Schools have long operated under their own set of rules, shaped by an internal logic largely rooted in the norms of the 19th century. This traditional approach continues to define much of the educational landscape today, even as society and the world have changed drastically around it.

If the philosopher Jean Baudrillard were a teacher, he might interpret this gradual transformation of schools not as institutions mirroring society, but as organizations that have evolved a reality of their own—a simulation. In this view, schools no longer simply reflect the society they inhabit but create a self-contained world governed by distinct, often outdated principles.

Giorgio Agamben might take it a step further, suggesting that students live in a state of "permanent exception." They’re asked to sacrifice part of their autonomy for the sake of the institution or, ostensibly, the "common good." In doing so, they often internalize the idea that these sacrifices are for their own benefit, accepting limitations as necessary conditions for success.

In such a framework, students experience what Karl Marx would call alienation. They engage in tasks disconnected from any real end product, forced to practice for some future goal that remains vague and distant. This practice-based system doesn’t prioritize outcomes or tangible accomplishments but instead promises that repeated drills, tests, and rehearsals will somehow be useful in the future. It leaves students feeling disconnected from the process, unable to understand the value of what they are learning in relation to the world they will enter.

Our education system, shaped two centuries ago, desperately needs to adapt. If we hope to prepare children for a future marked by disruptive technologies, artificial intelligence, and complex global issues, change is imperative. Without transformation, education risks becoming an anchor holding us back, subject to the law of diminishing returns as our challenges evolve faster than our capacity to respond.

Historically, it’s not simply that one society falls behind, but that others forge ahead. For societies with an inclination toward precise categorization, such as rigid educational taxonomies, the challenges multiply. Structural Marxists or Foucault might argue that the Enlightenment’s legacy has not always served us well. In quantifying and categorizing our world, we’ve made it easier to manage, analyze, and exploit—but we’ve also lost nuance. This approach fails to see students as complete individuals, to be respected as ends in themselves, as Immanuel Kant would suggest in his categorical imperative. Instead, children become means to an end, statistics to be measured, sorted, and optimized.

Because western countries adopted these practices early on, we now find ourselves facing challenges akin to those of our river management systems. Just as we raised dikes higher to control our waterways, in education, we’ve built complex structures of external consultants, managerial layers, and bureaucratic regulations. But these “dikes” strain under pressure, threatening collapse as they stifle creativity, overburden teachers, and constrain students. Every overly complex system eventually collapses under its own weight, and education is no exception.

From centuries of managing rivers, we’ve learned that rivers need space to breathe and flow. Education, too, requires space. Not more regulations or policies crafted far from classrooms, but freedom and trust invested in the primary educators: the teachers. Teachers need flexibility to teach effectively, to innovate, and to connect meaningfully with students.

What would this space look like? For starters, it would mean smaller class sizes, reduced teaching hours, and a reprioritization of teacher-student interaction. Instead of external advisors dropping by occasionally with checklists, schools would invest in more time for mentorship, individual support, and enriching extracurricular activities.

Similarly, we should rethink the role of the student. They are not mere vessels to be filled or patients to be cured. Many of the most successful entrepreneurs in history were once dropouts who needed something different than what traditional schooling offered. Schools should offer space for genuine entrepreneurship, hands-on life skills, and practical business knowledge. Why don’t we give students the opportunity to learn from each other? Why not foster environments where real start-ups can thrive, with actual budgets and resources to give their ideas a fighting chance?

Schools must offer a safe environment where students can try, fail, learn, and try again. Instead, they are often restricted by rules that serve no meaningful purpose. It is hard to understand why we keep holding students back with outdated constraints.

In this sense, students are the last group yet to be fully emancipated. This doesn’t imply unrestrained freedom but rather calls for a reasonable balance—sensible rules and clear frameworks within which students can safely explore their independence.

Schools are like Plato’s cave. Students see shadows rather than the truth, and when they step into adulthood, they’re often blinded by the light of the real world. Schools have the potential to be the sunglasses that students need—not shielding them from reality but helping them engage with it without being overwhelmed. Education can offer the clarity needed to see the truth while providing the guidance to handle it.

By giving space back to education—by trusting educators and empowering students—we can build a system that reflects not only where we’ve been but also where we’re going.

Lying is often seen as a necessary part of life, whether to protect someone’s feelings or to navigate tricky professional situations. Yet the consequences of lying, both for the liar and the person lied to, are far-reaching. Beyond the obvious ethical breaches, lying fundamentally alters relationships, undermines trust, and even impacts the liar’s mental health. Could it be that every lie, even the small ones, turns us into thieves—stealing something intangible but invaluable?

