kind of service that many places, especially restaurants, never achieve. Even expensive places. You can feel its absence throughout the evening. The absence that looks like exaggerated courtesy: attentive, quick, apologetic, eager. Bending. Lowering itself in front of you, asking permission with the whole body just to serve you in your evening.

That is not service. That is servility, and the two are quite opposites.

The most servile service I can recall has almost always been in a Chinese restaurant. Even the expensive ones. Staff are courteous to a fault, attentive, fast, and place themselves far too low. Too shy to take command of the room. Which is strange, because the idea of service done properly, the real thing, is Confucian at its core. Somewhere along the line, we stopped living it.

The Servant is the Master

Good service comes from mastery and command.

The host is, if anything, placed slightly above his guest. Not in worth or status but in his role and position. He runs the show. He decides its shape and its pace, when to appear and when to disappear. With a sixth sense, he seems to know what you need before you need it. This elevation is precisely what lets him care for you. Strip it away, and the confidence goes with it, and what’s left collapses back into bowing. A servile man cannot take anyone in hand. He is too busy asking for permission just to be there.

This is the heart of li (礼), the Confucian idea badly translated into “ritual”. Li is the form that makes care possible. You seat your guest in the better chair, you pour before he asks, you serve, giving them the feeling of being taken care of. It is commanding. You are conducting the evening, and the form is what lets the warmth and the hospitality land without spilling into either indifference or grovelling.

The Japanese shokunin (職人) or craftsman gives himself to the craft so completely that the craft itself becomes the service. The sushi chef who has shaped rice for years isn’t “humble” when he serves you. He is delivering the accumulated weight of those decades of practice, and that is a kind of authority no amount of smiling can replace.

You see the same discipline in some Western kitchens, though it looks quite the opposite.

Listen to a kitchen on a full night, and it sounds like chaos, but it isn’t. “Yes, chef! Heard, chef! Behind! Corner! Fire table 6!” Every call is functional, an acknowledgement, a warning, a command timed to the second. The shouting is the discipline. It is a master holding a room together at speed so that out front, in the calm, you never have to know any of it is happening.

The shouting brigade and the silent Japanese counter seem like worlds apart, but they are the same thing, pointed at the same target. Both are aimed at mastery, because only a master can take the guest fully into his hands. The noise and the silence are two languages of the same thing: Like a symphony conductor who becomes so good no one notices the conducting. Just the music.

“Order from the QR Code”

But true service is fading, and I think it’s a tragedy.

When we walk into many restaurants in China today, we are directed to a QR code on the table. You order from your phone. You pay from your phone. No menu. No “today’s special is…”. The ritual becomes a process. The food arrives as quickly as it’s ready, delivered by someone who sets it down and leaves. Minimal interaction. Maximum efficiency. No rapport. No soul.

My son pointed this out when we travelled through southern China last year, and it has since appeared in some Adelaide Chinatown restaurants.

It sells itself as convenience, as the removal of friction. But the friction was never the problem. The friction was the sign that two human beings were actually meeting. Smooth it away, and the relationship goes with it, because they were the same thing all along. Service stripped down to efficiency is service with the human removed. And once you’ve removed the human, the next step is obvious. Robots cooking. Robots serving.

The saddest part is that the culture that wrote the theory of the host is the one that is most eager to delete him. This is not a small loss. It is one of the few genuinely human exchanges we have left, automated away and called progress.

This is my house

If you think about it, we are all service providers. In every occupation, everywhere, far beyond the restaurant.

“This is my house, and you are my guest.” That sentence holds the entire relationship. The host cares, controls, directs, and, when necessary, protects. He is not egotistical, not rude, not indifferent. He thinks about what you want and what is good for you, which are not always the same. He is gentle and firm, the way a good parent is with a child, with family. He is not easily offended, because he knows you are human. But he will not suffer abuse either. Or allow his house (and guests) to be disrespected. He is the master of his house.

Now widen this, and you will see that every profession is a service profession. The surgeon is a servant. So is the nurse, who can only be a good nurse by becoming a service provider, taking the fear off you and your family and carrying it herself. The therapist who eases the ache, physical or otherwise. Even the management consultant, in the end, is offering the same thing: clarity, direction, strategy. The lawyer who takes your fear and confusion, and says, “This is now my problem. Leave it with me.”

That phrase captures the entire nature of service. Leave it with me. You cannot say it convincingly unless you are also very good at what you do. The competence is what gives you the confidence, the right to take someone in. This is why the servant, properly understood, is never the menial figure we visualise. He is the most capable person in the room. He is the true master.

And you are my guest.

The guest has a part to play too.

Service is a performance, and a performance needs an audience. You have to allow yourself to be well served; you have to surrender a little. Let the thing run its course. Let the piece of music carry you instead of beating time over it.

A demanding, suspicious, rude guest breaks the spell, and not only for himself. He wants to pull the host back down into servility, forces the bowing to return, and the evening curdles for everyone at the table. The art of being well served is its own skill, and mostly the skill of trust.

Service, as mastery exercised for another’s benefit, is the heart of what makes us human. More than courtesy. The act of elevating another person through real skill and care.

It demands that the ego step back so the craft can step forward. It cannot be done in fear, or anger, or from beneath those we serve. Only from a place of quiet mastery, by someone secure enough to make another person the centre of the moment. A machine can deliver a meal. It cannot host you. It has no house to welcome you into.

My son understood all this before I did. Maybe he couldn’t find the words for it, so he handed me a television show and waited for me to catch up. That, too, was a kind of service.

Australians lost $31.5 billion on gambling in a single year. That is more than the federal government spent on aged care. It is approaching what we spend on the entire National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS). And it works out to roughly $1,527 for every adult in the country, including the four in ten who do not gamble at all.

We are, by a comfortable margin, the heaviest gambling losers per capita on earth. No other country comes close.

But this is not an article about morality. People can spend their money however they want. This is an article about mathematics and probability. Because the math behind gambling tells a story the gambling industry does not want you to know, and it is this: the system is built to take your money. Not just sometimes. Not just by bad luck. It is set up this way on purpose, and it always works this way.

What the “house edge” means

Every casino game has a built-in advantage for the casino called the house edge. It is not a secret. It is simply the percentage of every dollar bet that the casino expects to keep over time.

In European roulette, the house edge is 2.7%. In American roulette, the house edge is 5.26%. In pokies, it ranges from about 5% to 15%, depending on the machine. Even blackjack, the best game for players if you play with perfect strategies, still has a house edge of about 0.5%.

These numbers sound small. They are not.

Here is what a 5% house edge actually means. If a casino’s roulette tables collectively take $1 million in bets on a Friday night, the casino expects to give out about $950,000 as winnings and keep $50,000 as profit. Every single Friday. Without fail. The players as a group will always lose. Individual players may have good nights and/or bad nights, but the house does not need luck. It just needs you to keep playing.

The roulette illusion

Roulette is the clearest example of how the house edge works, because the math is obvious.

A European roulette wheel has 37 pockets: numbers 1 through 36, plus a single green zero. If you bet on red, you cover 18 of those 37 pockets. Your chance of winning is 18 out of 37, which is 48.6%. Not 50% (Red or Black). The green zero is the house’s edge. It looks like a tiny difference. It is not.

If the game were truly fair, a bet on red would have a 50% chance of winning, and the payout would reflect that. But the zero means the casino wins slightly more often than it loses, on every spin, forever. You are not playing an even game. You are playing a rigged game that feels even.

American roulette adds a second (double) zero, pushing the house edge from 2.7% to 5.26%. The payout stays the same. The casino simply takes a bigger slice. Most players cannot tell the difference.

Why do you lose more than you think

Here is the part that most gamblers never grasp. The house edge does not apply to the money you walk in with. It applies to the total amount you wager. And those are very different numbers.

Say you sit down at a roulette table with $200 and bet $10 each spin. At about 30 spins an hour, you are betting $300 every hour, even though you only brought $200. How? Because you keep using your winnings to bet again. You win some, lose some, and keep playing. Over three hours, you might bet $900 in total. With a 5.26% house edge, the casino expects to keep about $47 of that. But you only brought $200. You have lost almost a quarter of your money, not just 5%.

This is how a small house edge turns into a steady way for the casino to take your money. The longer you play, the more you bet. The more you bet, the more the house edge eats away at your money. The casino does not need to win in one big moment. It just needs you to keep playing.

The one game you can beat (and why it doesn’t matter)

Blackjack is the single casino game where a skilled player can genuinely shift the odds in their favour. Card counting, the practice of tracking which cards have been dealt to estimate what remains in the deck, can flip the house edge from -0.5% to roughly +1% for the player. It is not illegal. It is not cheating. It is simply having an exceptional memory and paying close attention.

Teams of card counters, most famously a group of MIT students in the 1990s, refined this into a system and reportedly made millions. Spotters at separate tables would track the count and signal a big player to join only when the odds were favourable. It worked. For a while.

But here is what the blackjack story actually teaches us. Even with a genuine, proven, mathematically real edge, the advantage was so small that it required thousands of hands, perfect discipline, a large pooled bankroll, and a team of people executing flawlessly under pressure just to grind out a modest return. Most of them could have earned more per hour in a regular job.

And the moment the casinos identified the pattern, they changed the rules. More decks. Faster shuffles. Facial recognition. Shared databases between venues. The industry spent millions engineering the edge away, because a beatable game is an existential threat to a business built on the certainty of the house edge.

Now consider someone who says he can count cards at the local casino and does quite well. It might be true. But even professional counters with years of experience cannot distinguish their skill from a lucky streak over a small number of sessions. The edge is so slim that it only becomes visible across thousands of hands. A weekend at the casino is not thousands of hands. It is probably anecdotes for a weekend BBQ.

This is also the deeper trap. Not just in gambling, but in life. We are wired to attribute good outcomes to our own skill and bad outcomes to bad luck. Someone who picked a winning stock is a genius. Another who lost money was unlucky. The poker player on a hot streak is reading the table. The one on a cold streak just got bad hands.

The truth is, over small samples, you cannot tell the difference between skill and luck. And most of the samples we use to judge our own performance are nowhere near large enough to draw any conclusion at all.

The lottery: You have no chance.

If casino games are unfair, lotteries are worse.

In Australia, the odds of winning Division 1 in Saturday Lotto are 1 in 8,145,060. That is a 0.0000123% chance per game. To put it in perspective, if you bought one ticket every week from the day you were born, you would need to live roughly 156,000 years to have a statistical expectation of winning just once.

Buy two tickets? Your odds are now 2 in 8,145,060. You have technically doubled your probability, and it is still essentially zero.

Buy ten tickets every week for fifty years? That is 26,000 tickets across 2,600 weekly draws. Your total chance of winning at least once over those fifty years is about 0.3%. You would have spent over $75,000 for a 99.7% chance of winning nothing. And none of those draws remembers the last one. Each week, your chances start over. Ten tickets gave you ten shots at a 1-in-8-million target, and then the slate is wiped clean. Next week, the same. For 2,600 weeks straight.

If you prefer Powerball, the odds are 1 in 134,490,400. You are more likely to be struck by lightning twice in the same year and survive. What does that mean? It means that if you won Powerball today, the statistics say you would have to start buying your weekly ticket 2.6 million years ago. Every week.

Unlike a casino game where you can at least choose how to play, a lottery offers no decisions, no skill, no strategy, no edge. You have exactly the same chance of winning whether you have been playing for thirty years or thirty seconds. The lottery is the purest expression of a system where your preparation is completely irrelevant to the outcome.

The pokies: Australia’s disaster

They are everywhere.

Australia has less than 0.5% of the world’s population but nearly 20% of its poker machines. Let that sink in for a moment.

Pokies account for more than half of all gambling losses in Australia. In the 2022-23 financial year, Australians fed almost $150 billion into electronic gaming machines (including winnings) and lost $12 billion (in total). These machines are engineered to create a sense of near-misses and small wins that disguise the steady mathematical drain on your balance.

The house edge on pokies typically ranges from 8% to 15%. But the real damage is the speed. A poker machine can run a game every three to four seconds. That is over a thousand games per hour. Even a modest bet per game, multiplied by that frequency, produces enormous total wagering and therefore enormous losses.

This is no longer just bad luck.

The gambler’s fallacy

Perhaps the most dangerous idea in gambling is the belief that past results influence future outcomes. That a roulette wheel that has landed on red six times in a row is somehow due for black soon. That a pokie machine that has not paid out in hours is closer to hitting the jackpot. Soon.

Wrong.

Each spin, each draw, each game is independent. The roulette wheel has no memory. The poker machine does not know what it did five minutes ago. The odds reset to exactly the same unfavourable number every single time.

And here is where the law actually makes things worse.

In Australia, every poker machine is required by law to return a minimum percentage of all money wagered back to players. In South Australia, that figure is 87.5%. In Queensland, it is 85% for pubs and clubs. In Victoria, 87%. These all sound reassuring.

They are not.

Because the return is calculated over the lifetime of the machine, not while you are there on a Tuesday at 8 p.m. The lifetime of a poker machine is millions of spins, sometimes billions. Over that vast stretch, the maths always average out.

You are not playing for the lifetime of the machine. You are playing for a few hours on weekends. And in that time, the machine can take every cent you have without violating its legal obligation. A hundred players in a row can walk away with nothing, so long as one player eventually hits a payout that pulls the long-term average back into line.

This is why the gambler’s fallacy is so persistent and so profitable for the house. People hear “87.5% return”, and they think the machine owes them something. They think that after a long, cold streak, the payout must be coming. It is not. The percentage is honoured only across a timeframe that no individual player will ever experience.

The government did not legislate these percentages to protect you. It legislated them to guarantee the house its cut. The law says the machine must return at least 87.5 cents of every dollar wagered. That means the law has enshrined your loss at a minimum of 12.5 cents on every dollar.

It also means that if you could somehow sit at a single (87.5% Return to Player) machine and play it for its entire lifetime across millions or even billions of spins, you will still lose 12.5% of everything you wagered.

That’s programmed into the machine, and protected by law.

Then why do people still gamble?

Because gambling feels like a possibility. “IF I win this…”

A near-miss on the pokies feels like you almost won, not the fact that you have lost. A winning streak at the roulette table feels like you are on a roll, not the fact that you are just seeing normal ups and downs that will even out eventually. The lottery ticket in your pocket feels like hope of a new life, not the fact that it is a piece of paper with a 99.9999877% chance of being worthless.

The gambling industry understands this. The sounds, the lights, the free drinks (and free food), the loyalty rewards, the near-miss animations on the pokies, all of it is designed to amplify the feeling of “that was so close...” while obscuring the reality of “mathematical probability”.

And gambling advertising in Australia is relentless.

On free-to-air television alone, gambling ads run hundreds of times a day. Online, they are everywhere. The message is always the same: this could be you. What the ad never says is: it almost certainly will not be you because the math, the house edge, guarantees it.

The real cost

The $1,527 lost per Australian adult each year is an average. Among regular gamblers, the real figure is far higher. The Productivity Commission estimated that Australians who frequently gamble lose, on average, $21,000 per year. For context, that is more than most Australians spend annually on electricity, gas, and fuel combined.

But the real cost of gambling is not just about money. Problem gambling is linked to broken relationships, mental health problems, and, in the worst cases, loss of life. These are not just unlucky side effects of a leisure activity. They are the expected results of a system built to take money from people who believe they can win, even though the facts say otherwise.

The uncomfortable truth

The previous article in this series introduced a concept called luck as a strategy. The idea is simple: you cannot control when luck arrives, but you can build the conditions that allow you to recognise it and act on it when it does. You can acquire skills, build health (and wealth), develop relationships, exercise patience, and manage risk. Each of these things genuinely and measurably increases the probability that good things will happen to you.

Gambling is the opposite of luck as a strategy. It is a system where nothing you do, no skill you learn, no self-control you use, no patience you show, changes the outcome in the slightest. The house edge is set. The lottery odds are set. The poker machine’s random number generator is set. And they are all stacked against you.

The house always wins. It is designed that way right from the start.

There’s an older man I know who buys a lottery ticket every single day. I used to see him most mornings when I stopped by the local butcher to pick up ingredients for my takeaway business. Just recently, I spotted him again, waiting outside the same shop where he still buys his ticket.

I’ve never asked him about it, but he once told me that he spends $10 (sometimes $20) a day for years. I imagine he gets a thrill each week when he checks if he’s won the big prize. Maybe he has, but I really doubt it.

I wanted to write about luck because I think it’s a topic worth exploring. After six decades of experiencing both good and bad luck, I think I have some helpful insights to share.

Luck is a position, not an event.

Like my old friend, many people think luck is random. It seems to fall from the sky like rain, soaking whoever happens to be outside at the right or wrong moment. Some believe certain people are just born luckier than others.

This way of thinking can be comforting because it removes personal responsibility. If success is only about (good) luck, then failure is just bad luck, and neither really depends on how we live our lives.

But if you watch how things really happen, like in careers, relationships, wealth, and in the lives of people who always seem lucky, you might see a different story.

Think about people you know who always seem lucky. They find the right opportunities, meet the right people, and are often in the right place at the right time. You might notice they have habits that aren’t just about chance.

They notice what’s going on. They get ready. They put themselves where things are happening. They’re in the right place. Usually at the right time.

They are lucky.

But I suspect luck isn’t all random. There’s a pattern to the lucky, and we can learn how it works.

The anatomy of a lucky break

Think about someone who gets the career opportunity of a lifetime. From the outside, it looks like pure luck. They met the right person at the right time and were available when the job opened up. Everything seemed to fall into place.

But if you look closer, maybe that person spent years building skills that made them right for the job. They join groups where opportunities are and nurture relationships without seeking rewards. When the chance came, they were ready for it.

This pattern shows up everywhere. The person who found the right partner wasn’t just waiting. They did the quiet work of becoming someone “attractive”. Maybe they were healthy, emotionally mature, and financially stable. The meeting might have been a coincidence, but being ready was no accident.

Conditions, not predictions

A common mistake is trying to control where luck will show up. Some people focus on just one outcome, like a certain job or deal, and feel unlucky if it doesn’t happen. Others chase every new opportunity, never sticking with anything long enough to get good at it.

Both approaches lead to the same result. It’s not about lacking talent or effort, but about not putting yourself in the right position for luck. Not being well-placed.

The real strategy is to focus, and not to get stuck on one outcome, like my friend who buys lottery tickets year after year.

Focus means working hard to get ready and staying open to opportunities that might come from unexpected places.

Think of it as probability. You can’t know which opportunity will change your life, but someone with the right skills, good health, strong relationships, financial discipline, and a sharp mind will see more opportunities than others. More importantly, they’re ready to act when those opportunities arrive.

Luck comes to everyone, eventually. But it sticks around for those who are ready to receive it.

The conditions that matter

If luck favours the prepared, the next question is: how do you get prepared? It comes down to a set of habits that, together, make it much more likely for you to get lucky.

Self-control is a starting point. It’s the steady ability to manage your emotions, such as anger, arrogance, laziness, etc. Self-control means staying calm and clear-headed even when emotions are strong, because letting emotions take over often leads to poor choices.

Foresight also sets good positioning apart from mindlessly reacting. It’s the ability to read your surroundings, know what’s rising and what’s fading, and put yourself in the right place. Foresight isn’t predicting; it’s about paying close attention so you can spot where things are heading before others do.

The ability to delay gratification is an important extension of foresight. The degree or skill you work for helps open doors. Early-morning workouts, instead of sleeping in, condition your body and mind. Saving money diligently each month lets you take advantage of opportunities when they come. You delay immediate gratification for bigger, better rewards in the future.

