My Inspiration for Life

When I set out to understand human cognition and why humans were the way they were, I first applied this understanding to a very small slice shaped by my own biased perception. Over more than a decade of investigation, introspection, meta-cognition, and behavioral analyses, I found myself not on the opposite aisle, but on an empty overpass overlooking two massive chasms mislabeled as such. Between these two aisles, an infinitely smaller fenced-in area which bore the sign that read “Individuality.”

I’ve come to understand a concept I call Autonormia: the tendency to regard institutionalized practices and knowledge as inherently unquestionable—until critically examined. It’s encapsulated in the phrase: “It’s always been done this way.”

Over the past year, I encountered Autonormia not as an abstract idea, but as a pervasive force woven into personal experiences that reshaped my perspective. Challenges unraveled long-held assumptions, while victories redefined my understanding. Each moment—tumultuous or triumphant—revealed the extent to which Autonormia permeates our lives, dictating actions and decisions often without our awareness.

A common reflection of this principle lies in ancient teachings, such as:

"Everyone who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. Everyone who hears them but does not act will be like a foolish man who built his house on sand."

Yet, this directive leaves a vital question unanswered: Why? Blindly following instructions without understanding their foundation reflects the mindset that sustains Autonormia. To build upon this: “A house built solely on knowledge lacks a foundation, but a house built on understanding can stand without knowledge.”

This lack of understanding manifests in how history forgets. Figures like Tamerlane, King Leopold II, Shaka Zulu, Yakub Beg, and Enver Pasha, once infamous for atrocities that claimed millions of lives, fade into obscurity. Tamerlane, for example, decimated 5% of the world’s population 500 years ago, yet his name escapes recognition today. Even towering figures—Hitler, Gandhi, Socrates, Plato—will eventually be replaced by others deemed more profound, terrible, or current. Almost everyone who has ever lived is forgotten within a century, their legacies eroded by time.

What endures is not wealth or empires, but the ripples we create in how we affect others and contribute to the future. Charity and fundraising may address symptoms, but it is advocacy, learning, and fostering understanding that drive meaningful change.

This truth brings me comfort. It reminds me that material symbols of success—the billion-dollar companies, luxury cars, and financial empires—are fleeting. The insignificance of these pursuits, juxtaposed with the vastness of time, sharpens my focus. It inspires me to build—not for permanence, but for the act itself. This purpose brings joy beyond words, even as I accept that my work may fade into obscurity.

I do not need recognition. Many pieces of knowledge I’ve absorbed came from nameless sources. My work can exist in the same anonymity, its impact—if any—remaining unseen. To chase recognition feels hollow, a betrayal of the purpose that makes my efforts meaningful.

In contrast, though my material wealth is nearly nonexistent, I feel profoundly fulfilled. That fulfillment arises from a purpose that transcends the self. My life is not for me alone but reaches toward others, many of whom I will never meet. Those who may one day encounter fragments of my work will likely never know my name, and that is enough. The value lies not in being remembered, but in contributing to understanding.

Looking back, I see how I prolonged cycles I should have broken sooner, but I feel no regret. These experiences represent years of growth and deliberate effort—over 25,000 hours in total in recent years. Through rigorous analysis of timestamps, schedules, and records, I estimate dedicating 33,379 hours over the past twelve years to learning. That’s an average of 7.62 hours daily, reflecting habits rooted in intellectual pursuit rather than leisure or social activities.

People often ask why I remain in my current circumstances or why I do not pursue a more prestigious career. The answer is simple: I do not desire one. I lived that life once, earning over $120,000 annually by the age of 23, yet I hated who I had become. Material success left me empty, prompting a shift toward a life centered on study and understanding.

In recent years, this focus has only intensified, with some days dedicated entirely to learning. This is not rote memorization; it is the pursuit of synthesis and understanding—knowledge with depth and meaning. As this chapter of my life concludes, I feel a profound readiness to move forward, guided by clarity and purpose.

This is not an end, but a meaningful transition—a continuation shaped by lessons, growth, and deliberate effort. I am not building for permanence. I am building because the act itself is worth it, and that is enough.

Lehti, Andrew (2024). Cognitive Psychology and the Education System. figshare. Collection. https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.c.7532079