To unpack this idea, we turn to philosophy and psychology. Insights from G.W.F. Hegel, Immanuel Kant, and modern psychological research reveal how lying not only disrupts our external relationships but also corrodes our internal stability.

The Practical Cost: The Psychology of Maintaining Lies

At first glance, lying might seem like a quick fix to an uncomfortable situation. But as psychologists have shown, lies are rarely simple. A single lie often leads to more lies, creating a “snowball effect” that grows exponentially. This phenomenon is tied to cognitive load, the mental effort required to process and remember information.

When you tell the truth, the cognitive load is minimal because the truth aligns with your memory and reality. Lying, however, introduces a disconnect between what you know to be true and what you say. This requires active mental management to keep the false narrative consistent. The more lies you tell, the harder it becomes to keep track of what was said to whom, and the cognitive strain builds.

In a 2016 study published in Nature Neuroscience, researchers found that lying even desensitizes the brain over time. The study demonstrated that the amygdala, a brain region associated with emotional processing, shows less activity with repeated dishonesty. This suggests that frequent liars become less emotionally attuned to their own deceit, making it easier to lie again—a slippery slope into habitual dishonesty.

The Split Reality of Self-Deception

Another fascinating aspect of lying is the phenomenon of self-deception, where the liar begins to believe their own falsehoods. While this may reduce cognitive load temporarily, it creates a fragmented sense of self. Over time, liars can find themselves living in what psychologists call a “split reality,” where they struggle to distinguish between their lies and their truths.

This aligns with cognitive dissonance theory, a psychological framework that describes the mental discomfort people feel when their actions conflict with their beliefs. To resolve this discomfort, liars may rationalize their dishonesty or rewrite their internal narratives to align with their lies. While this may reduce immediate guilt, it also undermines authenticity and self-awareness.

Self-deception, while seemingly adaptive, can have serious long-term effects. In professional or personal contexts, habitual lying damages relationships, isolates the liar, and diminishes their credibility. The liar may become trapped in their own web of deceit, unable to extract themselves without unraveling the fabric of their constructed reality.

The Moral Cost: Stealing Autonomy and Freedom

Beyond the psychological toll on the liar, lying has profound moral implications for the person being lied to. G.W.F. Hegel, a 19th-century German philosopher, argued that knowledge is essential to freedom. For Hegel, freedom is not simply the absence of constraints but the ability to act on informed choices. By lying, you withhold the information necessary for someone else to make a free decision, effectively robbing them of their autonomy.

This perspective reframes lying as a form of theft—not of material goods but of agency. The person lied to operates under false assumptions, and their choices are shaped by a reality that doesn’t exist. Whether the lie is minor (a colleague exaggerating their contribution to a project) or significant (a company concealing financial instability), the result is the same: the other party’s freedom to make informed decisions is stolen.

Immanuel Kant, another influential philosopher, takes this argument further. In his categorical imperative, Kant asserts that lying is never morally justifiable because it undermines the very foundation of trust that society relies on. If lying were universalized, trust would collapse, and meaningful communication would become impossible. For Kant, lying isn’t just a betrayal of an individual—it’s an affront to humanity as a whole.

The Psychological Damage to Trust

Trust is often referred to as the glue that holds relationships and organizations together. When lies are introduced, that glue begins to weaken. Trust, once broken, is notoriously difficult to rebuild. Psychologists emphasize the importance of trust for emotional safety and cooperation, both in personal relationships and professional settings.

Research in organizational psychology highlights how dishonesty in the workplace erodes team cohesion and morale. A study in the Journal of Business Ethics found that employees who perceive dishonesty in their workplace report lower job satisfaction, decreased productivity, and higher turnover rates. The damage isn’t limited to interpersonal relationships; it affects the overall culture and success of the organization.

In personal relationships, the effects are just as profound. A 2014 study in Personal Relationships found that even small lies, when discovered, can create lingering feelings of betrayal and suspicion. These effects compound over time, leading to a breakdown in intimacy and connection.

Is Every Lie Theft? Nuance in the Gray Areas

While the philosophical and psychological arguments against lying are compelling, real-life situations often present ethical gray areas. For example, is it wrong to lie to spare someone’s feelings? What about lying to protect someone from harm?

