Imagine a town like any other. It has a city center with some shops, residential areas, and decent public infrastructure. The only thing that makes this town unique? Everyone can only read the same 10 books. Be it at the library, online, or at home, citizens will only ever have access to 10 different titles.

It seems like a small restriction, but is it? What if these books all described dystopian cities in the future and named only challenges of organizing humans living in the same place? Most of the townfolk would constantly walk around sad and depressed, even if their lives were relatively comfortable. If the books talked about mindfulness and kindness, the vibe in most public places would be calm, and people would help each other wherever they could. Optimistic books would drive a culture of optimism, angry ones a bickering population, and so on. In any case, this tiny limitation would likely have severe consequences for how the people living in this town feel on an everyday basis.

Perhaps even more gravely, however, whatever the particular selection of books, it would keep the population trapped: trapped in the same frame of mind with the same intellectual input and no creative variety. So no matter the mood, sooner or later, the evolution of this town would come to a standstill. Whether it’s 10 great books or 10 mediocre ones, they’re not enough. The citizens of the town will starve in the idea department—unless they get more books!

When recently updating a list of 12 of my favorite nonfiction books, most of which most people will never have heard of, I ran through this thought experiment to explain why, for me, the more obscure titles have been the most rewarding. There’s nothing wrong with popular bestsellers, and I like those, too. But they’re often filled with common-sense advice and usually make less of an impression on me. When you can transfer a 150-year-old idea to a modern issue, however, sparks really start flying through your brain.

Reading widely is good for our own learning, but it helps others, too. It’s interesting to see what people think when reading the same book, but when everyone reads a different book and then we come together to discuss, that’s when ideas diffuse, merge, and morph into something better than any one of us could have come up with on their own.

There are a million good reasons to read. We read to feel, to forget, and to remember. We read for fun, for joy, and for excitement. And we read to learn, to lead, and to satisfy our natural curiosity. Whatever your reason on any given day, every now and then, pick books that lie beyond the comfort of the familiar. Pick books with an air of mystery around them, books you’re not sure you will understand but which will have an impact on you nonetheless.

Haruki Murakami famously wrote that “if you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.” Don’t move to the town with 10 books. Keep your mind sharp and alight with creativity. If only every so often, read what no one else is reading.

“How do I put this delicately?” my colleague from marketing wondered out loud. “Don’t!” I said. “Let’s have it! Feedback is good!” In the end, he did find a nice way of saying it, but the verdict was clear: The AI-generated voiceover for some of our course videos sounded dull, breathless, and was plagued by background noise.

Luckily, we had used two different voices, one male, one female. If the male one didn’t cut it, perhaps the marketing team would like the female one better? Personally, I agreed it sounded much livelier. I found a clip and played it for them. “Wow, yeah, that’s ten times better! Feels natural, has range, and proper pacing.” I thanked the two guys for their comments.

Now it was my turn to wonder out loud: “Maybe they just had better samples to train her voice model? Or more data? I’ll have to ask the team.” When I later relayed the feedback, I did. “Guys, marketing says the units with the female voiceover are much better. Did we do anything differently in building her AI model?” As it turned out, we did: “Well, I recorded my clips myself,” the lady behind the voice in question said. “Oh! Yowza! That explains everything. Thanks for letting me know.”

In another meeting later that day, I again got the same feedback from yet another person: “Yo, that male voiceover is monotonous. Something about it just feels off.” Like me, no one could initially swear one of the voices wasn’t AI-generated, yet everyone could still tell the difference: “Yep, this one sounds better.”

AI voice generation is one of the most advanced subbranches of the field, and yet, even here, humans can still distinguish between the real and the artificial. Will it always be this way? Most likely not. But for now, it seems it still behooves us to give our art the A but not forget the I.

A few days ago, some workers showed up at my neighbors’ house. Among other things, they cleaned their garden and side walk with leaf blowers.

In one small segment at the end of a long stretch on the side of their house, our two outdoor spaces are connected. There’s a hedge separating our patio from their garden, but it’s rather thin, and you can see through it most of the year.

As it turns out, you can also blow leaves straight onto our patio. “Fwooooo,” the leaf blower went, and by the time the gardeners left satisfied, the back of my house looked like a squirrel playground after the annual acorn festival. “Great,” I thought, “now I’ll have to sweep this entire area.”

I was busy at work the next few days, so I didn’t get to it. On the weekend, I peered out, ready to assess the damage. To my surprise, there was barely any. “Wait a minute. Where did all the leaves go?” There were still a few loose pieces of bark flying about, but all of nature’s shed skin from the fall? Gone.

Eventually, I remembered why: It had been windy all week. Little by little, Aeolus and friends had done most of the work for me.

Even when you’re not present enough to consciously decide to do it, waiting and seeing often works. The wind won’t always do your gardening for you, but if the puzzle is already in a state of confusion, you might as well shake the box and see if at least some parts will fall into place.

On the second episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, Jerry Seinfeld picks up Jimmy Fallon in a 1950s Corvette convertible. As they drive around with no roof and no windows in a car that’s 70 years old, Jimmy asks: “Do you get nervous with no seat belts or airbags or any of that stuff?” Jerry just waves off: “How much have you really used the airbags?”

