Being able to name the first seven kings of Rome probably isn’t going to help you get a job, although it should.

And good luck trying to convince potential employers to hire you based on your history degree and zero relevant work experience. (Ask me how I know.)

So other than giving us something to think about while we’re stuck in traffic, why bother learning about Babylon, ancient Egypt or the Roman Empire?

A vanished empire.

A cryptic Egyptian inscription.

A mystery over 4,300 years old.

The Pharaohs of ancient Egypt once sent caravans deep into the desert to trade with a powerful kingdom rich in gold, ivory, and exotic treasures. Then, it was gone.

No ruins. No records. Just a name: Yam.

For thousands of years, the fate of the Kingdom of Yam has remained a riddle, and scholars questioned its very existence.

A Lost Civilization

Much of what we know about Yam comes from the tomb inscriptions of Harkhuf, an Egyptian governor and explorer who lived around 2300 BCE, during Egypt’s Old Kingdom period (c. 2686–2181 BCE).

Egypt was at the height of its power, expanding its influence beyond the Nile and establishing its first significant trade routes with distant lands. The Pharaohs saw Yam as a place worth risking monthslong expeditions to reach.

Harkhuf served Pharaohs Merenre I and Pepi II, and his tomb inscriptions describe multiple journeys to Yam, each taking seven months or more. Each time, he returned with incredible luxuries: incense, ebony, leopard skins, elephant tusks, and boomerangs.

Yam wasn’t an obscure trading outpost. Harkhuf’s accounts suggest Yam was a major power, potentially even a rival to Egypt in its early days.

But if that was the case, why did Yam leave behind no cities or monuments.

The Hunt for Yam’s True Location

For centuries, scholars believed Yam was located somewhere south of Egypt, in Nubia (modern Sudan).

Egypt’s connections with Nubian states like Kerma and Kush are well-documented, and it made sense that a major trade partner would be in that region.

One big problem. No artifacts related to Yam were ever found in the region.

In 2007, archaeologists made a discovery that changed all that.

A hieroglyphic inscription referencing Yam was found 430 miles west of the Nile, near the modern border of Libya and Egypt. This shattered the long-held belief that Yam was in Nubia.

If Yam was that far west, it means that Egypt had access to a vast and trade network deep in the Sahara — one that was active more than 4,000 years ago.

A Forgotten Desert Empire?

This discovery suggests that Yam may have been part of one of the world’s earliest trans-Saharan trade routes. It raises the possibility that the Sahara more than a wasteland even in ancient times. It may have been home to powerful societies with access to serious wealth.

Egyptian records mention gold and exotic materials coming from the south, but if Yam was in the west, we might need to rethink about where these goods truly came from.

Did Egypt amass its wealth from someplace deep within Africa, through desert networks controlled by Yam?

If so, Yam may have been more than a single kingdom. It could have been a powerful trade hub, controlling caravan routes across the desert long before the famous trans-Saharan trade networks of the medieval era.

This would mean that ancient Africans were managing sophisticated trade routes thousands of years earlier than previously believed.

How Did Yam Disappear?

If Yam controlled the flow of goods into Egypt, it may have been a target for rival kingdoms.

Was it raided? Conquered? Absorbed into a growing Nubian empire?

If it was swallowed by a larger power, its people and culture may have simply merged into history, leaving little trace.

But conquest isn’t the only possibility.

The period following the Old Kingdom saw major climate shifts. The Sahara was becoming drier, its ancient lakes and rivers vanishing.

If Yam’s power depended on desert trade routes, the changing environment could have sealed its fate. The once-thriving civilization may have literally been swallowed by the sands.

The Final Mystery

Despite centuries of speculation, Yam’s exact location remains unknown. But all it would take is a single discovery to help pinpoint the location.

If archaeologists find Yam, it could reshape our understanding of the ancient Sahara and the sources of Egypt’s wealth.

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There’s a church in Ethiopia where a single man stands guard over a sacred relic.

No one else is allowed to see it — not even the head of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church.

Some say it’s the Ark of the Covenant, the legendary chest that once held the Ten Commandments. Others claim it’s a medieval replica.

But why is it so closely guarded? And why has it remained hidden for centuries?

To understand the mystery, you have to go back to the ancient kingdom of Aksum.

At its peak, between 100 and 600 CE, Aksum was one of the most powerful civilizations in the world.

