Skip to main content

Mind as a magician

Have you ever walked out of an argument completely sure that you were right, only to realize later that maybe you weren’t? Or felt confident explaining something you barely understood? Don’t worry, you’re not broken. You’re just human. Our brain, as powerful as it is, has this funny habit of lying softly to us. Not out of cruelty, but out of comfort. It wants us to feel safe, certain, and in control. So it bends the truth just enough to make us feel okay. But sometimes, that gentle lie builds a wall between who we think we are and who we actually are.

There’s a strange thing our mind does when we know only a little - it convinces us that we know a lot. Psychologists call it the Dunning-Kruger effect. It’s like standing on the first step of a mountain and believing you’ve already seen the whole view. The less we know, the more confident we feel. But as we climb higher - as we learn, unlearn, stumble, and grow - we begin to see how much more there is to understand. Ironically, those who truly know often sound uncertain. Not because they’re confused, but because they’ve met the vastness of truth and realized how small they are before it.

Then comes another trick; confirmation bias. Our brain loves validation. It loves the sound of “Yes, you’re right.” So it filters the world, showing us only the parts that agree with what we already believe. It makes us scroll past opinions that make us uncomfortable and defend our side even when the facts tremble beneath it. It’s like living in an echo chamber where the only voice you hear is your own. But comfort can be a cage. Growth begins when something shakes us, when a belief cracks, when a truth we avoided stings. That sting isn’t failure; it’s awakening.

And when things go right, we tend to praise our brilliance. But when things go wrong, we quickly blame luck, people, or the system. This is another trick; our self-serving bias. No one likes feeling at fault, so the brain shifts the story to protect our pride. But the moment we start taking gentle responsibility - not out of guilt, but awareness; something changes. It’s like turning on the light in a dark room. It might hurt our eyes for a moment, but at least now we can see things as they really are.

Our brain also clings to the familiar. Even when something isn’t good for us - a job that drains us, a friendship that hurts, a routine that numbs - it whispers, “Don’t move. It’s safer here.” This is called the status quo bias. Change feels dangerous, even when staying the same quietly kills us. But peace doesn’t live in comfort; it often hides just beyond the discomfort we fear the most. The brain mistakes familiarity for safety, but sometimes what’s familiar is what’s holding us back.

Clarity doesn’t come naturally. It’s something we have to build with small, honest moments. It begins when we pause before defending ourselves and ask, “What if I’m wrong?” It grows when we listen to the voices that challenge us instead of silencing them. It deepens when we dare to learn continuously, not to prove we’re right but to understand better. And above all, it strengthens when we stay kind to ourselves. Our mind tricks us not because we’re foolish, but because we’re fragile. Awareness isn’t about judging yourself; it’s about freeing yourself.

The mind is a magician. Beautiful, clever, and slightly deceitful. It performs its illusions not to harm us, but to protect us. Yet, real wisdom begins when we gently pull the curtain back and smile at the trick. When we learn to say, “I see you,” without anger or shame. Because in the end, thinking clearly isn’t about always being right; it’s about being open enough to be wrong. And that openness, that quiet humility, is where true intelligence begins.

Wishing you a good day.

Thank you :)

Popular posts from this blog

When attachment hurts

The hardest part of attachment isn’t always losing someone - it’s watching them drift away because of life. Not because they’ve stopped caring, not because they’ve changed as a person, but because circumstances stepped in. Distance, busy days, different paths. Suddenly, the friend who once felt like your everyday comfort now feels like a guest in your life. And it hurts in ways words can’t carry. The calls grow fewer, the replies slower, the laughter shorter. You tell yourself, 'they still care… it’s just life'. But your heart aches anyway, because attachment makes you sensitive. Every small change feels like a loud silence. Yet, even through the ache, you can’t deny how beautiful it is when such friendships first arrive in your life. The ones you never expected - born out of a random moment, a casual conversation, or sheer coincidence - end up carving the deepest spaces in your heart. These friends make the world feel lighter, like you’ve been handed a quiet gift you didn’t ev...

But still..

It is hard, but still… we go on. It is heavy, but still… we carry it. It is uncertain, but still… we hope. It is painful, but still… we love again. Because somehow, deep down, we know - life doesn’t stop for the storms. And maybe that’s what makes it beautiful. It’s not always easy to wake up and try again when everything inside you wants to give up. But you still do - quietly, stubbornly, beautifully. You may not even realize it, but that’s courage. Not the loud, movie kind; the soft, everyday kind that says, "I’ll face today anyway.” It is confusing - when people you cared for drift away, when plans fall apart, when dreams take longer than they should. But still… you find small reasons to smile; a good song, a sunset, a message from someone who remembers. That’s life’s way of saying, “Keep going, you’re not done yet.” It is tiring to be the strong one all the time. To be the listener, the comforter, the one who understands while silently needing to be understood. But still… you ...

The absurdity of suffering

Bad times don't just "feel bad". They feel like suffocation. Like something heavy pressing on your chest that no one else can see. I don't try to make suffering prettier than it is. Pain is real, and when you're in it, advice feels hollow. And yet, something strange happens with time. Some of the deepest insights I've seen in people's lives didn't come wrapped in joy and clarity. They came from heartbreak, from disappointments, from nights that felt endless. There's something absurd about how much we learn from suffering, how pain becomes a kind of teacher no one asked for, but everyone meets eventually. The existential lens does not sugarcoat things. Life has no built-in meaning. We suffer, often without reason, and sometimes we break. But within that absurdity lies freedom; we get to choose how we respond. The suffering may not be meaningful in itself, but what we do with it can be. That's where the human spirit becomes something fierce and b...