A growth mindset keeps you from being stagnant. The willingness to be bad at something before you are good at it, to treat failure as information or knowledge, and to keep learning through multiple failures. Luck tends to find those who are still moving, still building, still open to what they do not yet know.

Finally, the willingness (and courage) to take risks is the last key. You can be prepared, patient, disciplined, and smart, but if you never take a chance, never “pull the trigger”, then having all the luck in the world won’t matter. Taking risks is the final act that turns preparation into a lucky outcome.

Luck goes both ways

Bad luck is real, too. Illness can come out of nowhere. An economic crash can end a career. A relationship can fail even if you did everything right. No amount of preparation can make you immune to bad luck.

But strategies of being prepared change how bad luck affects you.

Someone with savings handles losing a job better than someone living paycheck to paycheck. People with strong relationships get through tough times differently from those who are “difficult”. Good health helps you recover faster than if you’ve ignored your health for years.

Getting ready for luck isn’t just about catching good breaks. It’s also about surviving the bad times. If you build enough resilience and strength in your life, bad luck won’t knock you out. You’ll still be in the game, and that gives good luck a chance to find you.

The will it takes

None of this is easy.

Getting ready for luck means working even when there’s no immediate reward in sight. It means sticking with your plan when others are taking shortcuts. It means having a plan. It means investing in yourself during the slow times, when nothing seems to work and quitting feels tempting.

It takes determination to keep preparing when there’s no sign it will pay off. You have to keep building skills before anyone asks for them, and stay healthy and focused even when it would be easier to let go and give up.

The final truth about luck

If you think about it, great success almost always involves good luck. The right door opens at the right time. The right person showing up. The right conditions converged in a way no one could have planned it.

Lucky people are prepared. They’ve spent months, years, or even decades building the habits, the conditions, that let them spot the right door, get there in time, and walk through it.

You cannot control when luck arrives. But you can control what it finds when it does.

AGI headlines are often in the news. Forecasts, often from brilliant people, that humans are running out of time, create a sense of fear and hopelessness. Bigger models, more parameters, rising capabilities, and a mood that sometimes feels like a countdown to doomsday. The drama is that AI is coming for us.

This fear rests on a simple assumption. If a machine processes information faster than we do, it must be more intelligent than we are. And therefore better than we are.

I disagree.

Speed is a single trait inside a large and complicated idea. The argument that AI will replace humans outright stems from a narrow way of measuring intelligence. Whoever produces the most, remembers the most, or moves the fastest, wins. Those measures are designed for tools. Humans operate quite differently.

Measuring the wrong things

When people compare humans to AI, they usually measure speed and volume. LLMs give complex answers instantly. They generate staggering amounts of text in seconds. They sort patterns that take us days to complete.

From that point of view, AI can seem scary. But look at the simple calculator. It beats every mathematician on the planet in calculating, yet no one confuses that with intelligence.

AI is a similar type of tool. It works quickly and handles scale; it is a sophisticated prediction machine, and prediction is not the same as understanding. AI is narrow power. It sees patterns, not meaning. Tokens, not lived experience.

We reinforce this misunderstanding by treating intelligence as if it lives only in the brain. It is why people talk about “downloading” themselves onto a computer chip, as if storing memories captures what intelligence really is. It leaves out most of what makes human intelligence unique and “not artificial.”

Intelligence that we do not take into account

When people predict that AGI and, subsequently, ASI will surpass human intelligence, they are usually focusing on the academic slice of intelligence: logic, knowledge, analysis, memory, and calculation. These are useful, but not the source of what makes life meaningful. The richer forms of intelligence sit elsewhere.

Emotional Intelligence

It highlights what matters and directs our attention. It helps us read people and understand context.

Love creates loyalty, patience, sacrifice, and the instinct to protect. It pulls us together for companionship and meaning.

Fear keeps us alert to risk. It shapes caution, vigilance, and self-preservation. It also sparks courage when something matters enough to act anyway.

Joy fuels creativity, play, exploration, and the desire to share experiences. It reinforces behaviours that lead to fulfilment.

Anger signals that a boundary has been crossed. It pushes us to defend ourselves, correct an injustice, or reclaim a sense of control.

Sadness deepens empathy and reflection. It helps us release what cannot be held and recognise what we value.

Desire creates ambition, curiosity, attraction, craving, and personal growth. It is often the beginning of change.

Hope allows us to persist through difficulty. To push against mathematical odds and give meaning to effort, turning imagination into action.

Shame shapes our social behaviour and cultural norms. It encourages alignment with shared values and motivates course correction. It helps build societies and communities by moderating social behaviours.

Guilt prompts accountability. It tells us when our actions have harmed someone or conflicted with our own standards.

Awe opens the mind to new possibilities. It expands perspective and inspires learning, creativity, and humility.

Trust lets us build relationships, share responsibilities, and rely on one another.

Curiosity drives exploration, experimentation, and discovery. It pushes us to take risks and into the unknown in search of understanding and new horizons.

All these are unique to us as humans, and our emotions work with us and within us all the time. These are faculties that AI lacks.

Biological Intelligence

Your senses are a magical and highly developed suite of high intelligence. Sight, sound, touch, smell and taste, each interlinked with each to create an exclusive symphony of sensations that makes us truly human.

Sight

Vision gives us reach beyond our physical form. It lets us take in the external world instantly when we open our eyes. The simple act of seeing a sunset, admiring a landscape, or watching our children play involves layers of perception that evolved over millions of years.

Our eyes reach out and touch the world without our conscious effort. We notice posture, expression, movement, colour, and subtle changes in someone’s face. We sense tension in a room before a word is spoken. Sight ties memory to physical detail and helps us anticipate what might happen next.

AI sees pixels, can analyse only pixels, but cannot see. We can improve the resolution of a camera, but AI has no “point of view” and no lived context behind a Hi-Res image.

Hearing

Sound carries layers of meaning long before logic enters the picture. Tone, pace, breath, and hesitation tell us as much as the words themselves. A slight tremor in someone’s voice can signal fear or excitement. A quiet pause can say more than a sentence. Hearing grew out of our need to sense threat, comfort, sincerity, and intent. It also gives us rhythm and music, the emotional architecture of human culture.

If you have ever listened to Beethoven’s Fifth and felt tears rise without knowing why, you would have recognised the power of that terrible language in music. Music speaks beyond words, and your mind understands it instantly.

Our hearing is tied to our memory, instinct, and emotion. It lets us feel the world, not just register it. AI can transcribe audio, but it cannot hear.

Touch

Touch is one of the oldest forms of intelligence we have. It signals safety, comfort, pain, texture, and temperature. It shapes our memories and emotions. A firm handshake, a shaky grip, a gentle caress from a loved one, the sudden chill of a breeze. Touch anchors us in our bodies. It defines boundaries and regulates our nervous system. Much of our instinctive behaviour comes from signals we feel, not the thoughts we form. AI has no tactile world or bodily feedback.

Smell

Smell is a wonderful (and often forgotten) thing. It reaches straight into memory and emotion. A familiar scent can bring back a moment from long ago. The sharpness of smoke, the sweetness of jasmine, the salt of the ocean, the perfumed hair of a lover. Each carries signals from across the span of time and space. Smell alerts us to danger before our mind catches up. It influences appetite, attraction, comfort, and instinctive avoidance. It is one of our human brain’s earliest guides, tying place, time, and experience together. An AI model cannot experience scent or the flood of memory it releases.

Taste

Taste informs our appetite and enriches our culture. It shapes our habits and memories around meals shared with people we love. Taste teaches caution and pleasure. It helps us understand what nourishes and what harms. It connects us to our tradition and to a sense of belonging.

AI can describe flavours, but cannot experience them like we do. The taste of something that reminds us of grandma’s cooking instantly connects us to a personal, invisible world that AI cannot replicate. It processes only the representation, but not the reality itself.

Subconscious Intelligence

Our subconscious is a working mind of its own. It sorts through fragments of memory, emotion, and experience without asking for our attention. While we sleep, shower, or walk, it threads ideas together and reaches conclusions that conscious effort cannot force. We sense danger before you can identify it mentally. We recognise a face we have not seen in decades. None of this is guesswork. It comes from patterns we have absorbed across a lifetime.

This same quiet machinery fuels creativity. New ideas often arrive when we stop trying to find them. A melody forms during a commute to work. A novel peeks its head while we are cooking. A solution shows up just as we think the problem is insurmountable. The subconscious blends memory, emotion, curiosity, and experience into something our conscious mind could not produce on its own.

These moments are signs of a highly advanced form of intelligence that is not available to AI.

AI has no subconscious, no personal history, no emotional memory, and no hidden layers of experience shaping its output. It can draw on human knowledge, identify and remix patterns, but cannot tap into an inner world because it does not have one.

Human intuition and creativity grow from this “unconscious” part of the mind, which no model can replicate.

Aspirational Intelligence

Our aspirations are a form of intelligence. They pull us toward a future that does not yet exist. They shape our choices and guide how we interpret possibilities. Aspiration is the part of the mind that lets us start a journey without knowing where it will end. It is the force behind every ambitious project, every invention, every work of art.

Aspirational intelligence is what enabled humans to build the Great Wall, cross oceans, and explore the universe. It is also how we created AI. None of these began with certainty. They started with imagination, hope, and a kind of stubbornness that refuses to settle.

Aspiration gives shape to meaning. It influences how we read opportunity and how we carry responsibility. It moves our decisions even when the logic is unclear. It provides us with a sense of “tomorrow” and a reason to pursue our dreams.

AI cannot aspire. It does not imagine its own future. It does not care about outcomes. It has no pride, no fear of failure, no hope, no longing, no concept of legacy. It does not begin anything for reasons beyond the prompt it receives.

Aspiration belongs to us. It is one of the deepest forms of intelligence, and it is the reason we continue to build, explore, and create beyond the limits of what we can see.

AI is powerful, but incomplete

People often imagine AI as a machine that thinks like us, wants like us, and reasons like us, only with more power behind it. That picture does not match the systems we have today, or the direction current models pursue.

AI does not live in the physical world. It does not have a body. It cannot feel relief, longing, anticipation, or dread. It cannot miss someone. It forms no intentions and sets no goals. It values nothing.

It simulates. It predicts. It imitates. It extends what we can do, faster and larger, but it does not touch. AI does not know the colour red like we do, or feel the embrace of our children like we do. There is nothing beyond its ability to answer a prompt.

The real risk

Fearing AI for the wrong reasons distracts us. The danger is not that machines become too intelligent. The danger is that we underestimate our own intelligence and forget what a piece of work we are!

So where does this leave us?

AI is here to stay. It is valuable and transformative. It will reshape work and industry. It should. But it does not reduce, cancel or overtake human intelligence. It reminds us of our human intelligence.

It pushes us to reclaim capacities we stopped noticing, the ones rooted in emotion, intuition, creativity, conscience, humour, and connection.

This is where our value lies. This is where our real intelligence lives.

If you enjoyed this reflection, you may like my other Substack, The Intelligent Playbook, my newsletter about AI, human capability, and the tools that help us work smarter. It is written for people who want to understand AI without the hype and use it to strengthen their own creativity and judgment.

You can subscribe and learn how to make AI a partner rather than a threat.

There is an old story about a monkey who sneaked into a farmer’s garden.

He saw a bunch of grapes hanging low on the vine. Delighted, he plucked a handful. But as he went further, he saw apples gleaming in the sun. He dropped the grapes and grabbed three apples, one in each hand and one clenched in his mouth.

Then he spotted pineapples. They were harder to reach, so he dropped the apples and struggled until he managed to tear two free. Just as he began to feel proud of his haul, he saw watermelons, big, green, and impossible to ignore. He dropped the pineapples and strained to carry two, but they were too heavy. He decided to take one just as the farmer appeared with a gun. The monkey fled in panic, bruised and empty-handed.

We, most of us, live life the same way. Surrounded by endless options, we grasp for more, then change course when something shinier catches our eye. We want it all, and in the process, we scatter our attention, our energy, and sometimes our joy.

Modern life offers freedom that previous generations could not imagine. But freedom can become its own trap. The more we can choose, the more we fear missing out, and the more we risk losing what we already hold.

This abundance often feels like a kind of captivity in endless possibilities. The modern mind is overwhelmed by the abundance of choices. Every decision feels like a test, every missed opportunity like a tragic loss. Psychologists call it choice overload, but it is really an emotional exhaustion born of endless freedom.

Choice is meant to liberate us, yet without focus and clarity, it becomes a burden. The monkey in the garden could not decide what mattered most. And that, perhaps, is the quiet tragedy of our time. With so much to choose from, we have forgotten how to choose well.

The Modern Problem of Too Many Choices

The modern world celebrates freedom of choice as the highest expression of progress. We can choose our career, our partner, the city we live in, what to eat, what to wear, and even the brand of water we drink. On the surface, this feels like empowerment. Yet beneath it runs the fatigue of constant decision-making.

Psychologist Barry Schwartz called this the paradox of choice: the more options we have, the less satisfied we feel. Too many paths create hesitation. We spend hours comparing, researching, scrolling through reviews, convinced that one perfect choice will deliver happiness, the right job, the right person, the right life. And when it does not, we blame ourselves. And others.

Every decision now carries the fear of missing out on something better. Even after choosing, we second-guess ourselves. Did I make the right call? Should I have waited? What if I regret this later? We are surrounded by opportunities, yet haunted by what we think we might have lost.

Choices have become a constant demand for self-justification. From what to eat for breakfast to a lifelong career, it becomes a mirror of our worth and identity. No wonder we are tired.

Why We Struggle to Choose

Choice, for all its promise, exposes our deepest fears. Every decision is a small declaration of who we are and what we value, and that is precisely what makes it hard.

We hesitate because choice means responsibility. Once we choose, we can no longer hide behind possibility. We have to own it and live with the outcome. And in a world that tells us we can be anything, we quietly fear becoming the wrong thing.

We struggle because we want certainty. We want to make the right decision, the one that guarantees success, happiness, or peace. The perfect choice. But life does not work that way. No amount of research or comparison can predict how things will unfold. The illusion of a perfect choice traps us in endless analysis.

Then there is fear of missing out. Each yes carries a dozen invisible nos. Choosing one path feels like closing all the others, and we mourn the imagined lives we did not live. In the age of social media, this pain is amplified. We see the filtered highlights of other people’s choices and wonder if ours fall short.

And finally, there is perfectionism, the voice that says, If you can’t do it perfectly, don’t do it at all. It disguises itself as wisdom, but in truth, it is fear: fear of failure, fear of regret, fear of not being enough.

Our problem is not that we have too few choices. It is that we have lost the courage to choose.

How to Choose Well

If too many choices can paralyse us, the way forward is not to yearn for less, but to learn how to choose better. Good decisions are not born from perfect information or endless analysis. They come from clarity, knowing what matters most and trusting yourself enough to act.

Simplify your options

Not every decision deserves equal attention. Reserve your energy for what truly shapes your life, your values, your relationships, your health, and your purpose. Let small things be small.

If you are choosing a meal, a shirt, or a show to watch, remind yourself: It does not have to be perfect, it just has to be enough for now. But if you are choosing a job, a partner, or a direction in life, ask whether it aligns with what you care about most. A simple filter like this, “Does it matter in five years?” can reduce the noise instantly.

Simplifying is not about settling. It is about clearing away what distracts you from what truly counts.

Knowing what matters most

When every path looks tempting, pause and ask: What do I want to stand for? What kind of person do I want to become?

If you are torn between two jobs, one with status and one with meaning, remember that no spreadsheet can weigh fulfilment. If you are choosing between comfort and growth, ask which choice your wiser, future self would thank you for.

The world offers infinite options, but clarity comes from within. Choices made from values rarely lead to regret, even when the road is uncomfortable.

Let go of perfection

No choice is perfect. Every option carries uncertainty and trade-offs. The pursuit of perfection often hides fear: fear of being wrong, fear of judgment, fear of missing out.

Think of someone who keeps waiting for the perfect partner — someone without flaws, doubts, or disappointments. That search never ends, because people are not perfect. Love, like life, is not about finding the flawless choice, but about committing to the one you have chosen with care, patience, and heart. “Forsaking all others...”

Decide, then make it right

Clarity rarely comes before action. Often, understanding arrives only after we begin.

You may choose a career and later find that it is not what you imagined. You may move to a new city and feel lost at first. That does not mean the choice was wrong. The meaning of a decision grows from how we live it.

Once you have chosen, stop asking whether it was right or wrong. Instead, ask how you can make it right. Make it better. Make it work. Pour yourself into it. Learn, adapt, and let commitment transform uncertainty into direction.

Accept trade-offs

Every yes implies a no. Maturity is accepting this without resentment.

If you choose to build a family, you will have less personal freedom. If you choose independence, you may have fewer roots. Both are valid, but you cannot live both lives at once.

Peace comes when you stop trying to. Let go of what might have been and be fully present in what is. The joy of choosing lies not in endless possibility, but in wholehearted commitment to what you have chosen.

When You Make the Wrong Choice

Even with the best intentions, we sometimes make poor choices. We misjudge a person, a job, a path. What matters, then, is not the mistake but what we do next.

If you can correct course, do it quickly. Change direction, apologise, start over. The quicker you act, the lighter the consequence. If you can.

But not every mistake can be undone. Sometimes we have to live with what we have chosen, the career that did not fit, the opportunity we let slip, the words we wish we could take back. In those moments, acceptance becomes wisdom.

Accept the loss, and then make the best of where you are. Every wrong choice carries a lesson if you dare to face it honestly. Use it to grow.

Good judgment is earned, choice by choice, mistake by mistake.

The Gift Hidden in the Burden

Choice demands courage. It asks us to step forward without guarantees, to take responsibility for what follows, and to live with imperfection. But in that burden lies its gift.

Each decision, no matter how small, is an act of authorship. It says: This is my life, and I will shape it. To choose is to participate in your own becoming. It is how we turn possibility into reality, how we move from dreaming to doing.

When we stop chasing every option and begin choosing purposefully, something remarkable happens: peace returns. Freedom no longer feels like chaos, but clarity. We realise that meaning does not come from having every path open, but from walking the chosen path fully.

We will never make all the right choices, but we can make our choices right by living them deeply, learning from them honestly, and holding them lightly.

The burden of choice is real, but it is also a privilege. It means our lives are still ours to shape.

I have always loved rest. I cannot remember a time when I thought of resting as a waste of time. Of course, I was often busy, with school, with work, with family, but I never felt that taking a break was wrong.

Yet in the world I grew up in, the idea of rest was not always viewed kindly. During my National Service in the Singapore Army, we had a term for it: idling. If you are caught doing nothing, then you are labelled an “idle king.” It was an insult, a warning that you weren’t pulling your weight. Worthless. Or worse, being called “chao keng,” a phrase that has no neat English translation, but roughly means someone so lazy that they invent every excuse to avoid work.

Those words betray a culture that frowns on those who rest. They coloured how we saw one another, and how we saw ourselves. Resting was seen as suspicious. Weak, worthless to the team. Unless you had just completed an inhuman amount of hard labour, rest was a sign of weakness, as was falling sick. So most Singaporean men, at least, grew up familiar with the relentless drive to be “on the ball.” This culture has permeated entire generations, from the mid-1960s to the present.

I still see this all the time: the inability and unwillingness to take a real break, to do nothing, to idle. Even when there are valid reasons, like recovering from illness or exhaustion. There is always a restless glancing over one’s shoulder, as if to see if anyone was watching. We rest, but we are never restful. Guilt keeps a constant watch.