In Same as Ever, Morgan Housel paraphrases Seinfeld’s joke to make a point: Humans are bad at probabilistic thinking.

For one, we conflate odds and impact. Just because a car crash is a dramatic, negative event does not make it less likely. The odds are the odds, and should they come to pass, you sure do want that airbag.

For another, we usually focus on too small a sample size, Housel suggests. There might only be a one in one million chance you will be in a car crash today, but with billions of people driving, the chances of someone being in a crash are well over 100%—and who’s to say that, someday, that someone won’t be you?

Finally, we rarely look at the totality of possible outcomes. So far, we’ve only talked about car crashes. What about natural disasters? In that category alone there are dozens of options. Earthquakes, fires, floods, storms, hail, snow, ice, heatwaves—the list is long, and a long list is similar to a big sample size: Even if the odds of any one thing occurring are only one percent, the odds of something coming to pass in any given year are actually quite high.

This is only a small snapshot of the many biases fooling our brains into the comfort of certainty where none exists. They’re all worth visiting and revisiting. Enjoy the ride of life, but make sure the windshield is clear—and please, most of the time, pick cars that come with airbags.

I was getting ready for dinner during a short weekend getaway at a nice hotel. After blowdrying my hair and putting on cologne, I washed my hands. The soap came from a wall-mounted dispenser.

Right next to it, there was another dispenser, but this one was filled with body lotion instead. Once I had dried my hands, I almost automatically pressed the top twice, caught some lotion, and put it on my face.

As I was walking outside, I realized that moisturizing rarely happened as effortlessly when I was at home. I didn’t have to think long to understand why: In my own bathroom, I only have one large bottle of lotion. It’s tucked into a kind of rubber organizer all the way at the back of the shelf. Since the bottle is squeezed in rather tightly, it’s a fuss to just get it out. Once I’ve managed that, dispensing the lotion also isn’t exactly a smooth process. I might get too much or too little, go back multiple times, smear the lotion on the bottle in the process, and then, by the end of it all, I have to fiddle the bottle back into its place.

In other words: It’s no wonder I rarely take care of my skin. It’s too hard! I like the feeling when I’m done—so it’s not an inherent aversion to face cream. I simply have put too many stones in my own way. If all it takes is a dispenser, perhaps it’s about time to change my lotion setup.

Many of our best habits are hard-won with years of discipline. Others fail to take hold for the sole reason that we’ve made them too complicated. No one can get around building the former—but anyone can make their life easier by looking for and then unlocking the latter. Encourage your best habits.

For my first three months of working full-time as an employee, I decided to be a supporting actor. It seems like a reasonable thing to do in any new job, but especially if it’s your first one and in a new field, it is well to be humble.

Knowing I was the smallest cog in the machine, I joined many conversations with “I’m here to help.” It has proven to be a good attitude. Not just for building relationships and keeping myself grounded. Surprisingly, it has also kept me in good spirits.

When you’re here to help, the results don’t matter. What counts is that you contribute as best as you can. Once the chips are down, did you genuinely support the endeavor? Did you make other people’s lives easier or harder? Were you a team player or did you try to do it all on your own?

It’s easy to end the day on a high note when you’ve given what you can give. Whether the thing succeeds, the meeting gets postponed, or the whole effort is canned altogether? All of this will be of little consequence. The problems most people get hung up on will float gently over your head like clouds passing on a sunny day.

At some point in the first year of a new gig, most people might start to wonder what’s next. “How can I get promoted? Where’s the next rung on the ladder?” Let’s see what I think in six months. But I have a feeling I’ll be here to help for a while.

If you want to be on top, you’ll have to fight your way through the snowstorm to get there. But if you want to be happy, all you have to do is make the world small.

In early 1965, Bruce Lee’s father died. He was summoned to Hong Kong to attend the funeral and deal with the estate.

The young Lee family didn’t have much money at the time. Bruce was 24 years old. He and his wife Linda had only married the previous August, and their son Brandon was merely a few weeks old. They hadn’t even gone on a honeymoon yet, nor had they been able to afford “proper” wedding rings.

In Hong Kong, however, many goods were cheaper than in the United States. Perhaps for this reason, perhaps to distract himself or, as we all sometimes do, to spite his challenging finances, Bruce spent a good deal of his month-long trip shopping for gifts for his wife and family.

He scouted for a diamond ring for Linda. He worked on getting her a wig made of real human hair, a hot item in fashion at the time. Lee even thought of his mother-in-law. However, since long-distance phone calls were expensive, Lee’s communication with his family happened mostly via letters, and that made aligning everyone’s requests with the right appointment at the right vendor a challenge.

But, as ever, Lee was not discouraged. In one letter, he told Linda: “I have a purse for your mother and if financial situation allows I might be able to pick up more stuffs for her. I’ll try but you know the U.S. Customs, not to mention money problems. I’ll use my judgment.”