In the third century CE, the Persian prophet Mani ranked it alongside Rome, China, and Persia as one of the four great empires of the time.

Aksum’s wealth came from gold, ivory, and control over the Red Sea trade routes. Adulis, Aksum’s main port on the Red Sea, was described by ancient writers as a bustling hub where Roman and Greek ships exchanged exotic goods.

Aksumite merchants traded as far as India and China. The empire’s coins were some of the first ever minted in Africa and have been found thousands of miles away in India.

By 330 CE, King Ezana converted to Christianity, making Aksum one of the first Christian states, right as Rome was doing the same under Constantine.

The city of Aksum grew into a thriving center of culture and faith, marked by towering stone obelisks. Some still stand today.

But Aksum’s dominance wouldn’t last forever.

The rise of Islam in the 7th century changed the balance of power in the region. As Arab forces took control of the Red Sea coastline, Aksum lost its most important trade routes.

The crazy part is that decades earlier the Aksumite King Armah had given asylum to members of the new religion.

After the Prophet Muhammad and his followers faced persecution in Mecca, Muhammad advised some of his followers to seek refuge in Aksum.

Around 615, this migration saw a small group of Muslims, including members of Muhammad’s family, flee across the Red Sea to Aksum.

King Armah welcomed them and refused to hand them over to the Quraysh, the ruling tribe of Mecca, despite the arrival of envoys demanding their return.

Supposedly, King Armah was moved by their recitation of verses from the Quran, particularly those about Jesus and Mary. In return, the king granted them Aksum’s protection.

Some of these refugees later returned to Arabia, while others remained in Aksum for years. But as Islamic power spread Aksum lost access to the trade routes that made it rich, and the empire fell into a steady decline.

Despite Aksum’s decline, one thing has endured: its legends.

One of the most intriguing is the story of the Queen of Sheba, known as Makeda in Ethiopian tradition.

She traveled to Jerusalem to meet King Solomon, according to the Kebra Nagast, a 14th-century Ethiopian chronicle.

What happened next depends on who you ask. Some say it was a political meeting, others say it was something more.

Ethiopian tradition says she and Solomon became lovers and that led to the birth of Menelik I, the first emperor of Ethiopia and the founder of the Solomonic dynasty.

For centuries, Ethiopian rulers traced their bloodline back to Solomon himself, blending biblical elements with royal history.

But that’s just the setup. The real twist comes later.

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The Kebra Nagast claims that when Menelik I came of age, he traveled to Jerusalem to meet his father Solomon, which puts us in the 10th century BCE.

The Ethiopian tradition claims that King Solomon invited Menelik to stay and rule alongside him, but Menelik wanted to return home.

Solomon ordered a group of Israelite priests to go with him. Unhappy about leaving, these priests allegedly stole the Ark of the Covenant and left behind a replica in its place.

Menelik only discovered the theft on the journey home, but an angel reassured him that this was all God's will. By the time Solomon realized what had happened, Menelik had already taken the Ark to Aksum, where it has supposedly been ever since.

There are issues with the chronology and the conflicting timelines of Aksum and Israel. But the biggest problem is that our primary source (the Kebra Nagast) was written some 2,400 years after the time of Solomon. Naturally, people have tried to prove and debunk this legend.

During WWII, Edward Ullendorf, a history professor, said he saw the purported ark while serving as a British Army officer in the region. He described it as unremarkable and probably of later construction than biblical. He said it was most likely a replica made in the Middle Ages.

He died at age 91 in 2011.

One of the most famous attempts to uncover the truth came from Graham Hancock, whose 1992 book The Sign and the Seal: The Quest for the Lost Ark of the Covenant dives deep into the legend.

Hancock spent years chasing the story across Ethiopia, digging into religious texts, oral traditions, and firsthand accounts.

His conclusion? There’s a strong case that the Ark, or at least something believed to be the Ark rests inside the Church of St. Mary of Zion in Aksum.

At this point, there’s only one person alive today who knows for sure.

The church has a single guardian, a monk whose entire life is dedicated to protecting the Ark. Once chosen, he never leaves the church grounds, and he speaks to no one about what he has seen.

Some reports say these guardians experience declining health over time, either from the burden of their isolation or from something more mysterious — depends on whom you believe.

When one guardian dies, another is chosen, and the cycle begins again.

Does the real Ark of the Covenant rest in Aksum?

Or is it just a legend, passed down through generations?

