Imagine you’re sitting in front of the fireplace in your living room, picturing the perfect winter evening: a cozy atmosphere, a glass of wine or a bowl of popcorn in your hand. One thing is missing — the decision about what to watch.

You open Netflix and start scrolling. You read reviews, watch trailers… time slips by, and you still haven’t made up your mind. Finally, you sigh and say, “Okay, it doesn’t matter, I’ll pick this one,” and click on a random movie.

At last, you settle in to relax. But just a few minutes later, you start to feel restless: “Maybe I should’ve chosen the other one — the one with Brad Pitt.” The magic of your perfect evening starts to fade. There were simply too many options, and instead of feeling delighted, you feel undecided, second-guessing your choice, and mentally exhausted.

Now imagine a different scenario: you’re sitting with just two old VHS tapes — one with Star Wars and the other with Dr. Dolittle. Your choice is instant and simple. No endless scrolling, no overthinking. You grab the tape and enjoy the evening without ruining it by ruminating over what you didn’t choose. You feel satisfied with your choice because, when comparing it to just one other movie, you can be confident that the one you picked suits your mood.

The more we know, the more aware we become of the vast expanse of what we do not know. This insight reveals the learning process as something that can be extended indefinitely, much like a growing sphere whose surface — our awareness of ignorance — expands as the sphere grows.

Imagine you’ve been studying a subject for a month. At first, you felt confident: you had a basic understanding and could discuss the topic with some ease. But as you delved deeper, you began to realize how limited your initial grasp truly was. Concepts that once seemed clear became more complex. New questions multiplied. Instead of the three or four key questions you wanted to answer at the start, you now face hundreds — each opening new paths of inquiry.

Human knowledge is built from concepts — mental categories such as “tree,” “sky,” or “energy.” These concepts help us understand the world, but they are always imperfect simplifications of reality.

The Sorites paradox illustrates this. Consider the concept of baldness. If someone has ten hairs, we might say they are bald. But what if they have eleven hairs? Are they still bald? At what exact number of hairs does a person cease to be bald?

This paradox shows that many of our concepts lack clear boundaries.

The word "Sorites" comes from the Greek word for "heap". The classic example involves a heap of sand: if you remove one grain at a time, at what point does the heap cease to be a heap? If a heap consists of thousands of grains, does removing 500 grains leave it still a heap, or not?

🧠If you’d like to explore how complex the Sorites paradox can be, I recommend checking out the article in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: 👉 Sorites Paradox – Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy

In a shop with only two laptops, you can choose one quickly and feel confident.

In a shop with dozens of laptops, however, you start researching, reading reviews, and watching comparison videos. To avoid this exhausting process — which could overwhelm me and leave me dissatisfied with my final choice — I decided in advance that I wanted a laptop with a QLED screen and defined precisely what I needed it for. That helped me know the exact parameters I should look for. I also considered price and availability. These curated criteria made me feel confident about my decision.

With overthinking, I could learn about laptops endlessly and become more uncertain. “Should I wait for the next model? Did I miss a better deal?”

Even after buying, I might have felt regret, wondering if I had chosen the wrong one.