Utilitarian ethics, which prioritizes the greatest good for the greatest number, might justify certain lies in these contexts. However, even these “noble lies” carry risks. White lies can easily snowball into larger ones, and the erosion of trust they cause is often underestimated.

Hegel and Kant might counter that even seemingly harmless lies undermine the principle of truth. For them, the act of lying itself is the problem, regardless of intent or outcome. From this perspective, the moral cost of lying outweighs any short-term benefit.

A Path Forward: Choosing Truth

Given the cognitive, emotional, and ethical costs of lying, it’s worth asking: is it ever worth it? The psychological strain, the theft of autonomy, and the damage to trust suggest that truth-telling is not just a moral imperative—it’s a practical one.

This doesn’t mean that truth is always easy. In some situations, being honest may feel uncomfortable or even risky. But the alternative—creating a web of falsehoods, living in a split reality, and stealing someone’s freedom to choose—is far more damaging in the long run.

As both psychology and philosophy remind us, honesty isn’t just a virtue; it’s a cornerstone of human connection and personal integrity. In the words of Kant, we must act according to principles that could be universalized. Truth, then, is not just simpler—it’s liberating.

Further Reading and References

• G.W.F. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit

• Immanuel Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals

• Paul Ekman, Telling Lies: Clues to Deceit in the Marketplace, Politics, and Marriage

• Nature Neuroscience, 2016: “The brain adapts to dishonesty”

• Journal of Business Ethics, “The Effects of Workplace Dishonesty”

Lately, I haven’t been able to stick to my usual study plan. My students have been intensely interested in discussing the American elections. Before the elections, a few students playfully, sometimes even provocatively, voiced support for Trump’s anti-woke, anti-immigration stance. But once the results were in, that playful attitude shifted to anxiety, with many students asking: what now?

I believe it’s crucial for educators to openly address these world-shifting events. In guiding these discussions, I draw on three philosophers: Immanuel Kant, G.W.F. Hegel, and Carl Schmitt.

Kant: Rational Choices, Real Fears

Some students wonder out loud, “Are Americans really so misguided to vote for a president like Trump?” My students know I admire Immanuel Kant and his categorical imperative, which encourages us to treat people as ends in themselves, not as means to our own ends. Kant’s ethics compel us to understand others as multi-dimensional individuals, not as caricatures or labels.

I try to explain to my students that Trump’s supporters are not acting out of “stupidity.” Instead, their support reflects a rational response to real and pressing concerns. If we want to understand voting behavior, we have to look into the fears of these voters—many of whom are less educated, low-income white Americans who, statistically, form the core of Trump’s base. In our knowledge-driven economy, where disruptive technologies continue to eliminate mid-tier jobs, inequality thrives.

On one hand, we have the highly educated, high-earning upper (middle) class; on the other, the low-paid, labor-intensive working class struggling to make ends meet, with little hope of upward mobility for themselves or their children. For many, Trump’s message of restoring dignity and economic opportunity resonates as a rational response to feeling abandoned in a system that, to them, seems rigged.

Hegel: The Obama-Trump Paradox and Historical Dialectics

One of my favorite ideas to discuss is that we would not have had Trump as president if Obama had not been elected. In other words, the election of a Black president, combined with the liberalization of society following the end of the Cold War, may have been a step too far for many Americans. The changes represented by Obama’s presidency, in this light, contributed to the rise of Trump as a reaction.

We can draw on Hegel’s dialectical model to explain this Obama-Trump paradox. In this model, progress happens through the tension of opposing forces: the “thesis” (Obama and the progressivism he symbolizes) inevitably generates its opposite, or “antithesis” (a traditionalist reaction, exemplified by Trump). These reactions are not isolated but interconnected, creating a “synthesis,” or a new status quo that combines elements of both the thesis and antithesis.

In this view, Trumpism is not merely a political backlash but part of a larger historical process. Hegel’s framework allows us to see how recent emancipatory movements, coupled with the persistent inequalities of capitalism, catalyze reactions that seek to roll back the changes of recent decades. Yet this longing for a return to a “better” past overlooks the reality that even in the so-called “golden ages,” the poor and marginalized still suffered. History cannot simply be reversed or recreated because technology, culture, and geopolitics are constantly evolving.

Schmitt: The Necessity of Enemies

Finally, we turn to Carl Schmitt, a brilliant but morally controversial philosopher whose ideas help us understand the divisive nature of Trump’s populism. Schmitt argued that societies often unite by identifying a common enemy. This concept is not necessarily a moral one, but an observation on how groups solidify their identities.