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Cooking is an act of faith. If you follow a recipe, you’re trusting a stranger with one of life’s simple joys.

Otherwise, you place your faith in your own experience and intuition.

Either way, we only get so many meals in a lifetime. Most of us eat between 730 and 1,095 meals a year.

That might sound like a lot, but subtract the rushed lunches, cold leftovers, and dash-and-go dinners squeezed into jam-packed schedules, and the number of truly enjoyable meals shrinks fast.

So, yeah, it matters who you trust in the kitchen.

There’s something to be said for searching up whatever dish we think we have most of the ingredients for. But who’s vouching for these recipes? When I’m in dinner-now mode I’m likely to go with whatever recipe is at the top of the search results.

It’ll probably be fine.

I think it’s better to find a few reliable guides to help you stock your kitchen and create your own philosophy of cooking.

Think of it like Dante in The Inferno. He didn’t just grab any random ghost to guide him through hell. He went with Virgil, the greatest poet of Rome. You need a Virgil in the kitchen.

Now, a kitchen isn’t hell (though sizzling oil and smoking pans can feel close). But when you’re hungry and staring at an empty fridge, it can feel like purgatory.

What you need in those moments isn’t a precise recipe with strict measurements. You need some inspiration. You need someone to help you see the potential in those half-empty cabinets, wilting vegetables, and dusty spice jars.

Most cookbooks don’t do that. They’re like fitness plans for people who hate working out. They’re full of numbers and rules, but no soul. No why.

What you need is a book that teaches you how to feel about cooking, not just how to follow instructions.

That’s where two of my favorite books about cooking come in.

I don’t want to call them cookbooks, because even though there are some recipes in them, the focus isn’t on what to cook. It’s on how to approach cooking.

Both of these books will make you a better home chef and maybe even help you enjoy life more.

1. An Everlasting Meal: Cooking with Economy and Grace by Tamar Adler

By Page 2, you’ll feel like you’ve found your culinary Virgil. Adler writes with such clarity and warmth that you’ll trust her immediately. (She’s a former chef with a bunch of awards.)

Here’s the gist of her philosophy: Cooking is about transformation. It’s about taking raw ingredients and turning them into something meaningful. Even something as simple as salting a tomato can make you feel more alive.

But here’s the game-changer: Adler teaches you to see leftovers not as sad remnants of yesterday’s meal, but as a head start for tomorrow’s.

That roasted chicken from Monday’s dinner? Turn the carcass into stock on Wednesday.

The leftover rice? Fry it up with some eggs and veggies for lunch the next day.

Cooking, in her world, is a continuous cycle, not a series of isolated events.

Don’t worry if you’re a beginner. The first chapter is literally called “How to Boil Water.”

Adler teaches you to see ingredients not as parts of a recipe but as little joys in themselves. Spend time with her and you’ll start cooking (and thinking) differently.

2. Life is Meals by James and Kay Salter

James Salter was an author who lived life fully and wrote about it beautifully.

He was a fighter pilot, novelist, screenwriter, skier, and even a mountain climber (which he took up in his 40s to better write about it).

He knew how to savor the physical pleasures of life, whether it was a glass of wine, a lazy Sunday afternoon, or carving down a ski slope in Aspen.

Salter also understood the magic of connection, the kind that happens when people gather around a table. That’s what Life is Meals is all about.

Co-written with his wife, Kay, the book is a celebration of meals with friends and family as the heartbeat of life.

It’s structured as a daily read, with one entry for each day of the year. Some entries are recipes. Others are slices of literary life, kitchen hacks, bits of culinary history, or reflections on the art of hosting.

Salter knew that meals aren’t just about food. They’re about the stories told and the temporary community built around a table. A meal, in his view, is a snapshot of life at its best — a reminder to slow down, savor, and connect.

“Among all peoples and in all times, every significant event in life — be it wedding, triumph, or birth — is marked by a meal or the sharing of food or drink. The meal is the emblem of civilization. What would one know of life as it should be lived or nights as they should be spent apart from meals?”

It’s the kind of book you keep on your counter and flip through when you need a little inspiration.

It’s also a book that that solves problems with quick tips on how to throw together a dinner for a crowd in a matter of minutes. The key is to always have a few essentials on hand. Thanks to this book, I can throw together a killer alfredo, pesto or carbonara at moment’s notice.

I have a lot of cookbooks. I can recall a few recipes, but I still need to look up the specifics.