Why Rest Feels So Hard

Why is it so difficult to rest without guilt? Why do we feel the need to explain ourselves when we are not doing something productive? Something like work?

Part of the answer lies in the story our societies tell us about worth. From an early age, many of us were taught, sometimes with words, often with judgmental glances, that value comes from effort. You’ve got to be busy. To be busy is to be important. I remember being told by a mentor in the company I used to work for that “Not only must you work hard, you must be seen working hard.”

This suspicion of rest runs deep. It is woven into the language we use: don’t be idle, don’t just sit there, take action, stay on top. In many cultures, pausing is seen as a risk, as it can lead to being overtaken by others who continue to move forward in the rat race.

In Singapore, this drive had its roots in necessity. In the early 1960s, the nation was emerging from extreme poverty. Survival was at stake. Families pushed themselves because they had to. The ethic of relentless effort was not just about ambition; it was about putting food on the table, about staying afloat in a precarious world. That urgency, combined with the real experience of hunger, etched itself into the psyche of an entire generation.

The result is a strange paradox. Even when our bodies cry out for rest, our minds resist. We have absorbed the belief that rest must be earned, and only after sufficient toil. Anything less is indulgence.

So we fill our weekends with errands, our holidays with itineraries, our evenings with screens that keep our minds buzzing. We lie down, but we do not rest. We sit still, but inside we are restless. We are always justifying, always defending, constantly checking if anyone notices that we have stopped.

Rest feels so hard because it is not only a physical act — it is a cultural and emotional struggle. To rest freely is to resist the pressure to prove our worth.

The Cost of Never Stopping

There is a price to never stopping, and it shows itself in every part of life.

Physically, the body begins to fray. Headaches become routine. Muscles tighten. Sleep grows shallow, never quite refreshing. The immune system weakens, leaving us vulnerable to every passing flu. Some carry stress in their backs, others in their stomachs, others in migraines that strike without warning. The body keeps the score, and it never lies.

Emotionally, restlessness corrodes our capacity for joy. We become irritable over small things. We rush through conversations without listening. We sit with loved ones, and our minds are still occupied with unfinished tasks. Even when pleasure is within reach, such as a good meal, a child’s laughter, or a quiet evening walking along the beach, all these will slip past us unnoticed.

Spiritually, the cost is even greater. When we never stop, we forget what it means simply to be. We confuse our identity with our output, our worth with our usefulness. Life becomes a treadmill, not a gift to be enjoyed. Ultimately, we risk becoming strangers to ourselves.

I experienced this after we closed the restaurant in 2023. At first, I thought I was failing when I spent long hours doing “nothing,” watching YouTube, pottering about the house, or simply sitting. But I realised that my body and mind were trying to heal from years of overextension. “Wasted” time was not wasted at all. It was the slow uncoiling of tension, the gradual surfacing of hidden exhaustion, the first steps of recovery.

The cost of never stopping is not only burnout. It is the quiet erosion of our soul.

The Wisdom of Rest

If the cost of never stopping is erosion, then the gift of rest is renewal. Rest is not the absence of life or purpose; it is the condition that allows life to flourish.

Even God rested on the seventh day. Across cultures and traditions, wisdom has always made space for rest. The Jewish Sabbath, the Christian Sunday, the Buddhist retreat, and the Mediterranean siesta all carry the same truth: to stop is to regain your strength.

Rest has always been seen as sacred because it is more than recovery. It brings us back to the deeper rhythms that are easy to lose in the noise of daily life.

When we rest, we allow what is hidden to emerge. Artists and scientists alike will tell you that breakthroughs often come not in the midst of effort, but in moments of pause — in the bath, on a walk, in the silence before sleep. In the soil, it is the fallow season that restores fertility. In us, it is rest that renews imagination, clarity, and joy.

Rest is wisdom because it restores us to ourselves. It teaches us that we are more than what we produce, that life is more than what we achieve.

Learning to Rest

Rest does not always require grand gestures. It can be woven into the fabric of ordinary days, if only we allow it to be.

It might look like a quiet walk with no destination, simply moving at the pace of your own breath. It might be turning off the phone for an evening, reclaiming a few hours of undisturbed presence. It might be sitting on your favourite chair at the end of the day and simply idling.

Sometimes, we need longer pauses. Retreats in the mountains, a few days by the sea, or a stay at the local monastery. A longer moment to give us space to step outside the familiar noise and reflect. It is a returning, a listening more deeply to the life we often rush past.

Learning to rest is about giving yourself permission to do so. Permission to stop without guilt. Permission to trust that the world will carry on without you. Permission to believe that rest is part of being human.

When we give ourselves that permission, rest ceases to be an interruption. It becomes rhythm. And in finding the rhythm, life regains its balance. Rest is written into the very fabric of our lives; to pause is to honour the rhythm that sustains us.

Take a break - a good, long break.

When we learn to rest without guilt, we discover that rest is not opposed to work. It gives work meaning. It is the soil where strength, creativity, and joy are renewed.

Rest is where we ready ourselves for what lies ahead.

I first realised I was experiencing burnout around 2004. I had worked for a large company in Singapore for 4 years by then, leading the marketing team. Things were going great. We were breaking new records every year, and inevitably, we attracted attention. A new boss and heir to the business empire came on board, bringing his own team, and the bullying began.

Things got so bad that one day, I snapped. I cooked up an excuse, handed in my notice, and walked away. At the time, I didn’t know it was burnout. I just knew I couldn’t do it anymore.

At first, the pressure gave me a high. I was working late every day, pushing harder, chasing new records. The momentum was addictive. But over time, it started to pile up, straw by straw. I was always exhausted, irritable, and unable to sleep. Then, our first child arrived.

That was my first real lesson: burnout does not announce itself. It creeps in quietly, slowly. One insignificant straw at a time. By the time you notice, it can feel like the ground has already disappeared beneath your feet.

What is Burnout?

Burnout is not the same as being tired after a long week; it’s about feeling exhausted and depleted all the time. It is a state of chronic stress that drains your mental, emotional, and physical reserves until you are running on empty. Unlike ordinary exhaustion, the kind a good night’s sleep can fix, burnout lingers, like a toothache. Rest does not feel restful. Small tasks feel overwhelming. Joy disappears from everything.

And it does not show up the same way for everyone. For some, burnout looks like snapping at colleagues or family over the smallish things. For others, it is brain fog, forgetfulness, distractions, and making even simple tasks exhausting. It can show up as physical symptoms, such as headaches, muscle tightness, indigestion, or sleepless nights. Or it may creep into your daily habits: procrastination, withdrawal, scrolling without end, or leaning on caffeine, alcohol, or other stimulants to get through the day.

I have crashed more than once in my work life. In 2008, the global financial crisis affected the company I worked for across Southeast Asia, and the stress nearly consumed me. Migrating to Australia was, in some ways, a lifeline. In 2016, turning 50 prompted me to leave corporate life altogether. The company has changed. The bosses have changed. And in 2023, after five years of running a small takeaway alone, the long hours and thin margins, worsened by Covid, forced me to close the doors. Each time, burnout returned in a different form. Each time, I learned to notice the signs a little earlier, and to prepare myself for recovery and renewal rather than driving myself into the ground.

Common Warning Signs of Burnout

Burnout is often invisible until it becomes apparent. By the time many of us recognise it, we have already crossed the threshold into chronic exhaustion. That is why learning to recognise the early signs is crucial. And these tend to show up in three areas.

Physical signs

• Waking up tired, no matter how long you slept. This is often the first and most common sign. For me, it was waking up every morning feeling as though I had not slept at all.

• Physical pain, such as constant headaches, muscle aches, or unexplained pains. I used to live with a nagging backache during my burnout years. Other friends have headaches that no medication seems to cure. One lady I know had some sort of perpetual menstruation.

• Restless or disrupted sleep patterns. Sometimes I would wake up to check my phone, only to stay on it for the next two hours, and finally drift off to sleep just before it was time to wake again.

• A heavy fatigue that does not lift with rest. This is exhaustion at its deepest. I once knew someone who was otherwise fit and healthy, but so tired he would fall asleep anywhere, on the couch, even at the dining table. One day, at just 31, he collapsed on his way to the car park and never got up again. Burnout can be that serious.

Emotional signs

• Irritable outbursts over small things. In Singapore, I saw this typical pattern: parents coming home at 10:30 p.m., responding to their kids’ welcome with a sharp tone, “Have you finished your homework yet?” No hugs or kisses, no “how was your day? Did your team win the soccer match?”

• Cynicism or disconnection. I have drifted off in meetings, only to be caught by the boss. Everything is stupid.

• A creeping sense of apathy. This one is dangerous. It feels like nothing matters, nothing is worth the effort. Left unchecked, apathy can tip into depression, and in some cases, suicide.

• Emotional numbness. Even in moments that should bring joy, such as a meal with loved ones or a personal win, you feel nothing.

Behavioral signs

• Struggling to concentrate, making mistakes, forgetting tasks. I notice this in teenagers, especially during early adolescence, but adults are just as vulnerable. When your brain is overloaded, attention is the first to go.

• Avoiding responsibilities through procrastination or withdrawal. For me, it was procrastination. Simple tasks felt like climbing mountains.

• Numbing out with distractions. Netflix, endless scrolling, or substances promise relief, but usually leave you more depleted. I have seen this across every age group.

• Saying “yes” to everything. Even when you are drowning, you agree to do more. Work longer hours, work on weekends, and abstain from sleep. Burnout erodes boundaries, making “no” feel impossible.

Burnout creeps in gradually, stacking stress on stress, until the weight is unbearable. At first, the adrenaline actually makes you feel good. You feel productive, even invincible. But eventually, the body and mind crash. The earlier you notice these signals, the sooner you can step back and begin to recover.

Why We Miss the Signals

If burnout is so common, why do so many of us miss the early signs? Partly because the world we live in has trained us to.

The culture of pushing through. In many workplaces, especially in Asia, where I spent much of my early career, long hours are worn like a badge of honour. Working late is the norm. Leaving on time is considered laziness or a lack of commitment. No loyalty to the team. When exhaustion sets in, the unspoken rule is to keep pushing. “Look, it’s just a cold. No big deal.”

The blur of digital life. Today, the problem is even worse. Work emails arrive on our phones at midnight. Colleagues call about work on weekends. Notifications blur the line between work and home, rest and distraction. Even our sleep is not safe. Many of us wake up to check our phones, only to lose another two hours of rest. This always-on culture keeps the nervous system in a constant state of alert, making burnout inevitable.

The trap of self-blame. Perhaps the most insidious reason is this: when burnout hits, people assume it is their own fault. “I am not up to it. I am lazy. I need more discipline.” But the truth is that burnout is not weakness. It is a consequence of imbalance, by giving more than your body and mind can sustainably offer.

We miss the signals because we were taught to ignore them. To view tiredness as sloth, irritability as a flawed character trait, and apathy as a lack of determination. “You lack drive” is what one of my previous bosses said. Burnout thrives in this culture. Only when we learn to name it for what it is can we begin to step out of it.

Addressing Burnout

There is no shortage of advice on how to deal with burnout. Take a walk. Try meditation. Do some breathing exercises. Practice yoga. All of these can help, but only to a point. They only soothe the symptoms. Unless you recognise what is really happening, these fixes do not fix the problem.

The first and most crucial step is naming it. Admitting you are burned out. That moment of recognition changes everything. It shifts the story from “I am useless” or “I am lazy” to “I am burned out, and I need to recover.” Sometimes, that recognition happens only with the help of a counsellor or therapist, or an honest friend, someone who can objectively reflect back what you cannot yet see.

The next step is to identify the cause. For many, burnout often begins at work, often due to impossible deadlines, toxic work environments, or the relentless expectation of being always available. Burnout might also stem from relationship conflict, parenting stress, or caring for ageing parents. For children and teenagers, bullying at school or at home can create the same downward spiral. If left unchecked, these can escalate into something more damaging: substance abuse, domestic violence, or even suicide.

Remember that burnout does not discriminate. Employees suffer, but so do managers and business owners. Leaders carry the double burden of responsibility, for their own well-being, and for the livelihoods of the people who depend on them. In many cases, their stress is compounded by the position they hold.

Only when you have accepted that you are burned out and identified its cause can recovery truly begin. At that point, practices like yoga, mindful walks, or journaling become part of a broader path toward renewal, because they are addressing the deeper imbalance that caused the burnout in the first place.

Three Steps to Address Burnout

1. Recognise

• Pay attention to the early warnings in your body, emotions, and habits.

• Say it plainly: “I am experiencing burnout.”

• This shifts the story from weakness to awareness.

2. Identify

• Ask yourself: “What is driving this?”

• Are work demands, relationship conflict, family responsibilities, or something else the cause?

• Identifying the root cause provides a direction for change and is the first step to recovery.

3. Act

• Take deliberate steps to rebalance. That may mean setting boundaries at work, seeking counselling, or addressing toxic dynamics at home. Sometimes, it may require walking away from an overly toxic situation or relationship.

• Practices like yoga, walking, or journaling become effective only once you have acknowledged and addressed the underlying issue.

Recovery is not about doing everything at once. It is about moving through these steps with honesty and consistency.

The Road to Recovery

Recovery from burnout does not happen in a week. It is a process of rebuilding, sometimes slowly, but always deliberately. Once you have recognised burnout and identified its root cause, the work shifts to creating the conditions for renewal.

Rebuild your boundaries. One of the first casualties of burnout is the erosion of boundaries between work and rest, and between what you can do and what you cannot. Recovery begins when you start drawing clearer lines. This might mean saying “no” more often, setting non-negotiable downtime, or creating rituals that signal the end of the workday.

Reconnect with yourself. Burnout thrives when we ignore our emotions, dismiss our needs, or pretend we can carry everything alone. Recovery means making space to listen inward again. Return to the centre. For some, that is journaling. Bonsai. For others, counselling. Or simply walking in silence. The practice matters less than the intention: to return to yourself.

Recovery is also not a straight line. You will stumble, push too hard again, and relapse. Maybe there’s just no way out of your current employment arrangements. But every time you return to awareness, boundaries, and renewal, you build resilience. Over time, burnout shifts from a constant threat to a signal you know how to read and respond to before it overwhelms you.

Conclusion: Burnout as a Teacher

I have learned a great deal over the years. Each time, I become better at spotting the signs early. And because of that early detection, the impact is less severe. This ability to manage stress has made me a more agreeable person, less prone to mood swings, and more aware of when I am carrying too much. Strange as it sounds, you can get better at coping with burnout.

When we closed shop in 2023, I gave myself space. For four or five months, I did little more than cook, clean, and support my wife, who had stepped into full-time work. The rest of the time, I spent 6-8 hours a day watching YouTube. At first, it felt indulgent. But slowly, I realised I was giving stress permission to surface and then fade away.

It was around then that I began writing What Matters. Putting the conversations in my head into words gave them shape and, in turn, gave me relief. Over the past year and a half, that practice has helped me heal. In its own way, blogging became my 4-7-8 breathing exercise, a rhythm for releasing what had been held inside.

Today, I am less prone to burnout. I am quicker to notice the signals when they appear. I take life less seriously, and yet live it more fully. That is the paradox burnout has taught me: that recovery is not about striving harder, but about learning to let go, to breathe, to rest, and to begin again.

This is me, every night. It’s just past 1 a.m. I am hooked up to my CPAP machine and lying on my side. The CPAP doesn’t allow much movement while I sleep, but I do get a good 4 hours of sleep each night. I am on my phone, flipping between TikTok and Zombie Underground. I should be asleep by now. But maybe just in a few more minutes…

I know I am not alone because I can tell which of your friends are online at 3 in the morning. They know I know, too. Sometimes, I get a message asking about gossip. “Why don’t you read a book or something?” I asked myself. Maybe. I opened my Kindle app and continued where I left off on “Alchemy”, but dozed off soon after.

Do you hear it?

It wasn’t a sound, though. More like a feeling. This silent hum on my phone, a soft but insistent pull on my attention all the time – a beckoning. I am aware of this; I suspect we all are. We offer sage advice on managing our online activity. We tell our kids not to become social media addicts, asking them to put their phones down and to go outside and play. We know what it’s like to be on a digital leash.

Yet, we…I…fail miserably when trying to manage this overindulgence. There is a constant but mild anxiety present all the time. One that tells you that you’ve got a new message. Something in your inbox. Someone sent you something. Maybe it’s something important. I tapped away from my Kindle app and started wandering off as other apps called for my attention. It’s a bloody noisy quiet world all the time.

This pervasive, low-grade demand for attention is like a nagging cold that just won’t go away. I think we are all mildly sick; we all have it but refuse to acknowledge it. This ailment, called technostress, was coined by American psychotherapist Craig Brod in 1984. He defined it as a "modern disease of adaptation caused by an inability to cope with new computer technologies in a healthy manner", according to ScienceDirect.com. Brod’s book, "Technostress: The human cost of the computer revolution," further popularised the concept. The hum becomes the silent, insistent background noise of our lives.

Isn’t it strange that all these wonderful devices, which were supposed to make our lives easier, are slowly sapping us dry? There is no doubt that, in many ways, technology has significantly improved our lives.

I remember when I first Skyped my parents in Singapore, my father was so gobsmacked by the idea. He could not understand how he could speak with his grandchildren and me in real time across two continents. Think about it. In the past, to meet with someone, we needed to coordinate a specific time and place. Zoom has effectively eliminated “space,” so we no longer need to be in the same place when we meet.

There are other things as well. I can find a recipe for a dish I miss from my childhood with just a few taps. I can learn about any historical event that comes to mind. I can access the collective knowledge of all time. Maybe not quite “of all time”, but bigger than our local library.

Somewhere along the way, when we welcome all this new-age convenience, we also let something else in.

It’s a paradox, maybe.

The more connected we become, the more scattered we feel. The more information we have at our fingertips, the more our attention shrinks. Spread over too much, too many. The distraction is real and overwhelming. I guess that is the price we pay when we embrace this constant, quiet hum that we can’t escape from. We allowed it, we even encouraged it. So we are now at its mercy.

This urge to check our phones even when there’s absolutely no reason to. This perpetual distraction at our fingertips, this needy, demanding companion that so often drains away the best years of our lives. This is what we let into our lives. It is what we have allowed to take control. To take over. I caught myself the other day refreshing my RedNote page just to watch it reload.

Silly. Embarrassing. And a waste of time. But I’m probably not the only one doing that.

Is there a way out?

I wonder about this whole “digital dependency” thing, especially when I can’t go to sleep at two in the morning. I try to recall a time when we didn’t have these devious devices. What was it like then?

Maybe we’ve gotten so used to constant stimulation that silence feels strange now. Research suggests that there’s a genuine public concern about how to navigate all this responsibly in the future. The pace at which technology permeates our lives is accelerating, and we are struggling to keep up.

But none of us really wants to go back to a world without technology. I certainly don’t. I do not think I can cope with it. But I do believe we’re all trying to figure out how to live with it without letting it take over. There’s a tension, a push and pull, between the new and the old.

We’re trying to figure out how to thrive in this environment without losing it. Ways to be productive without burning out. How to put our phones down. How to enjoy a moment’s silence: have a conversation, write a letter (not email), read a book. Be. Tricky, isn’t it?

I wonder if we’re losing sight of what matters. What are we missing out on when most of our attention is divided? For me, it comes down to presence. Being fully there when I’m having dinner with my sons, enjoying a walk with my wife, or being alone with myself. At 1 a.m., if I cannot go to sleep, it is perhaps the best time to spend the hour just being.