In the case of Trump’s rhetoric, he positions his supporters against various perceived “enemies”—from liberal elites and the media to immigrants and foreign competitors. For many in the working class, the real enemy might logically seem to be the wealthy elite who benefit from low wages and automation. However, this ruling class is often too abstract, too untouchable, for people to confront directly. Billionaires and corporate elites live lives that are far removed from the everyday struggles of most Americans.

It’s easier, then, to focus on a more visible target: government regulation, which Trump frames as an obstacle to job creation. And the allure of this rhetoric is clear—more jobs, fewer regulations, and lower taxes sound like a direct pathway to higher incomes and improved livelihoods. But when elites aren’t perceived as the enemy, the blame often falls on “the other”—the foreigner, the intruder, the person who, supposedly, is taking jobs from Americans. This rhetoric is compelling because it’s something people can see directly: immigrants often occupy lower-wage jobs, making them an easy scapegoat for those feeling disenfranchised.

The Short-Term Appeal, Long-Term Consequences

This process of scapegoating can feel empowering and actionable in the short term. Policies targeting immigrants and deregulating industries might create some jobs and temporarily boost economic activity. But these “solutions” come with severe long-term costs. As healthcare, education, and social systems weaken, those who were already struggling are likely to be the ones most affected by the collapse of these support systems.

This ongoing cycle of identifying new “enemies” without addressing root causes risks a future where, unless the elites voluntarily step back and share power and wealth, the people may revolt—not for abstract ideals, but for basic needs like food, housing, and health care. Bread riots, rather than political protests, may loom in the distance.

Educating for a Better Future

Through these discussions, I try to convey to my students that Trump is not the cause of the problem but a symptom of it. By examining political choices through the lenses of Kant, Hegel, and Schmitt, we can reveal the complex forces driving people to vote against their own long-term interests. With philosophy as our guide, we can challenge ourselves to address the real, underlying issues, setting a foundation for questions about how our world can be better, fairer, and more inclusive.

Ultimately, my goal is to help my students think critically about these issues and see that understanding politics requires empathy, a grasp of history’s cycles, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about the human need for identity and belonging.

Living in Amsterdam, I depend on my bike. It's fast, sleek, and conveniently designed to carry my two children across the city with ease. But for all its benefits, it has one annoying flaw: the front brakes, which are V-type, wear out fast. Speed and regular use mean I was replacing them almost every month. Since I’m not particularly handy with repairs, I prefer leaving the job to a professional, which has its costs.

One day, after venting my frustration to my bike repairman—a man I’ve known and trusted for years—he suggested something unexpected. “Maybe the problem doesn’t lie with the bike,” he said. “Maybe you’re braking too much.”

My first reaction? Dismissal. What did he mean by “braking too much”? In a busy city like Amsterdam, where cyclists dodge pedestrians, cars, and endless streams of tourists, braking seems non-negotiable. Still, the repairman’s comment lingered, and as I rode through the city, I started to question my biking habits. What if I wasn’t just reacting to the chaos of city life, but overreacting? I decided to try something new: rather than clutching the brakes at every potential obstacle, I began to ride with a bit more anticipation, focusing on the flow of traffic and the timing of red lights.

Months later, I found myself riding with the same brakes, unscathed and unaltered. For the first time in over two years, I hadn’t needed a brake replacement in nearly three months.

This experience highlighted something profound: the problem isn’t always the quality of what we have; it’s often in how we use it. Philosophically, this resonates with the Stoic view that while external objects and situations are beyond our control, our response to them lies firmly within our power. Stoic thinkers like Epictetus taught that it’s not circumstances that trouble us but our perception and reaction to them.

Much like my relationship with my bike, our individual qualities can’t always be radically altered. However, we can adjust how we approach our strengths and limitations. In this way, my ride taught me that personal growth sometimes means adapting to the given design rather than constantly pushing it to its limits.

In everyday life, this lesson serves as a reminder: before blaming the tools or the circumstances, consider if a small change in approach might make a difference. Sometimes, all it takes is a slight shift in mindset to find more sustainable and fulfilling ways forward.

When I first started playing ping pong, around the age of seven, the world around me was changing rapidly. Greece, a country that had long been a source of emigration with many Greeks seeking opportunities abroad, was now experiencing a reversal. For the first time, it became a destination attracting immigrants. Among these new arrivals were Albanians, many of whom had been trained in sports like table tennis, albeit under very different conditions.