But I’ve never forgotten core principals of An Everlasting Meal or Life Is Meals.

Enjoy the process, embrace the Earth’s natural gifts, build a community, and make one extra effort (fresh parsley!) every meal.

Do that and you’ll transform something many people see as a chore into a daily ritual that enriches your life.

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Beauty grabs us.

I’m not talking about someone’s looks.

Think about cathedrals — those towering, intricate structures. Even if you can’t see every detail from the ground, the architecture pulls your gaze upward, toward the spires and the sky.

Beauty forces us to stop, look closer, and pay attention.

It’s during that act of focusing our attention that we often stumble on truths we’d otherwise avoid.

Take Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. It’s not an easy film.

The pacing is slow, the dialogue feels stiff, and there are long, quiet moments that seem to go nowhere. But you can’t look away.

Every frame is stunning — lighting and composition, the way the camera moves. It’s mesmerizing, even as it reveals uncomfortable truths about marriage, power, and money.

Kubrick knew that beauty is the hook. Without it, we’d just tune out.

The modern world is too noisy and crowded with distractions to hold our attention.

Shock used to be an effective tactic to direct people toward the truth. But we’ve become desensitized.

Infinite shocking images are always only a scroll or click away.

But because it’s rare and so subjective, beauty in art and design still makes us stop and think.

This is true across the arts and media. Think about the writers who’ve lasted.

Mark Twain and F. Scott Fitzgerald didn’t just have something to say; they said it with artistic language that forces readers to linger over or return to certain passages.

Huckleberry Finn and The Great Gatsby are full of hard truths about American society and the people within it, but their prose is so compelling that we keep reading, digging, and finding new layers.

Would anyone still be reading The Great Gatsby if it was written in disjointed, confusing sentences? Probably not.

The same could be said of The Iliad, which even though it’s now thousands of years old, still resonates. War, loss, love, power, mortality — the tragedy and ectasy of human existence is all there. But would anyone besides students slog 800 pages if the writing weren’t so breathtaking? Probably not.

The incredible analogies, descriptions, and images of Homer’s language encourage us to examine the hard truths within.

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A mediocre abstract painting might hold your attention for a few seconds while you try to figure it out. But a truly beautiful one? You’ll study it, absorb it, and keep thinking about it long after you’ve walked away.

Beauty helps sweeten the medicine we need to take. It invites us to dig deeper and understand what’s beneath the surface and why it matters.

Who knows, there might be some essential truths hiding in the ugly corners of the art world, but we’ll never find them. There’s no sweetness to encourage us to focus our attention.

Creating something beautiful isn’t easy. It takes genius or relentless effort.

But it’s worth it.

Because without beauty the truth just sits there, ignored.

Most of us work for others — that's just reality.

Companies get our best hours, our peak energy, our sharpest thinking.

After work, other commitments chip away at what time’s left: family needs, social obligations, church, clubs, the basic maintenance of life. This isn't necessarily bad — civilization runs on rules.

But here's why this matters: your private time is where real growth happens. When you pursue what actually interests you, you develop new skills and learn to think for yourself by solving the problems that matter to you.

Whether you're teaching yourself woodworking, reading philosophy, or building strength in the gym — these pursuits shape who you become.

This is also where freedom lives. Hobbies, books, art, ideas — these are the spaces where we dissent, explore, and create. Free time has a funny way of creating free thinkers.

Naturally, those who want to control us fear leisure time above all.

They know that people with free time and active interests are harder to predict and control. Their ideas are Unpredictable. They’re dangerous to the status quo.

That's why there's such a push to keep you busy with work, or alternatively fill your every moment with junkfood content, notifications, and manufactured needs.

Decades ago, author Norman Mailer sounded the alarm about mass media’s invasion of private life. TV, radio, corporate news — they crept into our homes, our minds.

At last corporations and governments had found a more seductive and thus effective way to influence private life.

And even better for established power structures: Americans welcomed the invasion. What sort of home had no TV? It became a symbol of status to have multiple TVs or a room dedicated to the device, rather than a mere “living room.”

But here’s the thing: creators adapted.

They turned the tools of control into platforms for rebellion.

Indie films, underground magazines, provocative books — they struck back. Even if they were losing the war, they kept fighting, here and there sending a signal up to remind others that everything wasn’t as it seemed.