Until sleep eventually comes.

I noticed that I am easily distracted these days, especially when I am trying to write. The problem usually isn’t a lack of ideas, but rather an abundance of them. Ideas flow so quickly and incoherently that it feels like I’m chasing several rabbits at the same time.

One thought leads to another, and another, and another. And before I realise it, I’m researching how to design a website while writing about family relationships and getting updates on TikTok at the same time.

This week is a perfect example. I sat down to work on a piece about the History of Chinese Tea Culture from my recent trip to China. That quickly changed when I saw a new message on my phone.

A neighbour has invited me to tea this Friday. She’s serving meatloaf. What’s meatloaf? I remember seeing this on many American sitcoms when I was young. Meat was scarce in Singapore in the 70s. Meatloaf sounds luxurious. I googled “what is meatloaf?” and found several recipes. It’s like a gigantic loaf of meat. Meatball? Looks more like a loaf of bread. I wonder what you eat it with? Maybe the starch is combined into the meatloaf. I am sure the Chinese “Lion’s Head” meatball (Shi Zi Tou, 狮子头) would taste much better.

I googled Lion’s Head meatball for that… hmm, I think the boys would love to try this. I should write a piece about this dish for At the Table. Lion’s Head meatballs are a classic dish in Huaiyang cuisine, a regional style of cooking that Nanjing is part of. Yes, I do love Nanjing dishes.

Subsequently, I checked my email multiple times, made 2 more cups of coffee (I have to remember to get more coffee powder), and cleared the dishwasher. I found myself scrolling through Instagram posts of people making meatloaf, unrelated clips, and something about “How to reduce your 30-year mortgage by 23 years.”

The Nature of Our Minds

I recall a line from the Bhagavad Gita that my friend, Adrian Urdaya, once shared with me, where Krishna describes the mind as “restless, turbulent, strong and unyielding.” Maybe that’s just the nature of our minds. The monkey mind, as it is commonly referred to in Buddhist teachings. Constantly jumping from branch to branch, never content to sit still.

When I was running our little restaurant, I had the same problem. My mind would wander while I was prepping vegetables or getting ready for service. But I knew it would be disastrous if I didn’t have a strict routine. I wouldn’t have been ready every day at 4:30 p.m., when the doors opened, and disappointed customers don’t come back.

So I built a distraction-proof routine into the week. I know what I have to do, at what time of the day and week. I even had YouTube playing whenever I was working, a kind of distraction to keep me from being distracted. I pulled the blinds down and locked the doors during prep time. I did everything to cut out external distractions so I could get my work done on time. And it worked, mostly, except for the occasional visit from a good-intentioned neighbour or during a power outage.

Marcus Aurelius wrote about returning to the present moment in his Meditations, though I suspect even he struggled. There’s something almost weary in his Meditations, like he was tired of having to remind himself to pay attention. If a sage-emperor who controlled half the known world then couldn’t master his mind, what hope do the rest of us have?

Why Our Brains Love Distraction

But here’s what I’ve learned: this struggle is universal. I’ve met business leaders and spiritual masters, and every single person I encounter struggles to stay focused. It’s not a personal failing. It’s how our brains are wired.

Our brain is like a security guard that never sleeps. Its job is to keep you safe by constantly scanning for anything new or different. Thousands of years ago, this was crucial for survival. That sound of a twig snapping in the dark could be a sabre-tooth. Or it could be Grok and Urg coming to raid our cave again. The brain paid attention to everything that kept its owner alive.

It was critical for survival.

But today, it’s different. There’s always something happening. Notifications on your phone. Cars honking outside. The neighbour’s dog has been barking nonstop since this morning when they left for work. Your brain still thinks all of this might be dangerous, and it is trying to check everything out.

On top of that, if the notifications are about something new or interesting, your brain releases a tiny bit of “hmm…” Dopamine. It makes you feel “good” and adds to the addiction. One post at a time as you scroll your life away.

To make matters worse, we deceive ourselves into thinking we are multitasking. We cannot multitask. What we call multitasking is switching rapidly between tasks, and each time you switch, your brain needs to refocus. It’s like trying to have three different conversations at once. Or like playing (Trump’s) 5D chess. You can see how that is turning out for the world.

Tips that work (for me)

I’d like to share a few tips that have worked for me. They’re not revolutionary, but they work if you stick with them.

Write it down

First, write down what you need to do. Make it visible. I keep a 4” x 5” cue card in front of my computer with my daily tasks written clearly. Has to be written. Not as a file on Notion or your To-Do app. There’s something about writing (with a pen) and seeing your intentions on paper that helps your brain remember what it’s supposed to be doing.

And here’s the crucial part: keep the list short. No more than 3-5 items. Don’t write down everything you can think of. Just 3-5 things you want to do immediately. You can add new items the next day if you have completed what’s on the list. If it stays on the list for more than a week, drop it. You are just kidding yourself.

I read about this method in Peter Drucker’s The Effective Executive. It is not just for those who are working, but also a handy book for living an effective life. If you have never read it, I highly recommend it.

Simplify

Simplify, simplify, simplify. This applies to everything: your workspace, your schedule, your goals for the day. The more complex things are, the more opportunities there are for distraction. A clear desk fosters focus, a streamlined schedule prevents overwhelm, and fewer, well-defined goals ensure completion. Complexity invites distraction; simplification keeps rabbits away, allowing you to focus on what really matters.

Don’t multitask

You can’t. This is an excuse for those who struggle to focus, who enjoy distractions. Look busy, stay busy. I have soooo much to do! We all know of colleagues and friends who pride themselves on this superhuman ability. “I can multitask like a god!” The reality is that you cannot focus. And it shows in your failure to deliver results. This goes against the conventional perspective about productivity, but multitasking is just an excuse.

Create barriers between yourself and your distractions. When I was running our restaurant, I locked the doors during prep time. Now, when I’m writing, I (try to) put the phone down. Silence it. Or charge it in a separate room, making it slightly harder to access.

Controlled Distractions

This might sound counterintuitive, but if you try to eliminate all distractions, you’ll just end up fighting yourself all day. Instead, schedule specific times when you’re allowed to be distracted. Do it in a controlled manner, such as spending 10 minutes on the phone to check for messages or playing a computer game. Or wash the dishes.

The psychological benefit of knowing these breaks are built into your routine is significant. It reduces the constant struggle to resist temptation, making it considerably easier to maintain focus and complete the task at hand. This transforms distraction from an intrusive force into a scheduled, manageable component of your day, a release valve that ultimately boosts productivity and reduces mental fatigue.

Find your rhythm

My ability to focus changes throughout the day. I’m usually sharp and alert in the morning, so that’s when I tackle the bulk of my important tasks. By afternoon, attention starts to waver, so try engaging in mindless tasks, such as housework or replying to messages. At night, I usually let loose and let my mind wander, either on the phone or watching Netflix. Or just enjoy a pot of tea with my wife.

Or maybe write an article about the History of Chinese Tea Culture.

The Bigger Picture

You can’t eliminate all distractions; that’s impossible and probably undesirable. Our wandering minds often make unexpected connections that spark ideas and breakthroughs. We are sometimes at our best when we are distracted. It might also be the quality that separates us from artificial intelligence. A kind of real intelligence. This “weakness” is the seed of human creativity. The goal is to become more intentional about when we allow distraction and when we choose focus.

Most importantly, treat yourself with compassion when your mind wanders. Frustration with distraction only creates additional stress. Like meditation, when you notice your attention has drifted, gently guide it back to your task.

In our hyperconnected era, sustained focus IS a superpower. Not because it’s mystical, but because it’s increasingly scarce. The person who can remain absorbed in a single task will accomplish more meaningful work than someone constantly ping-ponging between activities.

The rabbits will always be there, enticing you from the periphery of your awareness. The art lies in knowing when to engage in the chase and when to ignore it, while remaining committed to the tasks and goals that matter and contribute to your desired outcomes.

Have you ever noticed how someone struggling with money still manages to buy a $7 coffee? (The average cost of a cup of coffee in Singapore in 1998 was 70¢...1000% more.) Or spend their last paycheck on a new phone, or a designer bag, or some over-the-top skincare that promises glow and purity but delivers nothing but guilt when the bill hits?

It’s easy just to say, “That’s why they’re poor.” But it’s not that simple. Those decisions aren’t always irrational. They’re emotional. They’re social. Sometimes, they’re the only power someone feels they have left.

Poverty is not just an economic state; it is a trap. A set of interconnected illusions, distractions, and routines that keep people stuck. And how, even when you’re aware of them, it’s still hard to break free.

Trap 1: Chasing the Illusion of Wealth

There’s a Starbucks near my old office in Singapore. You’d think it would be packed with corporate types. But most of the customers were students, copywriters (like me), or hospitality workers. They’d sit with a single coffee for hours, headphones in, eyes on their phones. Why?

Because Starbucks sells more than just coffee, it sells an identity, a feeling. For a few bucks, you can sit where the “cool people” hang out. It’s a place to be seen, even if just for a while.

This is aspirational consumption. Buying into the image of success because…everyone wants to feel like they matter.

These are usually small things: A fancy dinner. Another pair of shoes. Designer’s hand soap. $25 LV paper clips (each). A lifestyle that looks richer than it is. The latest iPhone, Italian crockery, and branded jeans.

But guess what: the wealthy don’t do that. Studies show that millionaires tend to live well below their means. They pay cash, buy used cars, and cook at home. They skip the labels. They protect their money because they know how hard it is to keep it.

Meanwhile, those who are struggling spend to appear as if they’ve made it.

It’s a carefully designed trap intended to perpetuate the illusion. Marketing doesn’t just sell you things; it creates desire, it sells the idea that you’re not quite enough without all this stuff. And when you buy in, you find that you’ve just got onto the treadmill.

Trap 2: The Distraction Machine

After a long day’s work, you’re exhausted. You just want to switch off. You binge on Netflix, Stan, or both, flipping through countless options without actually watching any. You scroll through TikTok, check in on Instagram, and watch silly shorts on YouTube. Before you know it, the evening has passed. Your mind is full, but you feel empty.

Amusement is a drug. It numbs you to your situation, your reality, your own life.

Lower-income groups spend significantly more time on social media than wealthy folks do because it’s accessible. And free. It’s an escape they can afford. A $20 streaming subscription is more manageable than a $500 self-improvement course. It’s also more fun than the discipline it takes (and a chance) to break the poverty cycle.

But everything comes at a cost. While you’re glued to screens, your energy to change anything about your finances, your health, and your education leaks away. Life goes quietly by in the late hours of the night.

The Roman Empire had “bread and circuses” to keep the masses pacified. Today, it’s influencers and politicians. An endless drama of fake news and content: sports, sitcoms, computer games, and cat videos. Colosseums evolved into stadiums. Distraction keeps people from realising how things are. It’s the “boiling the frog” strategy.

If you’re too tired, too busy, or too entertained to think, you’re too numb to take any action to improve your life.

Trap 3: Work Hard, But Stay Poor

“Just work harder.” That’s the advice people give when they see someone struggling. What if hard work doesn’t work?

In cities like Sydney and Melbourne, the cost of maintaining a modest lifestyle, including secure housing, food on the table, basic healthcare, and possibly raising a small family, has become increasingly unmanageable. Median weekly rents in Sydney are pushing A$775, and nearly half of all renters now spend over 30% of their income on housing alone. Wages haven’t kept up. They’ve grown by just over 4% in the past year, while rents in major cities jumped more than 11%.

For many Australians, especially those born after the 1990s, the math doesn’t work. So they take on second jobs. Drive Ubers, deliver food, take weekend shifts in retail or hospitality, doing whatever it takes to keep the lights on. By the end of 2024, over one million Australians were working multiple jobs, with 20 to 24-year-olds the most likely to do so. These side gigs aren’t for saving. They’re for surviving.

Debt is another weight. The average Gen Z Australian now holds around A$11,300 in personal debt, and roughly one in five carries at least A$8,000 in credit card balances. Many are repaying student loans, with the average debt amounting to approximately A$28,000. The pressure is constant. Rent’s due, groceries cost more, and even a 0.25% interest rate increase on a 750-thousand-dollar mortgage is crippling. There’s no margin. No cushion. No rest. Just the slow erosion of financial security, one direct debit at a time.

Trap 4: The Comfort Zone

That sounds…deceptively comforting, like a blessing. Stability. Routine. Familiarity.

But the comfort zone is a prison.

In the movie The Shawshank Redemption, Brooks Hatlen spent 50 years in prison. He was an elderly, gentle man, known for tending the prison library and feeding his pet bird. When he was abruptly paroled, he couldn’t cope with the outside world. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t adapt. Eventually, he took his own life.

He’d been “institutionalised.” Ultimately, unable to adapt to the overwhelming freedom and uncertainty of the outside world, he penned a heartbreaking suicide note to his friends. He confessed, “I don’t like it here. I’m tired of being afraid all the time. I’ve decided not to stay.” He then tragically hung himself from a beam in his room, carving “Brooks was here” above his head.

This is real for many who remain in the same job and follow the same patterns for decades. Not because they love it but because it’s familiar. It’s safe. However, when change comes suddenly, as with the introduction of new technologies (such as AI) or the collapse of old industries (such as the automotive manufacturing sector), layoffs can leave them unprepared.

Growth doesn’t happen in comfort. And when you’ve spent years avoiding risk, the idea of starting over can feel impossible.

There’s a way out

These traps aren’t about personal failure. They’re structural, cultural, and psychological. But it is possible to escape them.

1. Learn the Game

Capitalism thrives on ignorance. It wants you to consume, to work, to stay tired and distracted. When you understand how it manipulates you, how it sells identity, fear, and desire, you begin to see through it.

Know why you want what you want. Who benefits when you buy? What is the true price?

2. Invest in Knowledge

A car depreciates. A skill appreciates.

Courses, books, and intelligent conversations are long-term assets. They grow with you. They open doors, give you leverage. Always be learning.

If money is tight, focus on free resources. There are plenty. There’s never been a better time in history to access knowledge. The internet can be a sinkhole or a ladder, depending on how you use it.

3. Don’t Numb Your Mind

Mindlessness, through work and consumption, will erode your capacity to think critically. So stop every now and then. Read something difficult. Challenge an idea. Write a blog. Talk to someone who disagrees with you.

Thinking deeply is revolutionary. Especially in a world that profits from your passivity.

4. Get Uncomfortable, On Purpose

Take the class. Switch the job. Move to a different city. Try something you’re bad at or scared of. Fail, let yourself struggle. Keep pushing and encourage others to do the same. That’s where growth lives.

You don’t need to overhaul your life overnight. But you do need to move; one small step at a time.

A Final Thought

We often discuss poverty in terms of numbers. Income brackets. Budgets. Economic policy. But the deeper poverty is one of imagination. Of possibilities. Of time, space, and energy to dream of something different.

Read “Poverty is a mindset”

Escaping poverty isn’t just about earning more. It’s about thinking differently. Acting differently. Refusing the script you’ve been handed, and writing a new one, even if it’s messier, slower, harder.

The system will not make it easy. That was never its intent. But systems can be hacked. And the first hack is being aware.

If this resonates with you, or if you know someone who has fallen into one of these traps, please share it. Start the conversation.

Get off. You don’t have to stay on the treadmill.

Share

This has to be the most common question I get after we closed our restaurant in late 2023.

“What are you doing now that Lot 8 is closed?”

“I am…writing a blog. A newsletter.”

“Oh! That nice. I’d love to be able to retire too.”

Initially, I wanted to know if I could write again. I was a copywriter in a previous life, when writing ads was still a relevant trade. I wanted to know if I could, like what all those YouTubers say, make money from writing. You know, those digital nomads who work 3 hours a week from a beach in Bali. I would like to know if I can do that too.

It’s been a year now since I began writing this blog.

I started with a WordPress site, but didn’t have the patience to learn how to navigate it effectively. I spent more time on “settings and themes” than on writing.

Then, I discovered Medium, which had an unusual business model. I would spend hours “reading”, “clapping”, and “commenting” on other writers’ work because that was how everyone got paid, until Medium changed the algorithms and kicked me out. I guess I was making a lot of money for other writers. It wasn’t sustainable, mainly because Medium couldn’t tell whether all that enthusiasm was genuine. There were many articles on how to game the algorithms in Medium.

Eventually, I migrated to Substack. And it was here that we met.

The curse

I held my breath when I hit “publish” every single time. Writing feels a little like walking onto a stage without your pants on. I still have nightmares about walking onto a stage without my pants on. What will they think? Is this too blunt? Politically incorrect?

I rewrote, deleted, hesitated, and rewrote again, bothered by the thought that no one would care, or that they’d discover that I am not a real writer after all. Like, I am not a real chef because I never went to chef school.

This is the curse for anyone who dares to write.

I’m glad we met

But then, you came. You subscribed, and even left a comment now and then. You read; you stayed. You made me feel less like a stranger shouting into the wilderness, and more like someone who had just joined an interesting conversation at the bar.

You listened. And that matters.

The audience are the lifeblood of writers. They give our work meaning and purpose. I have learned much from other writers here on Substack.

But the truth is, I had too much to say. I was self-absorbed. I was caught up in the chaotic relief of finally letting the ideas I’ve kept for so long out. I had several freelance gigs that became a distraction until I decided to return.

Here, I write for you.

So why do I write?

I have to. I have no choice. The five years when I worked mostly alone in the kitchen, six days a week, have bottled up enormous volumes of feelings, thoughts, and arguments. All those inner conversations needed venting.

I was looking for my voice as much as a pair of kind ears.

Writing became the valve where my curiosity, passions, and (sometimes) quiet indignation found a way to escape. It was how I untangle the knots inside, silently whispered the wisdom of my ancestors, and faced the demons that kept me awake at night.

Writing was my therapy.

Sharing Knowledge

Knowledge is one of the most beautiful gifts anyone can seek, but it is useless if not shared. This past year, I have learned more than decades of work and study. I write when I learn, and I learn when I write. I ask questions that I haven’t asked or daren’t ask before. I explored history, philosophy, superstitions, and wherever my curiosity took me. I reflect on my mistakes and dream about the future. I even shared my thoughts on the science of poaching Hainanese chicken and making an easy Laksa.

Writing lets me entertain thoughts. Musing musings. Ideas that I never knew existed. Revolutionary ideas. Forbidden ideas. Ideas that will end all poverty and bring about the Great Unity (天下大同). Writing allowed me to entertain my curiosity, which has led me to many wonderful places and some not-so-wonderful places, too. But that’s the nature of knowledge.

Learning is a strange thing. Once you know something, it feels like you have always known it. It’s like when they say, “You can’t unsee what you have seen.” The same is true with learning.

Conversations with myself

Writing is like a conversation: sometimes, it’s just me with myself, and other times, I am talking to many, many other selves. With my dead parents and forebears, with my son and grandchildren not-yet-born, with my mistakes and achievements, my hopes and my fears. My gods and my demons. Lao Tzu and Dr Strange from the Avengers.

Sometimes, there are quarrels and disagreements bordering on violence; other times, it feels like courtship, a slow and gentle persuasion about keeping your eyes on the road when you drive. Back and forth, over and over, until the veins run dry.

A compulsion, as much as a passion.

It’s a kind of magic.

I often smile to myself when an idea pops into my head out of nowhere. Especially if it is an interesting idea. A funny idea. A cunning idea. A devious idea. I wonder where they come from. It feels like I’ve tapped into a giant repository where all ideas are born and live. Is this the elusive muse who visits and teases and leaves without warning?