Albania under Enver Hoxha was one of the most isolated countries in the world. After breaking ties with Tito’s Yugoslavia over ideological differences and later distancing itself from the USSR following Khrushchev’s policy of de-Stalinization, Hoxha aligned with Mao’s China, only to sever that bond after Nixon’s visit to Beijing. This intense isolation led to extreme austerity, but sports like table tennis, which required minimal equipment, became a practical way for Albanians to stay active. It was inexpensive, accessible, and a common form of recreation in schools and youth centers.

As these skilled Albanian players arrived in Greece, the local ping pong scene dramatically changed. I suddenly found myself facing older, more experienced players. These were individuals who had spent years refining their game under a system that, while restrictive, offered them a singular focus. In a communist regime that allowed little freedom of choice, table tennis became an outlet for concentration and discipline. By contrast, I was growing up in a society that was becoming increasingly rich and diverse, with an overwhelming variety of activities available.

Jean-Paul Sartre’s existential philosophy captures the paradox of my situation. Sartre famously wrote, “Man is condemned to be free.” In a capitalist society, we are burdened with limitless options, and this freedom can be paralyzing. While my opponents had been shaped by necessity into focused and disciplined players, I found myself overwhelmed by the abundance of choice in a society that didn’t demand such singular focus. Ping pong was just one of many activities I could pursue, and learning to concentrate in such an environment felt like its own challenge.

My Strategy: Doing Less, Winning More

Given the circumstances, I quickly realized that trying to overpower or outplay my opponents wasn’t going to work. These older players had been hardened by years of practice and necessity, while I was just starting out. But rather than getting discouraged, I developed a different approach—one that was rooted in patience and consistency. Instead of trying to win every point with aggressive shots, I learned to stay calm, avoid unnecessary risks, and focus on my own game.

Over time, I discovered that this method not only helped me in ping pong but also in life. Success doesn’t always come from exerting more effort. As Marcus Aurelius wisely said, "You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength." By focusing on what I could control—my own actions and reactions—I didn’t need to force a win. I could let the game, and life, unfold naturally. My opponents, eager to prove themselves against someone younger and seemingly weaker, often became frustrated. They would try to "teach me a lesson" by taking risky shots and overplaying their hand, which ironically led to their downfall.

How Pressure Works in My Favor

One of the key components of this approach is using pressure to my advantage. My older opponents, seeing me as a weaker and younger player, often felt the need to prove their superiority. Frustration would set in as they realized I wasn’t easily defeated. Whether driven by impatience or a desire to assert dominance, they began to make mistakes—overextending themselves and taking unnecessary risks.

This emotional response worked in my favor. By staying calm and composed, I didn’t need to work as hard. They were driven by the pressure of their own emotions—frustration, impatience, even anger. The more they tried to dominate me, the more they opened themselves up to mistakes. Their own need to win, to teach me a lesson, ultimately caused them to lose. It wasn’t about being the better player; it was about being more patient.

Applying This Lesson Beyond the Table

Ping pong has taught me a valuable life lesson: sometimes, the best way to succeed is to step back and let others stumble on their own. This strategy has helped me in more areas than just sports. Here’s how it translates into everyday life:

• Stay focused on your own actions: Whether in work, relationships, or any challenge, I’ve learned to concentrate on what I can control. Instead of being drawn into other people’s emotions or reactive decisions, I maintain my own pace and approach.

• Let others make mistakes: I’ve found that giving people space to overreach or act impulsively often creates opportunities. Just as in ping pong, when someone pushes too hard, they make errors that shift the balance in my favor.

• Patience as a strength: Remaining patient, especially when others are scrambling to prove themselves, is key. Whether in negotiations, conversations, or high-pressure situations, waiting out the emotional storm allows me to see things more clearly and make better decisions.

Laozi beautifully expresses this idea in the Tao Te Ching: “I have three treasures, guard and keep them: The first is deep love, the second is frugality, and the third is not to dare to be ahead of the world.” By valuing patience and restraint, I can navigate life calmly, allowing events to unfold naturally, without forcing my hand or being consumed by competition.

Winning Without Forcing It

In both ping pong and life, winning isn’t always about having the best skills or being the most aggressive. Often, success comes from staying calm under pressure, focusing on what you can control, and letting others defeat themselves through their own mistakes. This approach has not only helped me win more games but also navigate life with a sense of ease and clarity.