Intelligent interview programs even managed to make their way onto airwaves. Mailer himself and his often wild, sometimes prescient ideas were regular guests on several shows. Jack ­Kerouac — in varying stages of decline — spoke at length, mystics and intellectuals all made appearances.

Marshall McLuhan, a Canadian media theorist, was on TV countless times and explained to Americans:

“Today, the instantaneous world of electronic information media involves all of us, all at once. Ours is a brand-new world of all-at-onceness … You have extreme concern with everybody else’s life. It’s a sort of Ann Landers column written larger. … The walls all go out.”

Then social media arrived like a trojan horse. Corporations and government salivated.

The ultimate tool for control, right?

Flatten opinions. Silence outliers. Bland content. Safe ideas for mass appeal.

But then the walls really went out.

Creators stole the fire like Prometheus. They found ways around censors and ways to make the digital space into something more interesting: a place where independent voices can find their audience, where unconventional ideas can spread, where people can learn and grow in any number of ways.

If you’ve got a curious disposition and are willing to hunt a bit, YouTube University can take you to some wild places. It can teach you, what you should have learned sooner.

We know where the traditional paths lead — 9-5 and pray for retirement at 65. But distill some more interesting ideas into young minds and who knows where that will lead?

Yes, the algorithm rewards banality. Yes, influencers play it safe and many hawk b.s. products.

But not everyone. Not everywhere.

Social media, for all its flaws, has become a battleground for ideas. It’s messy. It’s chaotic. It’s alive. And that’s the point.

The outliers are still there.

Everyone loves to talk about the collapse of civilizations.

Pundits and politicians often point to the Fall of Rome as a cautionary tale, drawing parallels to whatever crisis dominates today. Immigration, military overreach, moral decay — Rome supposedly proves the point.

But they're missing something crucial: The Roman Empire didn't collapse in AD 476 — not by a long shot. It adapted and transformed.

Let's shatter some myths about the year Rome supposedly "fell."

‘Barbarian Invaders’

The "barbarians" who supposedly invaded Rome had been part of the empire for generations. When Rome faced mounting pressure from Attila's Huns in the 370s, they invited entire Gothic tribes to settle along the Danube River as defensive allies. Germanic commanders like Arbogast and Bauto even rose to become Roman consuls in the late 4th century.

Even the Vandals — whose name is now shorthand for "destroyers" — only entered Roman territory because a Roman general recruited them for a political campaign. By the late empire, these "foreigners" commanded Rome's armies and shaped imperial policy. The empire's last great military leader was Stilicho, the son of a Vandal father and Roman mother.

Capital Importance

The city of Rome itself had lost significance long before 476.

The empire's power center shifted to Constantinople in AD 330, while Ravenna had served as the western empire’s capital since AD 402.

When Odoacer, a Scirian commander, deposed the last Western emperor, Romulus Augustulus, in 476, he didn't abolish Roman government — he worked to preserve it. He acknowledged Eastern Emperor Zeno's authority and maintained Roman administrative systems.

Zeno even granted Odoacer the title of patrician. He was grateful for the stability Odoacer brought to Italy. This "barbarian" ruler minted coins with Zeno's image and maintained the Roman Senate.

For ordinary citizens across the Mediterranean, life continued largely unchanged. Roman law still governed. Trade networks still functioned. The Eastern Roman Empire — which many call Byzantine — would thrive for another millennium.

What’s really telling is how Cassiodorus, writing under the Ostrogoth King of Italy Theoderic the Great (r. 471 – 526), described the new order:

"A Roman in toga, [Theoderic] rules both Romans and Goths with equal justice. ... He has restored what was destroyed of old and preserved what was restored."

This wasn't a lament for a fallen empire, but praise for its successful transformation under new leadership.

Adaptation vs. Collapse

The real story isn't about collapse. It's about adaptation.

Rome's greatest strength wasn't its legions or monuments, but its ability to absorb and integrate neighbors and former enemies . What gets oversimiplified as a catastrophic invasion was a much more complex transformation.

The "Romans" of the 5th century were already a blend of Italian, Greek, Germanic, and other Mediterranean peoples.

So the next time someone invokes "the Fall of Rome" to forecast doom, remember: They're missing the point by about a thousand years.

The empire didn't die in a fiery collapse. It transformed, adapted, and would live on for another 1,000 years, until Constantinople's fall to the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II in 1453. That, on the other hand, was a truly explosive downfall.