My wife sometimes catches me and asks suspiciously, “What are you smiling about?” I have learned to always share the idea, honestly. I go into oratory mode and ramble the thoughts as quickly as I can, as if trying to catch a butterfly just inches away from me. Then, I take out my phone, open Google Docs, and write down as much as I can before it vanishes.

Of course, magic doesn’t happen all the time. Usually just when I least expect it.

But I always smile when I have a new subscriber. It’s not the same as “Likes”. A subscriber has to go through the process. Give an email address and download the app to come on the journey. You may even read, leave a comment and share your thoughts. And you have to be convinced that it is not a waste of time. That’s such an affirmation!

So I write because of you. For you. I see you when I write: my family and my friends, my fellow Substackers and ex-Medium writers, old souls and curious minds. I see us having a pot of Oolong, sitting across from each other, talking about small gods and big ideas, Daoist philosophy and Chinese Gastronomy, about ugly delicious and dumpling economics. I feel your presence now, even as I write. And what a privilege this has been.

So, thank you. Thank you for being here, for coming along and staying, for supporting tanfrancis, for your kind replies, your shared thoughts, and especially your paid subscriptions. I am deeply grateful.

If this blog mattered to you, helped you reflect, laugh, or look at the world a little differently, I invite you to “upgrade” your subscription. But a word of warning: There are no immediate or additional benefits apart from my gratitude. It helps me keep writing and keep this blog accessible and alive.

No pressure.

Otherwise, I am just as happy that you are here. It gets lonely sometimes. But I’ll be here for a while, at least another year. Writing, listening, sometimes with a silly grin.

And occasionally, staring at a blank screen and hoping that my muse will visit soon.

Yours, Francis

I remember when my father bought his first calculator in 1976. It wasn’t even one of those fancy LED models; it was just a simple calculator that ran on two AA batteries. It had green numbers. He used it every evening to tally up his business accounts.

Before that, he relied on his Chinese abacus, which he used with remarkable speed and accuracy. He tried to teach me, but I was too slow.

But I was mesmerised by the calculator. Occasionally, he let me play with this electronic marvel, and I was convinced there was magic inside.

I wouldn’t need to memorise the multiplication or division tables with this little machine again. This was the future!

We have always built tools to extend the reach of our minds and our intent, to help us think more clearly, work more efficiently, and create with greater freedom.

From counting with our fingers to developing the abacus (so that we have millions of fingers). From basic calculators to spreadsheets that changed how we worked with numbers and data, each innovation expanded the boundaries of what we thought was possible.

Writing has also taken the same evolutionary path: from scratching on bones and bamboo stripes to writing with a pen and paper. From typewriters to word processors, from libraries and physical books to search engines, Wikipedia, and now, AI. Each tool helped remove friction from the creative process, allowing us to focus less on form and more on meaning.

I see AI as an extension of my thinking, not a replacement for it. It isn’t here to write for me. It’s here to write with me, to sharpen my thoughts, to organise my ideas, and to help me say what matters most.

It brings me back to when I first saw an electronic calculator.

The Wrong Way to Think About AI

When I share with others that I write with the help of AI, I usually get one of two responses:

Isn’t that cheating?
Wouldn’t that make your writing sound fake?

The answer depends.

In 1976, I didn’t think using a calculator was cheating, but my teacher thought so. Schools tried to ban it. It was almost like, “How dare you even consider it?” You will never learn to do 16 x 23 and become stupid and unemployed.

By 1982, they allowed it with restrictions, and we had to learn to use a scientific calculator for our “O” level maths.

But writing should be hard

(Of course, with Perplexity, we now know that the quote is more accurately attributed to Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith in 1949.)

There is a strangely sacred struggle between the writer and the blank page: Writing should be a painful, solitary act, and anything that seems to make the process easier is almost viewed as betraying the craft. Writers should suffer.

But this is the wrong way to think about writing, especially when writing with AI. I remember when those who used mechanical typewriters frowned upon dedicated electronic word processors (without a computer screen). At the start of my writing career in the mid-’80s, I bought a Smith-Corona, much to the displeasure of my other aspiring writer friends.

I dumped it when WordStar came along with the IBM 386 PC.

I see AI as my research assistant for fact-finding, confirming my theories and assumptions, and recommending sources I can reference. It is also my sounding board (so I am no longer solitary), who gives me opinions, criticises my ideas and thoughts, inspires me, and helps me overcome writer’s block. My drafting assistant, who helps me generate ideas that I edit or completely rewrite, because a better idea is triggered by reading AI’s ideas. My organiser, who helps me gather my thoughts and categorise them into outlines.

They all work quietly in the background, allowing me to focus on “the big idea.”

But some would let AI do everything. Write 20 articles on parental advice for toddlers with food allergies. Post them on my website.”

You can too; that’s not how I would use it.

Bad writing generated by AI happens when the thinking is unclear, the questions are lazy, or the prompts are poorly framed. In that sense, AI reflects the quality of attention you bring to your work. As with any tool, mastery comes from what you bring to it.

My Writing Process for What Matters

In this piece, I will share how I use a 5-step process when writing articles and books for this blog and The Intelligent Playbook (a dedicated AI newsletter). Feel free to modify and develop your own process that works for you.

My 5-Step Writing Process

Writing is, at its heart, the act of thinking and then expressing those thoughts through words.

AI helps me do this with greater clarity, structure, and discipline. It transforms the often messy writing process into something more intentional and methodical.

Over time, I’ve developed a simple but effective process for writing with AI. It keeps me focused, organised, and creative. Here’s how it works.

Step 1: Write the Prompt Before Writing

This is the most important step for me, and where I spend most of my time. I treat the prompt like the foundation of a building. It provides my GPT (Generative Pre-trained Transformer) with instructions and, more importantly, helps clarify my thoughts and intentions.

I have included a downloadable PDF template for Subscribers at the end of the article. Think of this template as your conversation starter with AI, a tool to help you clarify your ideas, refine your voice, and create writing that feels truly your own.

What do you want to do?

I want to write an article for tanfrancis. Of course, I can also write an article for The New Yorker or The Atlantic. Or my company’s web content or newsletter. The purpose is to let my GPT know the publication I am writing for. Tip: You can ask it to visit the URL to understand the publication.

Working Title or Topic:

This is a general statement, so my GPT knows what the article is about. A working title could be “Why I Have to Make My Bed Every Morning if I Want to Be a Millionaire Before I Turn 25.” You know immediately what the article is about, and so does your GPT.

Role Assignment:

I can assign a role to my GPT. I can ask that it act as the leading economist for the IMF in 2030 or as a Senior Consultant at McKinsey and Co, specialising in the geopolitics of Central Asia. I can even ask it to act as William Shakespeare suffering from writer’s block and trying to write his 155th sonnet before this Friday’s deadline. This gives the GPT context to work with.

I have also often asked my GPT to act as Francis Tan (me), trying to persuade my teenage son to make his bed every morning.

Be creative.

Setting the objective:

This is where I let my GPT know the goal. For example, I can tell my GPT that I am discussing the importance of climate change in 50 years or that I want to persuade the Mayor that having a 40-storey Ferris wheel, like The London Eye, here in our suburb is a bad, bad idea. Let your GPT know what you want to do: entertain, inform, educate, or explain.

Target Audience:

I will also tell my GPT who my audience is. Are they general readers? Professionals and executives? Prospective employers and HR Managers? My kids? My wife? Ex-girlfriends? You get it.

Desired tone:

One of the things I’ve learned is that I can guide my GPT to adopt a specific tone, whether conversational, formal, witty, serious, or even a little stern when needed.

This matters because, like any good assistant, it sometimes wanders off. It might drift into a style that doesn’t sound like me. When that happens, I simply remind it to stay in this voice, keep to this style, and return to this tone.

It’s not so different from working with a human editor or junior writer. You guide, you correct, you shape. After all, AI doesn’t know who I am until I teach it.

Key Message:

This is the single-minded proposition that I learned as a copywriter for an advertising agency. What is the one idea that I want to get across? Not two or three.

While I usually have more room than a 30-second radio commercial, I try to keep to just one key message. I do not always succeed. Continuing with our example, it can be: “If I want to be successful, I must begin with making my bed every morning to build discipline.”

Article Details:

Here’s where I include bits and pieces that might be helpful to my GPT. There is no fixed structure, but I find these helpful for my GPT and me.

Writing the super prompt forces me to clarify my thoughts, give good instructions, and know what I want to say. AI can’t think for me, but it can respond incredibly well when I know how to ask.

Step 2: Generate the Outline

Once I’ve finalised the prompt, I will ask the AI to generate an outline. I see this as the structure for my piece, a blueprint. This is especially useful for writing a long piece or even a book. An outline lets me plan how I want the piece to flow, what to cover and the details that go into it. Depending on the information I provided earlier, I can usually get a reasonably good draft to start working on.

Like a roadmap or agenda for a meeting with my editorial team.

Sometimes I need to revisit and refine my prompt several times, or as often as necessary, until the outline feels right.

Step 3: Edit the Outline.

This is the stage where I spent the most time. Think, comment, and edit. This is also where the writing happens

I go through the outline point by point and subpoint by subpoint, changing details and adding notes. I include personal stories and observations, quotes and jokes, move sections around, rewrite headings, and drop entire paragraphs.

• “This is too generic. Replace it with my story about the old rickshaw driver we met in Jieyang.”

• “I like how this paragraph flows. Maintain this warm and reflective tone throughout.”

• “Expand this point. Include a placeholder for my story about how Paul cheated me out of my investment.”

• “Section 3 feels repetitive. Merge with sections 1 and 7.”

• “Include a quote from Confucius here. I want to bring some Chinese philosophy into this argument.”

• “Include joke about the psychiatrist and proctologist going into business together.”

These comments make the article unique.

This is also the most rewarding part. Once I’m happy with the outline, I move on to the next stage.

Step 4: Flesh Out the Article

This is where AI happens and where many feel uncomfortable about it.

With the final outline, I ask the AI to flesh out the article or book section by section. I’ve learned that AI works best when it’s not overwhelmed. Trying to write everything in one go usually leads to disjointed ideas, a lack of focus, and hallucinations. So, take it one step at a time.

Once the section is written, I go through it. Read it for grammar, tone, structure, and clarity. Does it sound like me? Is it the right voice? Is it communicating the idea clearly?

If I don’t like something, I adjust it. Maybe I’ll ask to revise a sentence or suggest a different metaphor. Maybe I’ll add more detail from my personal experience.

I think of this as sculpting. AI might give me the raw material, but I get to work on it and refine it.

I continue this process, working through the entire article one paragraph at a time, refining, adjusting, and adding myself into the piece.

Sometimes, when a section takes an unexpected turn, I’ll see if this new path is worth exploring. That’s the beauty of writing with AI; there are always surprises and room for improvement.

It’s not just AI’s words or mine when I finish writing the whole piece. It’s a mix of both.

Step 5: Final Review. Reading, Refining, and Reflecting

Once I have a complete draft, it’s time for the final read-through.

This is where AI takes a back seat. I read it for clarity, structure, flow, meaning, and impact. This usually also involves breaking a few grammatical rules and conventions to make it more “me”.

This is where I sometimes make big adjustments, such as dropping entire sections, condensing or expanding sections, or rewriting the whole article. I feel it is less traumatic if I have to do that, knowing that I did not just waste an entire week on this. Having AI assist the process meant it took about half a day or more to reach the final draft. This improved efficiency means I can write more often without being too discouraged.

Once I’ve made the final adjustments and feel confident, I take a deep breath and hit publish.

AI as a Writing Partner

I’ve discovered that writing with AI has been more than just a time-saver. It has become a valuable tool for developing, organising, and refining my thoughts. Reading something I don’t like also clarifies what I do like. As a sounding board, AI offers different perspectives and helps me see my ideas from angles I might not have considered. This back-and-forth has been one of the most interesting and useful aspects of using AI-assisted writing.

Remember this: AI doesn’t care about the content. It doesn’t have opinions, emotions, or experiences. It works by recognising patterns in vast amounts of data. AI generates text based on probability and context, using past information to predict the next word or phrase. It is an efficiency machine designed to enhance speed and to extrapolate. But, importantly, it is not a thinking or feeling machine. It mimics human behaviour very well but lacks the depth of true consciousness. The kind that gives us soul, creativity, and emotion.

Perhaps that’s part of why we are afraid of it. AI can seem almost like a mirror of us, reflecting our ideas and style, but it is still fundamentally different. It doesn’t live, breathe, or dream. Not yet, anyway.

Let’s learn to work with it for now. Let’s embrace its potential to improve our lives, just as we did with earlier technologies. The calculator and the personal computer saved us countless hours and expanded possibilities. AI holds that same promise, but only if we let it.

What Matters 5 Step Process Template

97.5KB ∙ PDF file

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This simple but powerful template helps you more effectively plan, structure, and write with AI. It’s based on my personal 5-step writing process, which I developed over a year working with AI as a writing partner. I hope you will find it useful.

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I got my first taste of working from home (WFH) in 2014, long before COVID-19 became a mainstream phenomenon. The company I worked for was open to experimenting with remote work after I moved from the city to a remote region more than an hour’s drive away. The arrangement was simple: I only needed to come in once a week.

It made perfect sense. We were a technology company in the knowledge economy and virtual organisations. We developed, sold, and advocated for online management solutions that promised businesses they could “manage everything from the phone in their hands.” We were at the cutting edge of organisational innovation. This was our business.

Yet, two and a half years later, the experiment failed.

I was told to return to the office full-time. My ankle had worsened, making the daily “bus-train-walk” commute impossible. Parking costs $38 a day, and the 110-minute drive back and forth in peak traffic drained me.

I eventually resigned.

Looking back, the failure wasn’t due to remote work itself. Although I still appreciate the opportunity, it ultimately failed due to a fundamental lack of trust. Despite being a company that championed digital transformation, our work culture was stuck in the 1980s. The factory mindset ruled the day: employees had to “show up,” and hours, rather than results, defined how work was measured.

When paid for a 44-hour workweek, hours become the default measure of work done. Showing up became the objective of each day. But how do you prove you’ve “put in the hours” when working from home? Skype calls and phone check-ins became the digital equivalent of a manager keeping an eye on you. Despite over-delivering, the underlying sentiment is always, “I wonder if he’s working right now?”

It was as difficult for the company as it was for me.

The Proven Productivity of WFH

The numbers speak for themselves. A Stanford study found that WFH increased productivity by 13%, with fewer distractions, fewer breaks, and more focused hours. Another survey found that 77% of remote workers achieved more productivity while working from home, and research from Harvard Business School confirmed that those with flexible “work from anywhere” policies outperformed their office-bound counterparts. Even hybrid models, where people split time between home and office, have proven effective.

Forcing people back into the office actively harms productivity. Long commutes drain energy. Open-plan offices breed interruptions. Hours vanished into unnecessary meetings and office politics. It may look like work, but it isn’t.

On the other hand, WFH allows people to operate at their peak energy levels. It eliminates wasted commutes, reduces office distractions, and improves work-life balance. It also removes the artificial constraints of a 9-to-5 schedule, potentially increasing efficiency.

So why would anyone, knowing the benefits, want to ban WFH? It’s not really about productivity. It’s about control, outdated thinking, and, at its worst, sheer pettiness.

A “Trust” Problem

So, if WFH is great for employers and employees, why do so many business leaders still struggle to trust their teams to handle an email campaign or a quarterly report without breathing down their necks? A lot of it comes down to control. Many leaders still equate presence with productivity. If they can’t see you working, they assume you aren’t. It’s an outdated mindset that no longer aligns with the knowledge economy.

You can tell when a company isn’t entirely on board with WFH. They insist employees be “always available online” during work hours, even when it doesn’t make sense. If your little green Skype dot turns amber, expect a message: “Where are you? Why are you offline?” Some companies are even toying with the idea of remote webcam monitoring, literally watching employees and their screens to ensure they’re at their desks and working.

Trust is the foundation of high-performing organisations. When employees feel trusted, they take ownership of their work. They become more engaged and accountable. They strive for excellence because they care about the outcome, not because the boss is watching.

The Factory Mindset in a Knowledge Economy

Over a century ago, work was organised for factories and assembly lines. Workers punched clocks, supervisors monitored hours (and toilet breaks), and productivity was measured in physical output. You can’t be knocking out widgets if you aren’t at your station.

But knowledge work doesn’t operate like that. Creativity, problem-solving, and strategic thinking don’t happen on 9-to-5. A programmer doesn’t code faster because they work in an open-plan office. A copywriter doesn’t create “CLIO-worthy” campaigns under the constant supervision of the Managing Creative Director/CEO.

Real work in today’s economy isn’t about where or how long you sit. It’s about what you produce.

Measuring What Matters

If you don’t measure the right things, you can’t improve. Many businesses still default to tracking time instead of results, assuming that work equals the number of hours clocked. But showing up isn’t the same as getting things done.

Companies struggle with trusting remote work because they fear losing control. If you believe productivity is about how many hours an employee sits at a desk, then WFH feels like a loss of oversight. But if you measure results, it doesn’t matter where someone works as long as they deliver.

The best-performing organisations focus on outcomes, not effort. Instead of worrying about whether someone is online at 8 in the morning, they ask:

• Did they close the deal?

• Did they improve customer retention?

• Did they launch a successful campaign?

One framework that helps companies shift this mindset is OKRs (Objectives and Key Results). Google, Intel, and numerous startups have utilised OKRs to maintain alignment and accountability. The idea is simple:

• Objective: Set a clear goal. Something meaningful that drives progress.

• Key Results: How will you know when you have achieved your goals? What has to happen when you have achieved your goals? Define measurable outcomes that indicate success.

For example, instead of micromanaging WFH employees with time-tracking software, a company could set an objective, such as: “Increase revenue by 20% over the next two quarters.” The Key Results could include “Expand the sales team by 30,” “Increase deal closing rates by 40%,” and “Generate 500 new leads by the next quarter.”

(I have written about this in How to Run Your Organisation Like Google if you are interested in learning more.)

When companies measure what truly matters, they regain control not by obsessing over time spent but by driving meaningful results. The real problem is outdated management thinking. Organisations that embrace this shift aren’t just more productive; they’re better positioned for the future.

And then, some are just mean.

Working from home is NOT “refusing to go to work”.

In my professional life, I have met many who are just mean. They are not bad, in the usual sense of the word. They do not like the idea that colleagues can work from home (even if they can). They expound endlessly about the benefits of socialising in the workplace and teamwork productivity while mainly keeping to themselves. Except for the occasional upward glance when someone leaves their workstation to get a coffee, they hardly ever move. It’s a weird sense of not being able to see someone having an easier life.

These are usually the first to arrive or the last to leave. They are “hard” workers and make sure everyone knows it. They typically put in more effort than is required, but do not achieve very much. They look at colleagues with distaste when they arrive minutes late or leave on the dot. They claim it’s impossible to be productive at home because “you’ll just be lazy and do other things”.

The Nature of WFH

WFH is more than a policy or lifestyle. It recognises how the world has changed. It acknowledges that people deserve autonomy over their time and that their worth is not measured by the hours they spend at a desk, but the value they create for their organisation.

To ban WFH arrangements is to ignore the reality of the present. It is to pretend that productivity can be supervised into existence rather than emerge when people are trusted, empowered, and given a clear purpose.

If an employee delivers exceptional results while working from their home office, between school drop-offs, or in a cafe in Da Nang, does it matter? If an organisation can meet its goals because people are free to work when and where they perform best, isn’t that the objective measure of success?