“I’ll use my judgment.” When’s the last time you heard that phrase? Have you ever? And, more importantly, did you trust whoever said it to do so? Here’s a man writing to his family thousands of miles away, saying, “I know money is tight right now, but I still want to treat you and make the most of this opportunity for it. So don’t worry. I won’t go crazy. I’ve got this.” Of course, back in the day, Linda had little choice but to trust her husband—yet I’d like to think she would have done so regardless.

“I’ll use my judgment.” The phrase reminded me how little trust we often extend to one another these days—and how little confidence we usually have in our own ability to make sound decisions. But even 60 years after Bruce’s trip, there’s still plenty of need for both in the world.

Yesterday, I watched Pat Flynn complete a Pokémon card collecting challenge. His goal was to obtain a full set of over 250 cards in a single day during a convention. As always, Pat traded and received help from many people along the way. At one point, he gave a 10-year-old kid $400—a literal Mount Dollar-est for a child of his age—to go and restock his trade binder so he could make more deals. “I trust you!” he told the young boy. What a vote of confidence! Only a short while later, the kid returns with a big stack of great cards, which Pat can immediately swap with some other folks for more of the Pokémon he needs to complete his challenge.

In many ways, our access to infinite, real-time information has made us hypersensitive. We tend towards distrust, worry, and micromanagement. But just because we can see everything, everywhere, all at once, that doesn’t mean it’s all relevant to us. In fact, a man without a smartphone who doesn’t do long-distance phone calls and mostly writes letters to communicate can, even today, go through life without major complications. And if that’s not inspiration enough, empowering our kids to become emotionally self-sufficient adults should definitely do the trick.

Money, fame, cool hobbies and good deals, even life itself—it all comes and goes. Use your judgment, and you’ll be fine. I have complete faith in you.

The more time he spends wandering through the Aiel Waste, a barren, desert landscape in the Wheel of Time universe, the more “Dragon Reborn” Rand al’Thor understands the extent of his powers. Powerful magic that’s bound to corrupt him, strength to withstand even strong enemies’ attacks, and unreliable but enlightening visions of the future—such are the burdens of the chosen one.

As Rand and his fellowship are guided to an unknown location by one of the many Aiel clans, he overhears the name of their destination: Rhuidean. “That’s where you’re taking us!” Rand says, pointing at Rhuarc, the clan’s chief. “I know there’s a trial for me there!”

Rhuarc only sighs and shakes his head. “You know too much—and too little,” he tells Rand. It’s true. Thanks to his visions, Rand knows more about what’s coming than he should, and it puts him in danger. But he also knows less than he would need to know in order for his information about the future to be actually useful—and that, too, puts him in danger.

Our thirst for knowledge is everlasting. Often, however, the little extra we fight so hard for does us more harm than good. Most of the time, it’s enough to trust that, right now, we have everything we need. Face trials as you meet them, and reap the rewards as they fall. What you know is just enough, and the chosen one always makes it through the day.

After weeks of back and forth around a joint presentation, the CEO of the company we were in talks with left. Suddenly, there’s a new boss, a new team, and the whole process starts from scratch. I smiled when I saw the email. I don’t think my slides will go to waste. They can be amusing, the tides of time and business.

In German, when we do work that ends up being futile, we say it’s “for the cat.” The expression might go back to a fable about a blacksmith who, willing to accept any payment, tries to feed his cat with the mere “Thanks!” from his customers. Soon, the cat starves, and the blacksmith is forced to charge fixed prices like everyone else.

Frustration is the easy choice when we fear our work might have been for the cat, but the truth is we rarely know in the moment. It’s too soon to tell. Sometimes, working for the cat can be a blessing. What if the project just didn’t sit right? When it feels off from the beginning, perhaps our starving cat took a bullet in our stead.

When you’re happy to be here, ultimately, nothing is for the cat. You show up, try to help out, and whoever is the recipient of your generosity will be glad to receive it at the time. Sometimes in life, we get something for nothing—so at other times, we must do something for nothing in return. Trust fate to figure it out for you, and, in the meantime, don’t worry if no one thanks you for it.

My fiancée recently asked me this. I was nervous about a variety of projects going past their deadlines given some reshuffling in our planning at work and me being out sick for a week.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized the projects veering off course was due to external factors. A request from a senior leader here, a life event there. Plus, given my junior rank in the firm, the best I could likely do was to form alternative solutions, present them, and let my boss decide. That’s exactly what I ended up doing, and, as usual, it all turned out fine.

When a ship gets hit by a cannonball from the enemy’s fleet, it is not the oarsmen’s job to bring the vessel back on track. Only the captain has enough visibility to call the next maneuver.

Hierarchy aside, however, I think the truth of the matter is this: You’re never paid enough to worry. What’s a CEO’s salary compared to the company’s market capitalization? 0.01%? Ultimately, even the person who all fingers point to in the end is but a small fish in a vast ocean.

At the end of the day, none of us are paid to sit there in anxiety. We are paid to show up, do our best, solve problems, and try again tomorrow. As long as you do that, you’ll be fine at any job—and if ever you’re not, a million more of them awaits.