This isn’t just ancient history — it's a lesson in how civilizations actually work. They don't simply rise and fall. They evolve, merge, and reinvent themselves.

Sometimes what looks like an ending is just change in disguise.

Before podcasts, before paperbacks, before even paper was invented — a Sumerian father pressed 280 lines of life advice into clay.

His 4,600-year-old notes for living a good life might be the world's first personal development text, and they're surprisingly on point for 2025.

“The Instructions of Shuruppak” isn’t just a look into life in southern Iraq almost 5,000 years ago, it’s a testament to a father’s foresight and care for his sons.

King Shuruppak (c. 2600 BC) advises his sons on building trust, showing kindness to neighbors, and staying true to your word — timeless values that still anchor communities.

These clay tablets capture everyday wisdom that feels surprisingly modern. "Don't buy a donkey that brays too much" might sound quaint, but swap "donkey" for "car," and you've got solid advice about checking under the hood before you buy.

There are also traces of the metaphysical and several maxims that would appeal to Zen Buddhists, although Shuruppak was writing 2,000 years before Buddha was born.

Shuruppak's words survived because they struck a chord with generations of ancient scribes who copied them for their students. Think of it as the original viral content — but shared through careful impressions in clay.

Reading Shuruppak's words today is like finding a message in a bottle — from another age.

When he warns us about false friends or celebrates generosity, we're reminded that while our tools have changed dramatically, human nature remains remarkably consistent.

Here are some highlights from the advice King Shuruppak gave his sons about breweries, family, and minimalism:

1. "A loving heart maintains a family."

2. "Do not pass judgment when you drink beer."

3. "You should not boast in beer halls ... like a deceitful man."

4. "Do not speak needlessly; that is a trap."

5. "It is inconceivable ... that something is lost forever."

6. "Nothing at all is to be valued, but life should be sweet. You should not serve things; things should serve you."

Of course not all advice is universal or timeless:

• "The gods of the mountains are man-eaters."

• “You should not abduct a wife; you should not make her cry.”

The full text can be found here.

Uncertainty can be a gift and certainty can be a curse.

I learned that from history and life.

When times are good, we can’t be certain that they'll stay that way. A lot of us, myself included, waste time being anxious about when and what will go wrong.

The flip side of that uncertainty is that no matter how bad things get, we can't be certain that they won't get better. Without uncertainty we wouldn't have hope.

Of course, taken to extremes uncertainty can be debilitating.

But if we’re willing to be anxious about things going wrong because the future is uncertain, why don’t we allow ourselves to believe that things will get better because the future is uncertain?

Anything could happen. And that feeling of uncertainty is a blessing (and a relief).

• If you’re shipwrecked, you could be rescued — or figure out how to build a new boat.

• If you’re sick, you could be healed — or find a cure yourself.

• If you’re broke, you could land a job — or start a new business.

We grow up thinking that doubt is the enemy. Which only makes it worse, because we will inevitably doubt ourselves. But are we certain that anyone, no matter how great, is free from doubt? Of course not.

Uncertainty when channeled correctly is a superpower. But we have to look past the anxiety, and examine the underlying reason for that uncertainty.

It’s that nagging feeling that ties up our stomach the day before the big interview. OK, why do I feel this way? Is this my gut telling me I might not be fully prepared? Examine the feeling. The key is not to suppress it.

Because it might turn out that you just need to review some common interview questions. Sometimes you might not find a trigger for action. In that case, it might be a false alarm. It is possible. (I struggle with this one.)

Uncertainty can propel us to:

• Reexamine our cherished beliefs.

• Entertain the ideas of others.

• Work to insulate ourselves from risk.

• Take a wide range of positive actions.

A feeling of uncertainty is why I double check a citation or source. That nagging feeling pushes me to read the article I’m writing one more time before hitting “publish.”

Uncertainty can also be a sign that you care.

Many actors and performers will tell you that when the butterflies die completely, it’s a sign that you need to hang it up. You just don’t care anymore.

Unchecked this uncertainty can become a pathology. But I think it's fair to say that people who suffer from excess uncertainty are primarily a danger to themselves.

On the other hand, people with an excess of certainty are more likely to be a danger to others.

Blind faith and megalomania have caused tragedies throughout history.

It usually takes an abundance of those traits to start a war. Or become a dictator. It's too easy to find examples of absolute certainty in history, or government today.

Too much certainty leads to people running roughshod over others’ rights and beliefs.