So, before we rush to reinstate old ways of working, we must ask: Do we seek results, or do we just fear losing control? The future of work (and your organisation) depends on our answers.

During a recent visit to Singapore, I found myself quite bothered by a pervasive sense of negativity among the younger generation. At a Christmas gathering, as we sat down for a grand feast prepared by our hosts, I observed two young men, both in their early 20s, discussing their jobs and lives.

Their conversation was riddled with dissatisfaction and complaints:

“The world is stupid.”
“My company is stupid.”
“My boss is stupid.”
“Everything is stupid. And everything is a stupid scam.”

They are good boys. They are polite and helpful. Not like the entitled, spoiled kids we sometimes come across in other circles. So why are they so angry with everything?

And this casual whining was not an isolated incident. Throughout my four-week stay, interactions with various young (and not-so-young) people revealed an underlying discontent with society and everything in it. Despite their education and opportunities, these bright, tech-savvy individuals seemed highly disillusioned.

Singapore in the 1960s

Growing up in Singapore during the 1960s, I am familiar with the daily hardships and struggles that are alien to today’s generation. Singapore was a third-world country. I remember being hungry all the time. My father worked in construction, and my mother, a housewife, raised five children in a 2-bedroom, 60-square-meter government flat, with my 82-year-old great-grandmother living with us.

Luxury was eating chicken twice a year. On most days, it was mostly vegetables, meat ends, liver or tripe. We sat and slept on the floor, and our prized possession was a second-hand black-and-white TV that was always sent for repairs.

Dettol was for everything.

If you cut yourself, apply Dettol. If you fell and skinned your knees? Apply Dettol. Got a heat rash? Dettol. Mop the floor? Dettol. I once accidentally stepped on a nail at a construction site. Dettol.

Life was tough, but there was a sense of optimism: We were looking towards the future to improve our circumstances and those of the next generation.

Singapore Now

Today, Singapore has transformed into a beacon of success and wealth. GDP per capita has grown from approximately US$500 in 1965 to about US$88,450 in 2024, a staggering 17,600% increase. Life expectancy has risen from 65 years to nearly 84 years, and home ownership stands at an impressive 90%, the highest in the world.

Education has massively expanded, with over 76% of each cohort achieving university or diploma qualifications. Infant mortality has dropped from 35 per 1000 in 1965 to just 1.4 per 1000 in 2024. By every measure, Singapore’s progress over the past 60 years is nothing short of miraculous. And yet, despite all this success, many feel dissatisfied.

The “Already Arrived” Generation

Singapore’s rise from a struggling nation to one of the richest and most advanced countries in the world presents a paradox: when success is a given, what’s left to strive for?

For past generations, the challenge was survival, building a future, and proving themselves. Today, young Singaporeans inherit a world where those battles were fought and won. With little struggle, many feel restless and unfulfilled.

This suggests that prosperity alone doesn’t guarantee happiness: without something to fight for, life can feel strangely empty.

Tough Times Make Tough People

Back when life in Singapore was tough, hunger was real, jobs were scarce, and opportunities were limited. Everyone knew they had to fight, and what to fight for. A formal education and a stable job weren’t just aspirations; they were lifelines to a better future.

The mission was simple: survive, improve, and build something better for your children. Every challenge overcome felt meaningful because it represented real progress. Struggle gave purpose.

Fast forward to 2025, and Singapore has arrived. Most needs are met, most luxuries are within reach. The country is safe and orderly. In a world where everything is already built, what’s left to look forward to?

Many young Singaporeans feel adrift, not because they lack opportunities, but because they lack a meaningful challenge. An overarching purpose. Without something to push against, life starts to feel empty. It’s the frustration of having arrived without effort, only to realise that the journey was what made arriving meaningful.

The Effects of Having It Too Easy

When everything comes easily, it doesn’t always lead to fulfilment and can make life feel empty. There are common side effects when I listen to young Singaporeans’ complaints.

Work Feels Pointless

Many jobs today are hyper-specialised and buried in corporate KPIs that feel completely detached from the real world. Young people grow up hearing they should “follow their passion,” only to land in careers where efficiency matters more than meaning. Even if they succeed, it often feels like they’re contributing to nothing that matters.

Perhaps that’s why our younger son decided to study paramedicine, and the older one wants to work in hospitality. They both didn’t want work that has no purpose. I think I get it.

Meritocracy Feels Like a Rigged Game

It has always been. The only difference is the extent to which the game is rigged.

Meritocracy is an ideal. Although hard work still counts, we know it’s not always enough. Connections, family wealth, and privilege tilt the playing field, and success is usually reserved for those who already have a head start. This fuels cynicism, and over time, some just stop trying. Why play a game where the odds are stacked against you from the start?

Social Media Exacerbates

Then there’s the endless scroll. Instagram, TikTok, and other platforms flood young people with highlight reels of other people’s “perfect” lives. Careers, relationships, vacations, and success stories. Staged contents and clickbait: “You can have everything without doing anything.”

It creates the illusion that everyone else is winning while they’re stuck where they are. When success looks instant and effortless online, real-world effort starts to feel pointless.

Why a Good Life May Not Be So Good

Friction gives meaning. It forces us to confront challenges, develop resilience, and take pride in our achievements. Makes us strong. Helps us appreciate the struggle.

But today’s youth in Singapore (and other developed countries) have been handed a world where much of the hard work has already been done. They inherit a society built on the sacrifices of previous generations, yet they don’t have the same opportunities to contribute meaningfully to its continued growth.

Without a real challenge to overcome, many feel disconnected and aimless. Imagine that 72% of Singaporean workers under 30 say they’re “just going through the motions,” and start-up rates among young founders, a key sign of optimism for the future, have dropped 40% since 2015. These point to a growing sense that nothing is worth doing because the system feels “stupid.”

And so, many drift. Some chase artificial struggles like gaming, outrage, and meaningless competition, just to feel something. Others disengage completely, numbed by the ease of a world that offers instant gratification but little genuine fulfilment.

Without purpose, comfort becomes a cage.

Redefining Success

The answer isn’t to reject success, but to redefine it. If work feels pointless, find something you care deeply about. Without the burden of “survival”, you have the freedom to take more risks. Start something, build something, explore uncharted paths just like our forebears did when they had nothing to lose. Move abroad. The world isn’t short on problems, and meaning comes from tackling them.

If meritocracy feels like a rigged game, learn to play it anyway. And play it well. The system isn’t always fair, but that’s never stopped those who know how to navigate it. Be likable, be useful, and build relationships that matter. Success isn’t just about what you know, or even who you know. It’s about who knows you and values what you bring to the table. Learn the nuances of human connection, strive for your personal success, and achieve big goals.

And if social media makes everything worse, step back. Use it as a tool to move forward, not as a distraction that drains your energy. Addiction, whether to social media, comfort, or mindless consumption, is essentially soul-crushing. Be disciplined. Make your bed. Wake up early. Exercise. The ability to control your focus and attention is one of the most powerful skills you can develop.

These were the qualities that built the world we live in today. The drive to create, the ability to adapt, and the discipline to stay the course. Learn from those who came before you, and carve out your own future.

Hope

The two young men at the start of this article are in their twenties. Well-educated, capable…but drifting. They’ve had jobs, but nothing that excites them. When asked about their dreams, they struggle to answer. They have no long-term plans, no partners, and for now, they’ll continue living with their parents, unsure of what comes next.

Unless the trajectory changes, it won’t go well. But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Singapore’s rise from swamps to skyscrapers was built on hope, perseverance, and a belief in something bigger than oneself. The next challenge is not just about growing richer, but rediscovering purpose. Success must be redefined not as wealth accumulation, but as building, creating, and striving toward something meaningful.

The future isn’t written yet. The young still have time to shape it. If they don’t, comfort will turn into complacency, and a slow, quiet decline will set in.

That would be a far greater tragedy than any struggle they might face today.

Last Saturday, in a casual conversation with a neighbour, this came up. My neighbour was talking about her daughter working in a café called “My Kingdom for a Horse.” This immediately reminded me of a dinner conversation we once had with our adopted family in Australia, Jane and Michael O’Connell.

It was the first time I came across this line from Richard III. “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” My friend, the late Michael O’Connell, had a way of bringing history and Shakespeare to life, often over a bottle of Shiraz. That evening, we were enjoying our 3rd from “Battle of Bosworth,” a cellar door in McLaren Vale near our village.

Our conversation revolved around the unusual name of the cellar door, and Michael told us about the fateful Battle of Bosworth and King Richard’s dramatic cry that echoed through history:

I missed Michael.

A Story that Michael would have liked

In that casual conversation last week, I was also reminded of this proverb that I had read as a teenager many years ago:

For want of a nail, the shoe is lost;
for want of a shoe, the horse is lost;
for want of a horse, the rider is lost;
for want of a rider, the battle is lost;
for want of a battle, the kingdom is lost.

I had somehow tied the two together, although the proverb predates the Battle of Bosworth by almost 2 centuries. It would almost sound like a prophecy if they were related.

The proverb is about the chain of causality, where a small, seemingly insignificant event leads to a series of increasingly significant consequences.

Origins of the Proverb:

The exact origin of the proverb is unclear, but it has been traced back to various cultures and historical periods. The earliest known version of this proverb appears in the 13th century, attributed to the Franciscan monk, St. Bonaventure, who wrote:

“For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, the horse was lost; for want of a horse, the rider was lost.”

It was later popularised by Benjamin Franklin in his Poor Richard’s Almanack (1758), where he expanded the proverb to include the loss of a kingdom. The full version became widely known and has since been used to illustrate the importance of attention to detail and the far-reaching consequences of neglecting small things.

The Story Behind the Proverb:

The proverb tells a hypothetical story of how a single missing nail can bring down an entire kingdom. Here’s the breakdown of the chain of events:

1. The shoe was lost for want of a nail: a blacksmith failed to properly nail a horseshoe to a horse’s hoof. Over time, the loose shoe falls off.

2. For want of a shoe, the horse is lost: without the shoe, the horse becomes lame or injured at a critical moment and can no longer be ridden.

3. For want of a horse, the rider is lost: the rider (a messenger or soldier) cannot reach their destination or take part in a critical battle.

4. For want of a rider, the battle is lost: the absence of the rider (or their message) leads to a strategic failure in the battle.

5. For want of a battle, the kingdom is lost: The loss of the battle results in the kingdom’s collapse.

Moral of the Proverb

The proverb serves as a cautionary tale about the importance of attention to detail and the interconnectedness of events. It emphasises that minor oversights or failures can have far-reaching and unintended consequences, especially in leadership, strategy, and decision-making. It highlights the idea that addressing minor problems early can prevent larger disasters later.

Philosophical Significance

The proverb has been used in various contexts, from military strategy to business management, to illustrate the importance of planning, preparation, and diligence. Like the Butterfly Effect, it resonates with the idea that the smallest actions (or inactions) can shape the course of history.

While the proverb is not directly tied to any specific historical event, it echoes the themes of Shakespeare’s Richard III and the Battle of Bosworth, where the loss of a horse contributed to the downfall of a king. Both remind us that the devil is often in the details.

Small Things and Great Consequences

I thought it would be interesting to share with you a fictionalised account of what might have happened on that fateful day during the Battle of Bosworth, and how an oversight might have changed the fate of a king and of England.

The Battle of Bosworth

For over thirty years, England had been torn apart by a bitter struggle for the throne, a conflict known as the Wars of the Roses. It was a war of red roses against white, Lancaster against York, brother against brother. The roots of the quarrel ran deep, stretching back to the weak and troubled reign of Henry VI, a Lancastrian king whose inability to rule had plunged England into chaos.

The Yorkists, led by Richard, Duke of York, claimed they had a stronger right to the throne. After years of skirmishes, battles, and shifting loyalties, the Yorkists triumphed, and Edward IV was crowned king in 1461. For a while, it seemed the fighting was over. But Edward’s sudden death in 1483 reignited the conflict. His young son, Edward V, was declared king, but the boy’s uncle, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, seized the throne as Richard III. The young princes, Edward V and his brother, vanished into the Tower of London.

Richard’s reign was marked by suspicion and unrest. Many who had once supported the Yorkists now turned against him, appalled by his ruthless rise to power. This presented an opportunity for Henry Tudor, a distant Lancastrian claimant with a tenuous but compelling claim to the throne. Exiled in France, Henry gathered an army of disaffected Yorkists, Lancastrians, and mercenaries, vowing to end Richard’s rule and bring peace to England.

By the summer of 1485, Henry had landed in Wales and was marching eastward, gathering supporters as he went. Richard prepared to meet him in battle. The two armies converged near the small village of *Market Bosworth in Leicestershire. The stage was set for a clash that would decide England’s fate.

*The battle’s location was only definitively identified in 2009, after archaeological evidence confirmed it took place near the village of Stoke Golding in Leicestershire, rather than the traditionally assumed site near Market Bosworth.

On the Morning of 22 August 1485

King Richard III, the last Plantagenet king, prepared for battle against Henry Tudor. Richard’s squire, an old man named Paul, was tasked with ensuring the king’s horse was ready for battle. But Paul, having drunk too much the night before, had overslept that morning and was rushing through his duties in a panic. In his haste, he failed to notice that one of the horse’s shoes was missing a nail.

As the battle raged on Bosworth Field, Richard fought valiantly. His charge toward Henry Tudor could have turned the tide. But then, Richard’s horse, because one of the shoes came off, stumbled in the mud. The animal fell, became disoriented, and was killed. Richard, now vulnerable, was surrounded by Henry’s forces.

Desperate and helpless, he cried out, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” It was a plea and a lament when Richard realised it was hopeless, and his kingdom was lost because of a horse.

Richard was struck down, and with him fell the Plantagenet dynasty.
The Tudor era had begun.

Small Things, Big Consequences

The story of Richard III and the Battle of Bosworth is a reminder of how fragile the threads of history can be. A horse, a delayed message, a moment’s hesitation, can cascade into outcomes that reshape nations and the course of history. The small choices we make and the details we overlook can have far-reaching effects.

And history is littered with examples of such events that altered the fate of empires.

Napoleon’s Hemorrhoids: The Battle of Waterloo (1815)

On the morning of 18 June 1815, Napoleon Bonaparte, one of history’s greatest military commanders, prepared to face the Duke of Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo. The fate of Europe hung in the balance.

But that morning, Napoleon was not at his best. He had an almighty “pain in the arse.” He has been suffering from severe hemorrhoids, and the condition has made it difficult for him to sit on his horse and focus.

As the battle unfolded, Napoleon’s discomfort slowed his movements and clouded his judgment. His orders were not as “intuitive” as they might have been. Delays and hesitations gave Wellington the advantage he needed. By the end of the day, Napoleon’s forces were defeated, and his ambition of a European empire lay in ruins.

A seemingly trivial “pain in the butt”, in the grand scheme of war, had tipped the scales of history.

Battle of White Wolf Mountain (白狼山之戰) (CE 207)

During the period of the Three Kingdoms in China, in 207 AD, Cao Cao faced the Wuhuan tribes and remnants of Yuan Shao’s forces at the Battle of White Wolf Mountain. Outnumbered and deep in enemy territory, Cao Cao knew he couldn’t use brute force. He needed an advantage, something to tip the scales in his favour.

On the morning of the battle, Cao Cao sent envoys to the Wuhuan camp, proposing a truce. He claimed he sought a peaceful resolution to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. The Wuhuan, overconfident in their numerical superiority, agreed. What they didn’t realise was that Cao Cao was buying time for the sun to move across the sky.

By late afternoon, the sun hung low, blinding the Wuhuan’s formation. Cao Cao called off the truce and attacked. His archers, with the sun at their backs, unleashed volleys of arrows into the disoriented enemy. With the sun in their eyes, they could neither shoot back nor avoid the arrows. His cavalry then swept through, securing a decisive victory. This solidified his control over northern China.

The Wuhuan leader, Tadun, was killed, and their power was broken. Cao Cao’s use of the sun as a weapon showcased his strategic genius, proving that even minor details, such as delaying for several hours, can alter history.

The Unlocked Gate: The Fall of Constantinople (1453)

For over a thousand years, the Byzantine Empire had stood as a bastion of civilisation, with its capital, Constantinople, protected by formidable walls. But in 1453, the empire faced its greatest threat: the Ottoman Turks, led by Sultan Mehmed II. The siege of Constantinople was fierce, and the Byzantines fought valiantly to defend their city.

During the last assault, a small gate in the city walls, known as the Kerkoporta, was left unlocked. Ottoman scouts discovered the unsecured gate and poured through it. The breach allowed the Ottomans to overwhelm the defenders, and Constantinople fell.

The Byzantine Empire, once a mighty power, ended. All because someone forgot to lock the door.

After thoughts

These stories teach a lesson that seemingly insignificant events can ripple through, shaping the course of history in ways no one can foresee. A missing nail, a few hours’ delay, an unlocked gate can set off a chain of events that change the future forever.

But it also reminds us that the smallest actions matter, that the choices we make, however trivial they may seem, matter.

History and Shakespeare are not just the stories of kings and battles; they are the story of us, woven together by countless threads, each one as vital as the next. We matter. You matter.

This one’s for you, Michael

As I write this, I am thinking of Michael. His knowledge of history and Shakespeare, his light humour, and gentle manners made all those years so unforgettable. He had a way of imbuing the smallest events and situations with meaning, connecting the past to the present through art and history.

So here’s to small things and quiet moments, to unnoticed details and important nails. They may seem insignificant, but they are not.

And here’s to you, Michael. We miss you dearly, but your stories live on, like so many flaps of a butterfly’s wings, reminding us that the small things can change everything.

A Chat About Fear

I became interested in AI about a year ago, around the time ChatGPT became popular. I thought this was a cool novelty. Nothing more.

Prompt:

“Write me an article about Nonya Chicken Laksa.”

The result was a few bland paragraphs promoting the dish’s popularity and deliciousness, recommending a taste test. It also gave me a decent recipe. It would have tasted fine, but it’s not Nonya Laksa. I know because I have been selling Nonya laksa for 5 years.

I recall my feelings then. I was amused and intrigued. Like search engines, ChatGPT coughed up something like, but it was nowhere close to what I wanted. Bits and pieces put together like a Frankenstein.

Then, as I learned more about what it can do, I went further.

Prompt:

Interesting. This could be fun.

Some Friends Don’t Think So

I was having coffee with a few friends when the topic of AI came up.

“It’s on the news. They’re spying on us,” one of them said.
“I heard it’s dangerous,” another added.
“Well, I don’t trust AI. It’s taking over everything.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve heard such concerns. The fear of AI is often rooted in uncertainty, like losing jobs, losing privacy, losing creativity, and even losing our humanity. AI isn’t here to replace us. It’s a tool, one that, when used skilfully, can make our lives easier, more creative, and maybe even move us up a notch in evolution.

Let me share why I’m excited about AI, and why you might be too.

But First, a Quick Recap

About 2.6 million years ago, our ancestors picked up sharp stones and began using them to hunt, cut, and improve their chance of survival. It was a turning point for us. We could protect ourselves, cut games into smaller pieces for transportation, and use these as spears and clubs for hunting. We moved up the food chain significantly.

Then came “fire”. At first, it was scary, but once we overcame the fear and learned to control it, fire became one of our greatest tools. And a weapon. It gave us warmth, protection from predators, and the ability to cook. This reduced food poisoning, unlocked nutrients, and fuelled the growth of our brains. Fire made us stronger. And smarter.