By playing patiently, avoiding unnecessary risks, and staying composed, I’ve learned that victory comes naturally—not by overpowering others, but by letting them trip themselves up.

The recent E. coli outbreak linked to McDonald's onions has brought the risks of reduced food safety regulations into sharp focus. Nearly 50 people have been sickened, and the incident has even claimed one life. This outbreak highlights the costly consequences—both in taxpayer dollars and human health—of cutting regulatory oversight. Donald Trump’s recent visit to a Pennsylvania McDonald's fryer on the campaign trail brings additional attention to the issue, as his stance on deregulation could further weaken public health protections.

Trump’s fry-cooking stop, meant to connect with voters, comes during a troubling time for the chain. The E. coli contamination, linked to onions used in McDonald’s popular Quarter Pounder burgers, points to the practical dangers of deregulation. Critics argue that Trump's stance on reducing oversight could exacerbate these risks, making it clear that the consequences of cutting safety standards are not just hypothetical but affect everyday public health outcomes. A single contaminated batch of produce can impact supply chains nationwide, spreading illness across states and taxing local healthcare systems​.

The broader economic impact of foodborne illnesses is well-documented. In 2018, the USDA’s Economic Research Service estimated that foodborne pathogens in the U.S. alone cost about $17.6 billion annually, accounting for medical expenses, lost wages, and preventive measures​. 

Globally, the economic impact is even more staggering; the World Health Organization and World Bank report that foodborne illnesses cost developing economies $110 billion every year, mostly in lost productivity and healthcare costs. This financial burden, which exceeds the initial costs of preventive regulation, underscores the high stakes of maintaining rigorous safety standards in the food industry​.

Complex global supply chains have only heightened these challenges. The CDC has invested in advanced technologies, such as genome sequencing, to trace the sources of foodborne illnesses more precisely and detect outbreaks before they spread. However, experts agree that these tools are only effective within a strong regulatory framework, which ensures that safety checks are consistently applied across all stages of the food supply chain. Reducing regulation, as Trump’s platform suggests, could weaken these critical protections, making outbreaks more frequent and harder to control​.

As Trump’s campaign progresses, his stance on food safety and regulation may continue to be a topic of public concern. This outbreak at McDonald's underscores the real-world costs of reduced regulation—potentially signaling the risks of a policy path that prioritizes short-term business benefits over public health. Strong regulations are not just preventative but cost-effective, helping to avoid the far greater costs of public health crises that can ripple through the economy and touch every community.

References:

1. Newsweek: "Trump’s McDonald's Campaign Stunt and Food Safety Concerns" -
   Newsweek
   tps://www.newsweek.com/donald-trump-mcdonalds-campaign-stop-pennsylvania-1971903)

2. USDA Economic Research Service: "Econ​
   USDA ERS
   ne Illnesses Increased $2 Billion From 2013 to 2018" - [USDA ERS Co​
   CDC
   gov/amber-waves/2021/april/economic-cost-of-major-foodborne-illnesses-increased-2-billion-from-​
   Food Safety News
   lness in the United States" - CDC Foodborne Illness Data

3. World Health Organization & World Bank: "Global Economic Impact of Foodborne Diseases" - WHO and World Bank on Foodborne Disease Costs

We all want a better life, filled with health, happiness, and productivity. But often, we find ourselves waiting for the perfect moment to start making the changes we dream about. The truth is, life-changing transformations don't require monumental efforts overnight; they often begin with small, almost unnoticeable steps. By making tiny adjustments to your daily habits, you can set the stage for profound improvements. One of the most impactful changes I made? Cutting out sugar from my coffee.

A Daily Habit with Big Consequences

Like many people, I love coffee. In fact, I drink quite a bit—5 to 6 cups a day, easily. For years, every one of those cups contained a spoonful of sugar. It was such an ingrained habit that I never even questioned it. It seemed harmless enough—just a bit of sweetness to offset the bitterness of the coffee. But then one day, as I reached for the sugar jar, I paused. Why am I doing this? I thought. Could I enjoy my coffee without it? And, more importantly, what difference would it make to my health?

That small moment of curiosity sparked a change. I decided to stop adding sugar to my coffee altogether. At first, the coffee tasted strange—bitter and uninviting. But over time, I adapted, and my palate began to appreciate the pure flavor of the coffee itself. What surprised me the most, however, wasn’t the taste. It was the realization of just how much sugar I had been consuming, unnoticed, over the years.