Too much certainty closes our minds to new ideas.

A little doubt can save lives.

In 1962, two of the three chief officers aboard a Soviet submarine armed with nuclear missiles were convinced that a war with the U.S. had begun. Chief of Staff Vasili Arkhipov had his doubts, though, and he refused to approve the missile launch.

Of course, it could be argued that uncertainty is a coin. Turn it over and you find certainty on a different issue.

All the more reason we shouldn’t take our certainties or our theories at face value.

It’s obvious why we admire people with strong convictions. We’re all too aware of our own doubts, and the modern world favors people who hide them.

The internet hates hypocrisy. Although too often “hypocrisy” just means changing your mind.

But what’s the alternative upon receiving new information that forces you to rethink your assumptions? Entrench yourself deeper and avoid anything that prompts more uncertainty?

Once you've walled yourself off from any challenges to what your certain about it's easy to become convinced that you know best. And usually for a large group of people.

“I know best” at the extremes leads to dictatorship and repression.

The problem is that we’re often led by people with a superabundance of conviction, because to weather all the b.s. to get to a place of influence takes a high degree of certainty.

That certainty usually takes the form of an ideology or opposition to one.

The problem becomes how to encourage people with some positive convictions but an open mind to speak up.

I'm not 100% certain but it probably starts with discouraging groupthink and encouraging people who are willing to change their minds.

Holding the same views on everything for a decade or a lifetime isn’t the best way to evaluate someone's ability to lead. And accusing someone of hypocrisy should probably be reserved for those who can’t explain their reasoning on an issue.

They probably changed their mind because they were compromised by money, power, or fame.

Good leaders don’t cling to their ideology — they’re the ones willing to rethink, adapt, and grow.

If changing your mind is a sign of weakness, then blindly sticking to bad ideas must be a superpower. But we know that’s not true.

Researchers only have a handful of clues to go on, but if it were found, the excavation of Thinis could crack open the origins of ancient Egypt.

Here’s why:

Thinis was unified Egypt’s first capital and the launchpad for pharaonic rule. The city was founded at the dawn of the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt under King Narmer (c. 3100 BC). That puts us in the era of the actual Scorpion King.

This early urban center was the city of the first Pharaoh. It was the center from which Narmer orchestrated the merging of Upper and Lower Egypt. Its name may mean “the high or distinguished land.” It’s hard to say for certain, but the name Thinis likely reflects the city’s high status.

Thinis’ ruins are likely packed with administrative records, tools of governance, and ritual artifacts. It’s a veritable trove worthy of an Indiana Jones movie.

So the historical significance is tremendous, but what do we actually know of its location?

We know about Thinis from ancient Egyptian inscriptions and the writings of several ancients, including the Egyptian historian Manetho.

Writing during the early 3rd century BC, Manetho tells us that Thinis was the home of unified Egypt’s first rulers.

Thinis is believed by some to have been located near the modern-day city of Abydos, in Upper Egypt. Excavations in this area have been ongoing for years, though no definitive city ruins have been uncovered.

But while no direct physical evidence of Thinis has been found, many important early Egyptian artifacts — such as pottery and ceremonial objects — have been discovered at and around Abydos, suggesting an ancient population center of considerable size in the area.

Archeologists believe the city was a major administration center of the early kingdom. A city of perhaps 10,000 people at its peak.

Researchers suspect Thinis could be buried beneath later settlements or may have been destroyed by natural events like flooding or shifting river channels. Some believe it might be under the modern-day city of Girga.

Here’s the crazy part.

Roughly a century ago, ruins were visible near the edges of Girga, but they were either destroyed or people built over them, according to NYU archeologist Matthew Adams.

Besides Girga, a couple other locations have been proposed for Thinis:

• El-Birba — John Gardner Wilkinson, a 19th century Egyptologist proposed this modern village as the site of Thinis due to its proximity to Abydos and El-Birba’s meaning, “The Temple.” Georges Émile Jules Daressy pointed to the mud-brick ruins there, a statue of Ramses II, and a stone falcon linked to Onuris (Thinis’ patron god) and its strategic location on the Kharga Oasis trade route.

• El-Tina — Heinrich Karl Brugsch suggested this as a possible site for Thinis due to the phonetic similarity to the coptic "Tin" (Thinis’ name). But the name "El-Tina" is a common Egyptian toponym unrelated to antiquity and there’s no physical evidence for this claim.