Then, about 10,000 years ago, the “plough” was discovered. It made farming more efficient, allowing us to cultivate larger fields with less effort. This led to food surpluses, population growth, and the rise of cities and civilisations. Once again, the tool didn’t take away our way of life, but it expanded it.

This continued with the three Industrial Revolutions, which brought us the steam engine, electricity, and computers. Each time, there was fear and resistance. But each time, we adapted and thrived.

Now, we stand at the edge of the Fourth Industrial Revolution, powered by AI. Like every tool before it, AI is not here to replace us but to amplify what we can do. It’s natural to feel uncertain, just as our ancestors may have felt when they first tamed fire or built the first machines. But history has shown us this: The right tools don’t diminish our humanity. They enhance it.

My Life with AI

I thought I would share, as I did when I was having coffee with my friends, about how I now use it as part of my life. Including writing this article.

Curating information and data

I would ask my AI assistant (Usually Perplexity) for a quick news summary of information that I am interested in:

Prompt:

Can you give me a summary of the key news events around the world, especially those from Australia and Singapore? I would like you to focus on geopolitics and the global economy.

I received about 8 summaries with links to sources for further reading. There were also leading questions that Perplexity thinks I might want to ask further.

Travel Planning

I wanted to travel to China later this year with my elder son on his 21st birthday. I want to take him to our ancestral village. It will be a father-son adventure to discover our heritage. We’ve been speaking about this for some time now.

Chat Prompt:

I would like to take my 21-year-old son on a cultural tour in China. He has grown up in Australia, and I would like to introduce him to his hometown in Jieyang. The tour should take place in September 2025, from Hong Kong to Guangzhou, Jieyang, and Fujian (my wife’s ancestral home), then to Fuzhou, and finally an impressive end at Wuyi Mountain. The tour can take about 3-4 weeks. Can you help me plan a programme for him to develop an interest in his heritage?

In less than a minute, I received a comprehensive day-by-day itinerary with suggestions relevant to what I wanted. Places to visit, things to do, and hotels to stay at. I continued the conversation to set budgets, priorities, likes and dislikes, types of food, busy holidays to avoid, weather, etc.

More than the best tour agency in the world could ever put together. And in less than an hour.

Learning to speak basic Chinese for the trip

I want my son to learn a little conversational Chinese so that he can better enjoy the trip. We tried to teach him when he was younger, but it was difficult. There were few occasions for him to practice it. So now, he speaks as much Chinese as I speak Hindi.

ChatGPT Voice Prompt:

This exchange was a voice conversation between me and (AI) Emily. Like talking on a phone…

“Emily, can you teach me how to speak Chinese?”

I’d be happy to help with that. Are you looking for basic phrases or something more specific?

“Basic phrases, please.”

Alright, let’s start with greetings. A common way to say hello is “nǐ hǎo.” Can you try that?

“nǐ hǎo”

Perfect! For “thank you,” you can say “xiè xiè” Give it a go!

“xiè xiè?”

Exactly! You’re catching on quickly. Anything else you’d like to learn?

“I am wondering if you can give me a simple programme because I am going to China and I need to have basic conversational skills.”

I can definitely help with that. We can start with essential phrases for travel, such as asking for directions, ordering food, and making polite greetings. Sounds good?

Sounds great!

Then over dinner, I had a conversation with my son about the trip and learning some Chinese so he can better enjoy the experience. We spoke about many things, school, work, and the new book he bought. It was Plato’s The Republic. What’s the book about?

Prompt:

“Can you give me the main points about Plato’s The Republic? What are some of the key takeaways from the book? Especially regarding Plato’s view on democracy.”

You get the idea.

There are many more instances where I pull out the AI apps on my phone or notebook to start a conversation. It is extremely eye-opening and interesting to access information and knowledge on such a scale.

Of course, you should always check and make sure that AI is not “hallucinating,” but that is another subject for another day.

Embrace the Future

AI is a powerful tool, but still just a tool. Like every transformative technology before it, AI will bring challenges and opportunities. The key is to approach it with curiosity, not fear.

I urge my friends and readers to start small, but start. Try using a popular AI tool like ChatGPT to plan a holiday, learn something new, or create something fun. Ask it to write a short story for your 5-year-old grandson. Make it a funny story and include a lesson about being brave and trying new things. Make him the hero of the story.

You might be surprised at what you get.

What are your thoughts?

If any of this resonates, The Intelligent Playbook is where I go for deeper. It’s a free newsletter about using AI in plain English: what works, what doesn’t, and what I’m figuring out as I go. No hype, no jargon. Check it out.

This is a subject that is close to my heart. As I get older, I am naturally more reflective and often look back on my life with a certain curiosity. I wonder about those times when I could have changed the trajectory of my life significantly, but didn’t. When I felt helpless, like a boat tossed about on an ocean without a sail or rudder. That I have no control over whatever is happening around me and to me.

The thoughts I have are both entertaining and regretful at the same time. If only I had done this…if only I knew…

But one of the key themes that surfaces often is the idea that my external reality (the world at large) reflects my internal state. That everything outside IS, in a way, everything inside, and the only way to change the outside is to change the inside.

Here’s an oversimplified illustration. I looked into a mirror and noticed a smudge on my chin. If I try to wipe it off the mirror, it will be futile no matter how hard I try. But if I know the smudge is a reflection, then I can direct my effort onto my chin, and the stain will disappear.

I often wonder if this is how our reality and experience with the world work, too.

Think about it: When you’re feeling bitter or frustrated, it will appear as if the world conspires against you. Everything rubs the wrong way. Bad luck follows you wherever you go. Disaster comes one after another.

But if you’re radiating joy and gratitude, if you are optimistic and positive, things often seem to go more smoothly. Opportunities present themselves, and help is everywhere. Nothing can keep you down.

This idea is not new and has been expressed many times before. Buddha taught, “All that we are arises with our thoughts,” while Hermetic philosophy declared, “As within, so without.” Today, neuroscience reveals how your brain’s reticular activating system (RAS) filters reality based on what you focus on. Looking to buy a red car, and suddenly you notice red cars everywhere. Obsess over failure, and you’ll find setbacks everywhere.

I wrote something similar in Poverty is a Mindset previously, if you are keen to revisit.

To influence your world and reality, you must first begin with what’s going on inside. That only by changing what goes on inside can you experience control over what’s going on outside.

It’s called the Mirror Principle.

What Is the Mirror Principle?

The Mirror Principle suggests that everything you experience externally reflects your internal mindset, emotions, and beliefs. If your heart is anchored in peace, your world reflects serenity. But if your heart is entwined in hatred and chaos, everything you experience will be similar.

Your internal world is the lens through which you experience life. Change the lens, and the world changes with it.

How Your Inner World Shapes Your Outer Reality

On Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

When looking back over the years, this is one of the most intriguing realities for me. I did not have a very successful career in corporate life when I was younger. I think I was unnecessarily paranoid and critical about many things, and suspect office politics. I hate confrontation and usually deal with it negatively. This inhibited my progress in the organisations that I worked with.

Then, one day, I had what might be described as a Copernican Revolution. Someone said something that changed my attitude about an office rival.

I stopped politicking and just focused on helping others succeed. I made peace with myself. I became less complicated and more “useful.”

Things changed. Rivals became colleagues, then friends and allies. Conflicts became cooperation and camaraderie. Work became fun, and life became simpler. Together, as a team, we achieved better results, and the business became more successful. We had more than just monetary rewards. We enjoyed our work and each other’s company.

Did my external reality change? Did everyone’s reality change? I don’t know. But when I expect people to be friendly and kind, and I behave towards them according to my expectations, they change, or at least in their attitude towards me. It felt like I was working in a completely different company.

Feelings are contagious.

We can always tell when someone close to us is in a bad mood—it’s like dark clouds hanging over the room. Reflecting on my life, I’ve realised just how often my stress used to spill over into our family dynamic. There were days when the frustrations of work followed me home. I must have been a bloody pain. The constant frowning and low-grade grumbling cast a shadow over the people I cared about most.

But there were also times when things went well, and I felt light, happy, and at ease. On those days, everything seemed to flow. Conversations were effortless, laughter filled the air, and even the simplest dinners were full of jokes and stories. Life didn’t change because we suddenly had more money or fewer problems; it changed because I changed.

It’s fascinating to think about how my emotional state doesn’t just affect me, but ripples outward, shaping the surrounding reality. When I am positive, others naturally respond in kind. They smile more, open up, and bring their best to the table. But when negativity takes hold, it pulls everyone down. It’s as if my emotions are contagious, whether or not I intend them to be.

My emotions don’t exist in isolation—they influence not only my behaviour but also the collective reality of those around me. Emotional energy is like a magnet, drawing experiences that align with its frequency. When I carry joy, I attract joy. When I wallow in bitterness, bitterness follows. The vibe I put out in the world plays a huge role in determining what comes back.

You Can’t Change External Reality

Our life is like a vast, interconnected web: tug on one thread, and a thousand others vibrate in response. How often do we try to change the world outside, believing that if we just do this or have that, everything will fall into place? A bigger paycheck, a new relationship, a change of scenery, we chase these, thinking they hold the key to our happiness. But in doing so, we’re merely wiping the mirror while ignoring the smudge within us.

You can’t change the external world because it’s not ours to control. It’s a shared space, shaped by countless forces beyond our influence, other people’s actions, societal systems, chance events, and the unpredictable flow of life. No matter how hard we try, we can’t micromanage the universe.

We all know of people who spend their days nitpicking every detail of their environment, desperate to impose order. They might clean obsessively, plan their schedule down to the minute, or demand perfection from those around them. But the harder they try to control, the more resistance they encounter. Relationships strain, stress mounts, and the very chaos they sought to avoid seems to grow stronger. The turmoil isn’t “out there”, it’s within them.

Imagine someone who turns their focus inward. Instead of trying to bend the world to their will, they commit to mastering their inner state. They cultivate resilience through mindfulness, reframe challenges as opportunities, and trust in their ability to navigate uncertainty. As they align their inner world with clarity and calm, the outer world shifts in response. People around them seem kinder, circumstances flow more smoothly, and solutions arise where once there are obstacles.

This is the paradox: the more you cling to it externally, the less power you truly have. The more you work on your inner world, the more influence you gain over your reality.

If I view life as a mirror, reflecting my inner reality, then attempting to change the reflection without addressing the source is futile. I can polish the mirror all day long, but until I transform what’s standing in front of it, the reflection won’t change.

So, instead of exhausting myself, I ask: What about me can I control? My thoughts, my emotions, my reactions. By mastering my inner world, I create the conditions for harmony in the outer one. The only true power we have lies within us. And that’s the most liberating realisation of all.

How to Master Your Inner Reality

Here are a few practical steps to help you get started. Try whatever resonates with you and watch how small shifts inside can ripple outward into your life.

The Mirror Check

When stress or frustration hits, pause for a moment and ask yourself: “What’s my inner state right now?” “Is this emotion serving me or distorting my reality?”

This simple act can help you avoid reacting impulsively and see things more clearly.

Write one sentence in a journal or on your phone at the end of each day: “Today, my mirror is showing me…” Over time, patterns will emerge, giving you insight into recurring thoughts or emotions that may need attention.

Reprogram Your Lens

Your mind is like a lens: what you focus on shapes how you see the world. Learn to reprogram it:

• Meditation: This isn’t about emptying your mind; it’s about observing your thoughts without judgment as they arise. Sit quietly for a few minutes each day, focusing on your breath. When thoughts arise (and they will), acknowledge them (“worry,” “memory,” “to-do list”) and let them go. Bring your attention back to your breathing. This helps you be aware of your inner states so that you can gently moderate them.

• Affirmations: Replace negative self-talk with positive affirmations. Instead of “My life is in a mess,” say “I trust myself to handle whatever comes.” Say it out loud, say it like you mean it, and repeat it silently throughout the day. Over time, your shoulders will relax, and dealing with problems becomes easier.

Embody the Change

Your body and mind are deeply connected. Shifting your physical state can also transform your emotional one.

• Stand tall in front of the mirror for a few minutes with your feet shoulder-width apart, hands on your hips, and chin slightly lifted. Look confident. Be confident. Research shows that power poses can lower cortisol levels (the stress hormone) and boost feelings of courage.

• Develop Small Habits that promote positivity: Replace morning social media scrolling with a few minutes of gratitude practice. Repeat to yourself three things you’re grateful for. This sets a positive tone for the rest of the day. Or compliment one person each day. Tell them something you notice that is good. This helps rewire your brain to look out for goodness in others—and in yourself.

By consistently tending to your inner world, you create a foundation of calm, clarity, and resilience. And as you change internally, you’ll notice subtle shifts in your external reality too. You don’t have to overhaul your life today. Just start where you are, and let the process unfold naturally.

After all, mastering your inner reality isn’t about becoming someone new; it’s about unlocking the best version of who you already are.

Common Pitfalls

While working to master your inner reality, it’s important to stay mindful of a few common traps that can derail your progress. Growth isn’t about achieving perfection; it’s about balance, authenticity, and patience. Here’s how to navigate some common pitfalls:

Toxic Positivity vs. Growth

Forcing yourself to “just think positive” isn’t the answer. Toxic positivity is telling yourself (or others) to “just smile” or “everything happens for a reason” while failing to address the actual pain or trauma within. It invalidates your feelings and puts pressure on you to suppress emotions that need attention.

Authentic growth acknowledges your pain without letting it consume you. Instead of saying, “I should just be happy,” try: “This hurts, but I won’t let it define me.” Allow yourself to feel grief, anger, or frustration fully, and then decide how you want to move forward. True empowerment comes from honouring your emotions, not suppressing or ignoring them.

Patience Isn’t Passive

Transforming your inner world takes time, and there are no shortcuts. Think of it as tending to a garden; you have to water the soil, plant the seeds, and pull weeds; you can’t will the flowers to grow faster. The same goes for changing your mindset. Trust the process. Every step is one step closer to your goal, no matter how tiny it feels. Progress, not perfection.

External Realities Still Matter

The Mirror Principle isn’t an excuse to ignore the external world or dismiss the need for action. If you’re facing injustice, toxicity, or abuse, take practical steps—speak up, leave harmful situations, or seek therapy. Your inner state doesn’t negate the importance of addressing real-world challenges.

However, here’s the secret: Even in hardship, your inner state shapes how you respond. Will you react with despair, anger, or helplessness? Or will you meet adversity with resilience, courage, and clarity? Your choice will determine the outcome.

Mastering your inner reality isn’t about pretending everything is fine when it’s not. It’s about showing up fully—for yourself and for the world around you—with honesty, patience, and strength.

And as you walk this path, remind yourself: You are both the gardener and the garden. Nurture yourself with care, and trust that the fruits of your efforts will come in time.

Your world is a mirror. Wipe the lens often. Polish it with gratitude. When you heal your inner world, you don’t just change your life. You change the lives of everyone your reflection touches.

Years ago, I read an article in the Reader’s Digest about the Zulu Principle. It was a simple yet profound concept that stayed with me all my life. It goes like this:

If you read a well-written article about the Zulu tribe in Africa, you would know more than many people about the Zulus. If you borrowed every book on the Zulu tribe from your local library, you’d likely know more about the Zulu tribe than 80% of the people in the world. And if you then travel to Africa and live with a Zulu tribe for six months, you could become one of the leading experts in the world on the Zulu tribe.

This was long before the internet, before knowledge was as accessible as a quick Google search. This was when the ultimate source of knowledge was an outdated 30-volume Encyclopædia Britannica in the school library. Even then, it was possible to learn about something and become competent enough to be regarded as an expert.

The lesson was clear: you can learn anything. There is absolutely nothing on earth that you cannot learn. You may think that you are not smart enough, or that the subject is too difficult, but these are just the limitations you create in your own mind and place on yourself.

Becoming an expert doesn’t always require years of study or innate talent; with focused effort, anyone can learn and become an expert in a chosen field.

Today, the Zulu Principle is even more true. With free AI tools at our fingertips, dedicating time to learn can rapidly elevate your expertise. In this piece, I would like to share why the Zulu Principle works and how you can apply it in your life.

From Zulus to Leading Expertise

The Zulu Principle is applicable to almost every field, from investing to flower arranging. Specialising leads to disproportionate gains in knowledge and expertise, especially in an age where AI tools can speed up learning.

Recently, I was reminded of this principle through a conversation with my 20-year old son. He has developed a deep interest in Italian wines, spending countless hours reading books, researching regions, and understanding the nuances of winemaking.

He had developed a whole new vocabulary to describe the subtle differences in taste profiles and bouquet, swirling the glass to release the wine’s aromas, observing its colour and clarity, and savouring each sip to detect layers of flavour, from the bright acidity of citrus notes to the earthy undertones of aged oak.

Working at one of Australia’s top Italian restaurants, he not only learned from books, but also from sommeliers, wine enthusiasts, and customers. Over time, he realised he knew more about Italian wines than most people. Even his wine enthusiast Uncle and Aunty are impressed.

I told him that if he continued on this path, maybe save up for a vineyard tour in Southern Italy in a year’s time, he could become a leading expert in Italian wines. His journey mirrors the essence of the Zulu Principle: focused effort leads to expertise.

Why the Zulu Principle Works

At its core, the Zulu Principle thrives on courage and focus. Here’s why this approach is so effective:

1. The Pareto Principle in Action

The 80/20 rule, or Pareto Principle, suggests that 80% of results often come from just 20% of efforts. In learning, this means a small, focused amount of effort can yield most of the knowledge you need.

For instance, focusing on essential concepts—like the wine regions of Italy, grape varieties, and winemaking techniques—can provide more valuable insight than skimming countless general resources on wine. This targeted approach allows you to achieve substantial results with less effort, making the learning process more manageable and effective.

2. The Value of Depth Over Breadth

In our information-saturated world, generalists often get lost in the noise. Specializing in a niche allows you to master complexity, uncovering insights that most miss. For example, retirees who are afraid of AI can apply the Zulu Principle by focusing solely on learning ChatGPT and popular AI tools.

Starting with beginner guides and simple daily tasks, such as drafting emails or making lists with ChatGPT, allows them to build confidence. Over time, joining supportive online communities and practicing consistently transforms them into proficient users, proving that depth in one area, no matter how small, can yield substantial results.

It is entirely possible that they can become an expert in using AI tools before the end of the year.

3. Accessibility in the Digital Age

There has never been a better time to learn. With eBooks, online courses, and AI tools, even the most obscure knowledge is accessible. The only limit is your imagination.

In the past, learning meant scouring libraries, attending classes, or finding teachers and experts willing to share their wisdom. Today, platforms like Amazon put countless books in the palm of your hand, while online learning platforms like Coursera and edX offer structured courses, often for free.

AI tools like ChatGPT can serve as personalized tutors, answering questions, explaining complex concepts, and guiding your learning process in real-time. This accessibility democratizes learning, making it possible for anyone, anywhere, to dive deep into a subject of interest.

The Fear of Learning

One of the biggest obstacles is the fear of learning itself. Many people believe certain topics are too difficult to comprehend, deciding these are beyond their capability before even beginning. This fear creates a mental block, convincing individuals they lack the intelligence or ability to grasp complex subjects.

I’ve often encountered friends and elderly neighbours who feel utterly helpless when faced with tasks they believe are beyond them, something as simple as setting up a printer or editing a Word document. They often give up before even trying, throwing their hands up in frustration and saying, “This is too hard.” At that moment, I can see they’ve already shut down, and no amount of reassurance or encouragement seems to help.