The Cumulative Impact

On average, each spoonful of sugar contains about 16 calories. Multiply that by 5 or 6 cups a day, and I was adding nearly 100 extra calories to my daily intake—just from sugar in my coffee. That adds up to over 35,000 calories a year, which translates to around 10 pounds of sugar! By cutting out sugar from my coffee, I wasn’t just saving a few calories here and there; I was avoiding kilos of unnecessary sugar entering my body.

But the benefits went beyond weight management. Reducing sugar intake has been linked to lower risks of chronic conditions such as diabetes, heart disease, and even certain types of cancer. By making this one simple change, I was reducing my risk of these long-term health issues without any extra effort.

The Power of Small Changes

What started as a minor adjustment in my coffee routine became a powerful reminder that small, consistent changes can lead to significant results. And this lesson isn’t limited to coffee. It can be applied to almost any area of life.

Take reading, for example. Like many people, I wanted to read more books, but life always seemed to get in the way. Every time I picked up a book, something else demanded my attention—a phone call, an email, or just the exhaustion of the day. It felt impossible to find the time to read. Then I made another small change: I committed to reading just one page a day, no matter how tired or busy I was. A single page.

It didn’t feel like much at first, but as the days went on, I found myself wanting to read more. One page turned into two, then ten, and soon I was flying through books. By the end of the year, I had read thousands of pages, all because I started with the smallest possible goal.

The Same Goes for Fitness

The same principle applies to exercise. We often wait for the perfect moment to go to the gym—a free hour or two where we can get in a long, productive workout. But life rarely offers such convenient blocks of time. I found myself in the same trap, thinking I didn’t have enough time to exercise, so I skipped it altogether.

Then I decided to take a different approach. Instead of waiting for the right time, I started doing small, at-home exercises whenever I could fit them in—push-ups, crunches, squats, whatever was possible in the moment. Sometimes it was only 15 minutes, sometimes 30. It wasn’t a perfect workout, but it was something. And over time, those short bursts of exercise added up. Before I knew it, I was more motivated than ever to get back to the gym.

The Ripple Effect of Small Changes

What I’ve learned from these small changes is that momentum builds quickly. Once you start making one adjustment, it becomes easier to make others. The decision to skip sugar in your coffee may seem insignificant in isolation, but it’s the kind of shift that creates a ripple effect throughout your life.

You start feeling healthier, more in control, and capable of bigger changes. Whether it’s reading more, exercising more, or eating healthier, the key is to start small. Even the smallest change, repeated consistently over time, can lead to dramatic results.

So, if you’re waiting for the perfect moment to begin your journey toward a better life, don’t. Start now, start small. You’ll be amazed at the difference it can make.

As a teacher, I often find myself answering questions about life beyond the classroom. One of the most common is whether I have any regrets. I usually respond, “Not really,” because every experience—no matter how difficult—has contributed to who I am today. But if I’m being honest, there are a few things I would have done differently, choices that might have spared me unnecessary trouble down the road.

Missing the Special Forces Opportunity

One of my most significant regrets goes back to my time in the military. When given the chance to join the special forces, I opted out. The decision was simple at the time: joining meant an additional six months of grueling training, and I wanted to get on with my life. I was eager to start my master’s degree and felt that extra time in uniform would hold me back. In some ways, it was a sensible choice—after all, I did earn my degree earlier.

However, as time has passed, I’ve come to realize the unique experiences I missed by choosing the easier path. Had I joined the special forces, I would have learned valuable skills—parachuting, diving, martial arts—that are rare opportunities, particularly at a time when I was at my physical peak. These experiences wouldn’t have just shaped me physically but mentally, as well. The discipline and resilience I would have gained could have proven invaluable throughout my life. It’s a choice that still stings when I think of what might have been.

Neglecting Dental Care

Another regret is far less glamorous but much more painful—my neglect of dental care. In my younger years, wild nights out often ended with me crashing into bed, skipping the basic routine of brushing my teeth. At the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Like many people in their teens and twenties, I thought I was invincible, with little concern for long-term consequences.

That indifference came back to haunt me. The years of neglect caught up, leading to costly dental work and, even worse, painful procedures. I learned the hard way that taking care of your teeth isn’t just about appearances; it’s a lifelong investment in your health and well-being. What I once brushed off as a minor inconvenience turned into a significant regret. If I could go back, I’d tell my younger self to never underestimate the importance of those two minutes at the sink each night.