But all hope of finding the lost city isn’t lost:

• Satellite imagery and ground penetrating radar (GPR) are being used to map the subsurface in the Abydos region to locate potential undiscovered sites. These methods could reveal hidden foundations, walls, or other structures from the lost capital.

• Scholars are also revisiting texts and inscriptions that mention Thinis, looking for more precise clues about its exact location.

The discovery of Thinis could help transform fragmented myths into a concrete origin story. Yet while Ur’s ziggurats and Teotihuacan’s grid layout reveal how those early cities centralized power, Thinis remains a ghost, known only through cryptic inscriptions like the Palermo Stone (c. 2400 BCE), which lists Thinite kings, and Manetho’s Aegyptiaca.

Unearthing Thinis’ workshops, tax records, or administrative seals (like those found at Abydos, its proposed necropolis) could decode how Egypt’s founders engineered unity from chaos. Did they rely on grain monopolies, like Mesopotamian city-states? Or religious propaganda, as the Pyramid Texts suggest?

Unlike isolated tombs or temples, Thinis’ urban footprint would expose the machinery of a nascent kingdom: trade routes, legal codes, military strength, and the logistics of feeding thousands.

Thinis is the missing first chapter of one of the world’s most important ancient civilizations.

AI is this generation’s space race, which means everyone’s looking for the big winner.

And that’s what concerns me.

Incomprehensible fortunes will be made. But billionaires’ interest in winning the AI race probably has less to do with piling up more cash and more to do with controlling the way we consume information. In a word, influence. In another, reality.

Owning the Washington Post or even a network of major news outlets will seem like a pittance compared to the influence wielded by the owner of a dominant generative AI model. A traditional media outlet, no matter how powerful, has clear limits to its reach — its editorial stance is clear, and its audience is inherently siloed.

The opportunity and incentive for manipulation is staggering.

But instead of crafting a single headline or editorial for millions to read, an AI model can deliver custom-tailored narratives to billions of individuals. This creates an illusion of objectivity while reinforcing specific views (of the user or the AI’s owner), making it nearly impossible to identify the bias embedded in the outputs.

If one generative AI dominates the market, like say Google dominates search, whoever owns that AI will have unprecedented power over the way we find information.

It’s already becoming harder to find quality articles or resources via traditional search.

Content marketers and SEO experts have gotten their clients to the top of the search results, but those results are less relevant and less helpful to me than ever before, which is why the research firm Gartner predicts search engine traffic will decline by 25% by 2026.

I already use generative AI tools rather than search engines for most queries. For an in-depth walkthrough I turn to YouTube. It’s faster that way, and more reliably gets me to the info that I need. Tools like Perplexity.ai are awesome for getting research started.

Problem solved then, right?

Sure, for the moment. Right now there’s a whole bunch of companies vying for the lead in the generative AI race — there’s even leaderboards and trackers. But my concern is that’s a temporary phenomenon.

Given the enormous expense of the computational power, data storage, and electricity that these tools require, it’s easy to see the risk of monopoly in the AI space is extremely high.

As bad as the consolidation of legacy media was for an informed public, a market dominated by one or two generative AI models will be even worse.

It will become even more difficult to determine the bias, lean, and underlying assumptions baked into the outputs — especially when those models shape not just information, but how people find it and consume it.

If a single company or entity dominates the AI market it will be able to subtly manipulate public sentiment on a single issue or candidate without most people ever noticing.

Imagine, just four years from now, as even more people rely on these tools to research election issues, evaluate candidates, or make sense of recent events.

With the veneer of authority these models carry, they could subtly reframe narratives, emphasize certain perspectives, or omit critical facts — all under the guise of a friendly supposedly neutral, fact-based assistant.

The opportunity and incentive for manipulation is staggering.

Unlike traditional media, where bias and influence are at least somewhat visible or can be contested by rival publications, AI models already operate in the shadows, blending countless sources into responses that seem definitive.

But if there’s only one or two models to choose from in the future and they are closed-source models, we’ll just have to trust their owners.

That’s a scary thought.

The subtlety of this potential manipulation — shaping the way people perceive issues, guiding them to conclusions without their conscious awareness — is precisely what makes it so dangerous.

When one or two entities control the architecture of these systems, they gain an unprecedented ability to engineer public opinion and define the boundaries of reality on a mass scale.

This feels likes a true fork in the road.