Learning is a process, not a measure of innate ability. Small, consistent steps can break down even the most challenging topics into manageable pieces. Some fear that focusing too narrowly will limit their opportunities, but specialization amplifies, not limits, your potential.

The Zulu Principle says that focused effort and consistent practice speed up learning. Imposter syndrome often makes individuals doubt their expertise, but expertise is relative, and your knowledge is valuable to those who know less.

There’s Nothing You Cannot Learn

The Zulu Principle underscores a powerful truth: anyone can learn anything and become an expert. Expertise isn’t reserved for the privileged few; it’s available to anyone willing to discover.

We often overestimate what expertise requires, imagining years of study, or that everything is rocket science. The reality is simpler: deliberate focus, consistent effort, and the courage to start. To begin, start small by picking a single resource, such as an article, a book, an online course, to lay the foundation for your learning. Just start.

Consistent learning compounds over time, turning small daily efforts into substantial knowledge and skill, eventually. Once your foundation is set, immerse yourself fully by engaging with experts, joining specialised communities, and continuously pushing the boundaries of what you know.

Whether it’s picking up a new hobby, switching careers, or mastering a technical subject, the path to expertise is straightforward when you commit to this process. And often easier than you would expect.

The Broader Implications of the Zulu Principle

This Zulu Principle represents a profound mindset shift with far-reaching implications. It liberates individuals from a mindset of constraint and imagined limitations. By embracing focused learning, people can break free from self-doubt and the belief that certain knowledge is out of reach. This mindset encourages growth, resilience, and the realization that boundaries are often self-imposed. As individuals recognize they can master any subject with focused effort, they challenge their own perceived limits, opening up new possibilities for personal and professional growth.

Innovation Through Specialization

Deep knowledge often results in major breakthroughs. Innovators like Steve Wozniak, who focused deeply on computer engineering before there were computers, created industry-changing technology. Niche experts drive innovation by pushing the boundaries of what is known, exploring areas that generalists may overlook, and making connections that lead to novel solutions and advancements.

Empowerment Through Mastery

Mastering a niche boosts confidence and opens doors to new opportunities, from career advancements to entrepreneurial ventures. When you possess specialised knowledge, you gain a sense of self-assurance that transforms how you see yourself and how others perceive you. Opportunities that once seemed out of reach become attainable as you become recognised as an authority in your field.

Community Growth Through Shared Knowledge

Experts enrich their communities by sharing their knowledge, becoming mentors, educators, and thought leaders. As they contribute their expertise, they foster growth, inspire others, and help preserve and advance knowledge in specialised fields.

Your Zulu Moment Awaits

The Zulu Principle is more than a method—it’s a gateway to personal transformation. True expertise is rare and valuable, and it doesn’t require innate talent or endless resources.

It requires focus, dedication, and the courage to begin. Identify what you want to learn, immerse yourself, and let your knowledge set you apart. In a world full of generalists, dare to specialise.

Dare to become the Zulu expert in your field. The journey of mastery starts with action. Take that first step today—the world is waiting for your expertise.

Recently, I came across an interesting idea in a book: Alchemy: The Surprising Power of Ideas That Don’t Make Sense by Rory Sutherland. Sutherland explored the idea of the strange effects of Placebos, like how expensive painkillers are more effective than cheaper ones. The book discusses in detail the use of Placebos in marketing and psychology, and I highly recommend it.

I was especially interested in the psychology of placebos. Having explored and written about “positive” mindset, I suspect the Placebo Effect has a lot to do with how we think instead of the actual “sugar pill”.

In this piece, I would like to share what I believe could be an effective strategy for us to harness the Placebo Effect and improve various aspects of our lives.

The Classic Placebo Effect

In medicine, placebos are often used in clinical trials to test the efficacy of new drugs. However, the Placebo Effect itself, where a patient experiences real improvement despite receiving an inactive treatment, highlights the power of belief and expectation.

In the paper “Commercial Features of Placebo and Therapeutic Efficacy” (2008), published in the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) by Waber et al., 82 healthy participants were subjected to a series of electric shocks to induce pain. Half of the participants were given a pill that cost $2.50 per dose, while the other half received a pill that cost $0.10 per dose.

Participants who believed they were taking the more expensive pill reported significantly greater pain relief than those who believed they were taking the cheaper pill.

Brain scans (fMRI) revealed that the “expensive” placebo elicited greater activity in areas of the brain associated with pain relief. The study demonstrated that the perception of pain can amplify the Placebo Effect, resulting in actual, measurable changes in pain perception and brain activity.

I find this interesting. Participants who were told that the pill they were taking was more expensive experienced greater pain relief than those who were told it was cheaper, even though both groups received the same placebo. This suggests that the Placebo Effect can be modulated by non-pharmacological factors, such as price, which influence patients’ expectations about treatment efficacy.

Why your LV Bag is an expensive placebo

For all practical purposes, a $30 bag from the night markets of Bangkok does the same thing as a $15,000 LV bag from Milan. So why would anyone consider buying an LV? There is something that only the LV can do.

It can change who you are.

I couldn’t understand why some of the most successful salespeople I used to work with would spend so much money on these luxuries. How can someone who is so careless with money yet be so successful at the same time? These salespeople consistently earn more than the average person in Singapore.

When I asked them, they said they need it. It was not because they were successful that they splurged, but because they needed to splurge to be successful.

The Power of Belief

There is a classic folklore called “The Magic Brooch.” The story, in various versions and in different cultures, goes something like this:

A young woman dreams of attending the royal ball and believes that a magic brooch will make her the most beautiful girl there. She spends all her money to buy the brooch and, feeling confident in her appearance, goes to the ball.

As she dances, everyone is captivated by her beauty, grace, and charm. She assumes it’s because of the brooch. However, unknown to her, she had dropped the brooch earlier in the evening.

When she discovers its loss, she is shocked but then realises that it was not the brooch that made her beautiful, but her own natural grace, which comes from the confidence of knowing she had the brooch.

This is akin to the LV bag or Hugo Boss suit. Or when you step into an Aston Martin. It changes you. You walk taller, feel more confident, and become a different person.

In psychology, the Placebo Effect is closely tied to the concept of self-fulfilling prophecies. If you believe you’ll succeed, even if it is because of these inconsequential items, you’re more likely to take actions that lead to success. You will behave differently. Think and act differently. Speak differently.

The Growth Mindset

In education and business, the Placebo Effect is often linked to the concept of the ‘growth mindset.’ Students and professionals who believe they are smarter tend to perform better than those who don’t.

The term “growth mindset” was coined by psychologist Carol Dweck in her book Mindset: The New Psychology of Success. It refers to the belief that abilities, intelligence, and talents can be developed through effort, learning, and persistence. This contrasts with a fixed mindset, where people believe their abilities are static and unchangeable.

This mindset often leads to greater resilience, motivation, and ultimately, better performance.

I believe there are logical explanations for this. What may be seen as arrogance may be a way of hacking into our personal psychology. People with growth mindsets often view challenges as opportunities to grow and learn, rather than obstacles that threaten their intelligence or abilities. That failure is a part of the learning process and not a reflection of who they are.

Therefore, they try harder and put in more effort. They also tend not to take criticism personally.

Sometimes, this may involve a ritual (think Feng Shui) or a lucky charm. Praying to a god, engaging in intensive self-talk, or purchasing an LV bag. These are tools to help them stay on the path towards greater success.

So now that you know, can you still fool yourself?

For a placebo to work, you have to believe in it. But if you know it’s a placebo, how can you still believe in it? Does it mean the placebo effect only works on others, not on yourself?

Not necessarily. There’s a way to hack it.

The Self-Aware Placebo

You would think that knowing something is a placebo would ruin its effect. But research shows that placebos can still work even if you know they’re placebos.

In a 2016 study published in Pain, researchers tested open-label placebos on patients with chronic lower back pain. The results were interesting.

Patients who took open-label placebos (meaning patients know they are receiving a placebo) reported a 30% reduction in pain and a 29% reduction in disability, even though they knew the pills were inert. The study suggests that open-label placebos could be a safe and effective addition to pain management strategies.

How is that possible? It seems that belief isn’t always logical. Your brain can hold two ideas at once: ‘This is just a placebo’ and ‘This might help me.’ The unconscious mind processes emotions and sensory information quickly, often without conscious awareness. This means it can also react to imagined scenarios as if they were real.

The Role of Rituals

Consider the lucky charm: when you are carrying it, you’re not telling yourself, ‘This will bring me luck.’ Instead, you’re creating a positive association. The lucky charm reminds you of past victories, and that memory and emotion boost your confidence.

It’s not fooling yourself but creating a mental shortcut to a positive mindset. Your brain doesn’t need to believe in magic; it just needs to feel good about it.

The Power of Suggestion and Visualisation

Muhammad Ali’s self-talk before boxing matches is a famous example of the power of suggestion, self-affirmation, and psychological priming. He would spend hours in front of the bathroom mirror saying to himself, “You are the greatest! You are the best!”

It’s a kind of mental warfare.

For Ali, it was an essential ritual before every match. Top athletes and business people also spend hours visualising their victories, closing the sale, or crossing the finishing line.

Visualisation works because the brain often can’t distinguish between actual experiences and vividly imagined ones. When you visualise success, your brain activates the same neural pathways as it would during the actual performance.

This is a kind of self-suggestion, where you “trick” your brain into believing the imagined scenario is real, priming your mind and body for success.

When you tell yourself, ‘This will help me win,’ you’re planting a seed in your subconscious. Even if part of you knows it’s just a ritual, the suggestion takes root.

By vividly imagining victory and optimal performance, athletes (and anyone else) can build confidence, reduce anxiety, and improve their skills.

The science behind visualisation shows that the brain responds to these mental images as if they were real, making it a valuable tool for achieving goals and overcoming challenges.

How to Use Placebos on Yourself

So, can you use placebos to your advantage, even if you know they’re placebos? Apparently so.

Lean Into the Ritual

We all thrive on rituals. They provide a sense of control and structure in an unpredictable world. When you create a pre-performance ritual, whether it’s meditation, self-talk, or simply having your morning coffee, you condition your brain to associate that action with a desired state (e.g., focus, confidence, getting started).

Even if you know the ritual itself doesn’t have special powers, your subconscious responds to it as if it does. The key is to commit fully to the ritual and go through the motions with intention, as if you’re activating a special “mode” for yourself.

Focus on the Feeling, Not the Logic

Instead of questioning whether a placebo works, focus on how it makes you feel. If putting on an expensive suit makes you feel powerful and confident, that’s good. If a particular seat in your workspace makes you feel more productive, then go with it. And if you think visiting the temple or church before a major project will bring blessings and good luck, do so.

This aligns with the idea that our physical experiences have a significant influence on our mental state. Wearing a “power outfit” can make you feel more assertive. Smiling can boost your mood. Standing tall can make you feel more confident and assertive. Your brain reacts to these bodily cues, even if you logically know they’re symbolic.

Use Positive Self-Talk

Even partial belief can trigger the placebo effect. You don’t need to convince yourself fully; just entertaining the possibility can be enough to prime your brain for better performance.

This is how affirmations work: saying “I am confident” may feel fake initially, but repeated exposure helps your subconscious mind rewire itself until it feels genuine. And that’s when the placebo effect kicks in.

Combine with Real Effort

Placebos don’t work in isolation, and you still need effort and action to achieve results. The lucky pen won’t make you a skilled writer, but if it helps you write, that’s a powerful effect.

Therefore, routines, rituals, and self-talk matter because they help you take that first step when resistance kicks in.

The Mind Believes What You Feed It

Can you consciously make yourself believe in a placebo? Maybe not completely, but that’s not the point. The placebo effect isn’t about deception; it’s about harnessing positive associations, embracing rituals, and being receptive to the power of suggestion.

Whether it’s a lucky charm, a quirky routine, or self-talk into your mirror, placebos serve as catalysts for confidence and performance. At the core of all of this is a simple truth: your brain reacts to what you tell it.

If something helps you feel stronger, more focused, or more confident, why not go for it?

Recently, I had a conversation with a close friend who, reluctantly, told me about an investment scheme that she was invited to take part in. I have to admit; I was initially intrigued. My first thoughts were that this was a legitimate initiative by the authorities to promote tourism and industry in their state. After all, my friend is a smart and intelligent professional.

But after a few questions, red flags were everywhere.

My friend did not eventually ask me to invest. But I could tell the struggle to keep the details of this “investment opportunity” vague and secret.

Subsequently, a few quick searches on Perplexity threw up enough information to suggest that this “opportunity” was just a newer version of the infamous Guangxi Ponzi Scheme, also commonly known as the “1040 Sunshine Project” or “Nanning Scheme” in the early 2000s. This scheme is now targeting Singaporeans and Malaysians.

I told my friend that I suspect this is a new version of the same Ponzi scheme. She dug in her heels. She trust her friend who brought her in. She has decided. She will take full responsibility for her decision. There was nothing left to be said.

These fraudulent schemes have been around for over a century, yet they continue to trap millions of people worldwide, causing financial ruin and emotional distress.

I want to explore this and hopefully help readers understand how scams and Ponzi schemes work, why people fall for them, and how you can protect yourself.

What is a Ponzi Scheme?

A Ponzi scheme is one of the oldest types of financial fraud. It’s named after Charles Ponzi, an Italian swindler who became famous for orchestrating a massive fraud in the early 20th century.

At its core, a Ponzi scheme is a deceptive investment scam that pays returns to earlier investors using money from newer investors, rather than from legitimate profits.

In 1920, Charles Ponzi promised investors in Boston, Massachusetts, a 50% return on their investment in just 45 days, or a 100% return in 90 days.

He claimed to achieve these extraordinary returns by exploiting a loophole in international postal reply coupons, which allowed him to buy them cheaply in one country and redeem them at a higher value in another.

However, Ponzi wasn’t actually making money from postal coupons. Instead, he used money from new investors to pay “returns” to earlier investors. This created the illusion of a profitable business and attracted even more people.

At its peak, Ponzi was raking in millions of dollars, but the scheme collapsed when authorities investigated and discovered there was no real investment. Ponzi was arrested, and his name became synonymous with financial fraud.

The “Greater Fool” Theory

Ponzi schemes rely on the greater fool theory, which is the idea that you can profit from an investment by selling it to someone else (the “greater fool”) at a higher price, regardless of its actual value.

In a Ponzi scheme, the scammer depends on a continuous stream of new investors (the “greater fools”) to keep the fraud alive.

• Early investors are paid with money from later investors, creating the illusion of success.

• These early investors are encouraged to reinvest their “profits,” believing the scheme is legitimate.

• The scammer continues to recruit new investors, each one becoming the “greater fool” who keeps the scheme afloat.

• Eventually, the pool of new investors dries up, and the scheme collapses, leaving the last investors (the “greatest fools”) with nothing.

How to build a Ponzi scheme

This is how. But it will not have a good ending, for you or anyone involved.

Step 1: You need a Big Idea

Every Ponzi scheme starts with a big idea, something that sounds exciting, innovative, and too good to miss. Something like a “DeFi (Decentralised Finance) investment fund” that promised 20% monthly returns with “zero risk.”

People would be skeptical, so dressed it up with fancy jargon like “algorithmic trading,” “Deep Learning Portfolios,” “blockchain technology,” and “VIP access.”

The key was to make it sound complicated enough that people wouldn’t ask too many questions, but simple enough that they believed they could get rich without effort.

Step 2: Build Trust

Trust is the foundation of any successful scam. Start by targeting people you know, like friends, family, and colleagues. They’d be more likely to trust you, and once they were on board, it is easier for them to bring in others.

Create an illusion of legitimacy. Set up a professional-looking website, rent a fancy office, and hire a few employees to answer phones and send out statements. Print glossy brochures and use terms like “SEC-compliant” and “Regulated Crowdfunding” to make everything sounds legitimate.

Step 3: First Investors

The first wave of investors is crucial. Offer them guaranteed returns and pay them on time. These are your baits. This will create the illusion that your investment is legitimate and profitable.

Then, encourage them to reinvest their profits. This keeps the money flowing into the scheme. And, of course, asked them to spread the word. But not to too many people. Just a few and not more. Make it exclusive. Consider referral bonuses for every new investor they bring in.

Step 4: The Greater Fool Theory

At its core, a Ponzi scheme relies on the greater fool theory, the idea that there will always be someone else (a “greater fool”) willing to invest, allowing you to pay off earlier investors.

It’s a fine balance. You must have enough fools entering the scheme to keep it going. Work fast. But also take your time. The speed at which the scheme spins (out of control) will speed up. But it cannot last forever. The goal is to keep it going as long as possible.

Step 5: Exploit Human Weaknesses

Exploit every psychological trick in the book.

• Greed: This is the foundation for all scams. Without greed, most scams would not work. High returns with little or no risk. Exclusive deals. Get rich quick. SWOT: Success Without Trying. Who wouldn’t want these?

• Arrogance: Make investors feel they are in-the-know. Give them a fancy vocabulary to use on their friends and family. Make it sound sophisticated so that they believe they are investment experts. That they know better than anyone.

• Fear of Missing Out (FOMO): Created a sense of urgency by saying things like, “This opportunity is only available for a limited time!” “We are not accepting any new investors but I can try to make an exception just for you IF you can decide now.”

• Social Proof: Testimonials, even fake ones, work like a charm. Make it feel like everyone is getting rich. Ultimately, they WANT to believe, so give them the reason to believe.

• Trust: Do not underestimate the importance of personal relationships and word-of-mouth referrals to build credibility. Most will start with their best friends and family. And if they are also greedy, it will be like a walk in the park.

Step 6: Keep the Illusion Alive

To keep the scheme going, maintain the illusion of legitimacy.

• Fake Statements: Send out monthly statements showing imaginary profits and account balances. Don’t overdo this, though. Make it exciting but believable.

• Complexity: Make the investment strategy sound so complicated that most people didn’t bother asking questions. And make it proprietary (secret) because “we don’t want others to steal it.”

• Delays and Excuses: When investors ask to withdraw their money, say things like, “But you would lose the compounded returns if you withdraw now,” or “There’s a termination/fund release fee for early withdrawals.”

Step 7: The Inevitable Collapse

No Ponzi scheme can last forever. Eventually, the math will catch up with you. When you can’t recruit enough new investors to pay the returns to previous investors, it will unravel.

This will happen when investors demand their money back, and you don’t have enough to cover the withdrawals. Buy time, make excuses, go on holidays and find scapegoats. Have you bought your Paraguay passport? It will be a matter of time before the whole thing collapses.

Step 8: Exit Plan

Disappear. You will leave behind thousands of devastated investors who have lost their life savings. Some of them are friends and family who trusted you completely. Some deserve it. Many don’t.

You will always look over your shoulder, afraid of getting caught or killed, or both. And when you are arrested, you will have to face the consequences.

It never ends well.

Final Thoughts

I hope my friend will realise that she’s a victim of a Ponzi scheme. I hope she will recognise that the friend she claims to trust completely is no friend at all. I hope she knows that by perpetuating the “investment programme” and inviting others to join, she will become an accomplice, and potentially a criminal.

I hope she reads this. I just want her to be safe.

Scams and Ponzi schemes exploit human psychology. But with knowledge and vigilance, you can protect yourself. Remember the golden rule: if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

Educate yourself, ask questions, and always verify before investing.

Share this article, and let’s help others avoid falling victim to these devastating schemes. Together, we can build a more informed and resilient community.

Have you or someone you know encountered a scam or Ponzi scheme? Share your story in the comments below to help others learn from your experience. If you found this article helpful, please share it with your friends and family to spread awareness.