The Smoking Habit I Wish I Never Started

Perhaps the most damaging choice I made was picking up smoking in my teens. It started out like it does for many: a social activity, something to fit in with my peers and feel rebellious. But what started as a casual habit soon became a defining part of my identity throughout my teens and twenties. Smoking was something I relied on to manage stress, enhance social interactions, or simply pass the time.

But over the years, the costs piled up—not just financially, but in terms of my health. Smoking took a serious toll on my stamina, making physical activities more difficult and leaving me with a lingering feeling of fatigue. Quitting was far harder than I ever imagined. It took years of effort and several failed attempts before I finally broke the habit for good. The process was long and exhausting, both mentally and physically. Looking back, I deeply regret ever lighting that first cigarette.

In the end, life is about balance. It’s impossible to avoid every misstep, and those missteps often lead to growth. But if sharing my regrets can help even one person make a more thoughtful decision, then perhaps those past mistakes have served a greater purpose.

As a teacher, I constantly stress the importance of critical thinking to my students, especially in today’s world where political rhetoric is often reduced to fast-food-style sound bites and catchy one-liners. One popular example I like to challenge is the claim: “We’re going to cut expenditure so people can keep more money in their wallets.” But is that really the case? The German train system is a perfect example of why such simplifications can be misleading and why we must look deeper to understand the true impact of policy decisions.

Germany’s trains were once synonymous with efficiency and punctuality, famously running like clockwork. But in recent years, the country’s rail system has become notorious for delays, cancellations, and technical failures. This has sparked frustration within Germany and mockery across Europe. So, what led to this decline?

The root of the problem lies in economic policy. In the past, successive German governments, especially under Chancellor Angela Merkel, prioritized fiscal austerity. The "black zero" policy (Schwarze Null), aimed at avoiding new government debt and maintaining balanced budgets, came at a cost—public investment. For decades, the German government was reluctant to borrow, even when interest rates were historically low. While this approach might have seemed fiscally responsible in the short term, it had unintended long-term consequences.

The reluctance to borrow meant that crucial investments in infrastructure, including the rail network, were delayed or underfunded. At a time when other nations were borrowing to invest in infrastructure and innovation, Germany remained steadfast in its commitment to austerity. This might have helped balance the books, but it also created significant deficiencies in the country's ability to maintain and modernize its infrastructure.

In today’s knowledge-based economy, where innovation and connectivity are key drivers of growth, failing to invest in essential infrastructure can be more damaging than taking on manageable levels of debt. Economists argue that borrowing to invest—especially at historically low interest rates—can be a smart move because well-functioning infrastructure, such as transportation networks, forms the backbone of a modern economy. In Germany’s case, the lack of investment has resulted in chronic underfunding of Deutsche Bahn, the state-owned railway company, leading to a steady decline in service quality.

The issues with Deutsche Bahn are well-documented. Recent reports indicate that only around 65% of long-distance trains are on time, with some routes operating as low as 55% punctuality. Problems such as equipment failures, understaffing, and outdated technology plague the system, creating frequent delays. Political hesitation and bureaucratic inefficiencies have only compounded these problems, as modernization efforts are often postponed or stalled.

This isn't just a transportation issue—it’s about Germany’s broader reputation for efficiency and reliability, which is now under threat. The rail system plays a critical role in connecting commuters and businesses, with many industries relying on it for timely deliveries to maintain their supply chains. Without a modern, reliable railway, Germany risks losing its competitive edge, not only domestically but within the European market.

The ripple effects of Germany’s struggling rail system extend beyond its borders. The European Union is increasingly focused on green transportation and sustainability, aiming to reduce reliance on cars and planes in favor of trains. However, the inefficiencies in Germany’s rail network make it harder for the EU to achieve these goals. An unreliable German train system undermines the push towards environmentally friendly transportation across the continent.

The lesson here is clear: avoiding debt at all costs isn’t always the best strategy. Sometimes, responsible borrowing to invest in the future is necessary, especially when it comes to maintaining critical infrastructure. Germany’s case shows that the focus on austerity and balanced budgets, while popular in political rhetoric, can sometimes create more deficiencies than it solves.

To regain its position as a leader in public transport, Germany must strike a balance between fiscal responsibility and investment in the future. Borrowing to fund infrastructure improvements, such as modernizing the rail network, would not only boost the economy but also enhance public services. It would reaffirm Germany’s commitment to efficiency, innovation, and leadership in Europe. The idea that cutting expenditure always benefits the economy needs to be reevaluated, especially when it jeopardizes essential public services like transportation.