The Paradox of Feeling Certain and Seeing Clearly

When Feeling Pretends to Be Fact

1 November 2025. 1.00 a.m. Guests finally left. The house is quiet again. Two months to the end of the year, and today felt like ten days compressed into one. Graduation concert in the morning. Post-mortem by noon. Deepavali celebration in the afternoon. Family by evening. Reflection at night. Body battery ran flat. I still leashed Loki and walked, because reflection is part of my daily vow to myself. If I do not walk, my thinking does not walk either.

Today’s word is assumption. Not as a villain. As a neutral tool that becomes harmful in the wrong hands, especially when those hands are tired.

Neuroscientists at Princeton discovered that the brain fills in blanks every 0.13 seconds to save energy. That means I am constantly predicting the world before I even see it. Assumptions simplify complexity so hypotheses can be tested. But when I let emotion supply the basis, my assumptions stop serving truth and start serving my mood. Three moments in 24 hours showed me the price.

Three Slaps That Re-Aligned My Heart

1) The farewell I thought was pointless.

I carried old stories into a present situation. Because I had left places quietly before, I projected my preference onto someone else. I told myself a farewell was unnecessary. That was not humility. That was self-centredness disguised as simplicity.

We did the farewell anyway. I watched colleagues write notes, speak appreciation, and offer closure. The room told the truth that my feeling refused to admit.

Deloitte once found that closure rituals improve team resilience by 23 percent. I did not need that report to prove what I saw: a circle of colleagues leaving stronger because we honoured goodbye.

Speech communicates. Silence communicates. We chose to speak gratitude, and it landed.

2) The celebration I assumed would be shallow.

After the concert, we had Deepavali celebrations at 2.30 p.m. I almost cancelled my opening. Honest truth: I assumed it would be inward-looking and thin. In my head, I wrote the whole script. Then I walked into a hall where one thing happened. Dance. Groups formed. Songs chosen. Laughter rose. Walls fell. Teachers who rarely cross departments crossed the floor. Engagement was sky-high.

It was not complicated. It was human.

A University of Oxford study showed that small-group interaction increases trust by 74 percent. That was exactly what I witnessed. The Deepavali dance built trust where no meeting agenda could.

For years I tried to engineer cross-department engagement through complex agendas. One simple activity translated better than my speeches. People do not jump into large-group vulnerability without first experiencing small-group safety. Ice needs breaking. Trust needs building. Only then can problem-solving feel like partnership, not punishment. Tonight, the hall taught me in a language the head alone cannot speak.

3) The judgment I threw at home.

Yesterday I argued with my wife over a small thing, then made a big statement in front of my children. I said I was certain she was not paying attention for our youngest in that moment. My eldest did what I taught him to do. Verify. He ran upstairs. Before he came down, my conscience arrived first.

What if I am wrong, Daniel? And even if I am right, does that sentence build love or burn bridges? He returned with the truth. I was wrong. She was fully focused on our little one. I owed her, and my children, an apology.

Research from Gallup shows that 70 percent of workplace conflicts start from misinterpreted intent. At home or at work, the problem is the same. We assume motive without asking. The cure is curiosity.

Three slaps. Work, community, family. Same flaw. Feeling as the basis. Certainty without evidence. When my heart is unguarded, my leadership becomes a loud opinion.

What Assumptions Are For, and Why Mine Failed

Assumptions are not enemies. In science, they let us hold variables steady so we can test cause and effect. In leadership, we hold working beliefs long enough to act, then we measure and adjust. The problem begins when assumptions are sourced from fatigue, fear, or pride. Then we stop testing them. We defend them. We promote them to truth.

Stanford’s research on decision fatigue shows that mental exhaustion dramatically increases emotional shortcuts. That explains why by evening, my thinking was still running on empty. When I am tired, my brain’s predictive function, the same one that helps me survive, starts misfiring.

Neuroscience also shows that dopamine spikes when we feel right. Certainty feels like pleasure. The brain literally rewards being sure, even if we are wrong. That is why humility must be trained like muscle. It resists the chemical rush of ego.

Today revealed a pattern:

• The farewell assumption came from self-reference. Because I like leaving quietly, I judged someone else’s closure as unnecessary.
• The Deepavali assumption came from hearsay and frustration. I let rumours and past disappointment bleed into present people.
• The home assumption came from irritation. I let a momentary emotion rewrite my wife’s character.

There is a reason ancient wisdom says, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life. Decision-quality flows from heart-quality. When the well is muddy, the water downstream is muddy too.

I can be disciplined in routines, faithful with exercise, diligent with reflections, and still default to lazy thinking when emotions run high. Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert reminds us that 90 percent of our judgments happen subconsciously. That is why reflection and routine are not enough. I need awareness.

Community helped me correct course. Colleagues insisted on a farewell. A team curated a simple celebration that united the school. My son used verification instead of loyalty to my ego.

Community is rarely convenient. It means showing up when you want to be alone. It means letting people’s choices challenge your preferences. But it is where character grows, and it is how leaders stay human.

Here is what I learned about engagement today. We often try to fix culture with top-down programs and complex playbooks. But culture is a language, and the first vocabulary is safety. Small acts of fun, music, and shared movement became the right soil for later conversations about quality and excellence. Right soil. Right seed. Right season. Form supports function.

A Small Rule That Changes Big Outcomes

I am not throwing away assumptions. I am changing their basis.

One safeguard: always tie a benefit of doubt.

Before I speak with certainty, I will gather one piece of verifiable data. Before I label a person, I will ask one generous question. Before I cancel something, I will test one small alternative.

McKinsey’s analysis found that leaders who verify before judging make 31 percent better long-term decisions. Verification is not slowness; it is stewardship.

A daily micro-check using STARS.

• Self-Awareness: What emotion is driving me right now?
• Teachability: What one fact can I get in two minutes?
• Attitude: Am I here to build or to be right?
• Relationships: Who can verify this with love and speed?
• Significance: Which action increases trust, even if it slows me down?

Engagement design principle I am keeping.

Start with small groups before large assemblies. Build trust with low-stakes activities that let people laugh, move, and see each other. Then attach meaning. The Deepavali dance did in one afternoon what many memos could not.

Google’s Project Aristotle confirmed that benefit-of-doubt cultures outperform high-control teams by 45 percent. Psychological safety is not soft leadership. It is high-performance architecture.

Family repair.

I apologised. I will repeat it with changed behaviour. My children must learn that truth matters more than pride, and love matters more than winning the argument. Leadership at home is stewardship, not performance.

Legacy shift.

If I am tempted to leave quietly, I will still design closure for others. Farewells communicate value. They say, you mattered while you were here, and you matter as you go. That is culture, and culture outlives strategy.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

The opposite of leadership isn’t following. It’s certainty without curiosity.

Every assumption I made began with confidence and ended with correction. The moment I stopped asking, I stopped seeing. When I chose to ask again, clarity returned. Certainty may feel safe, but curiosity keeps us human.

Easy answers divide. Honest questions connect.

And every act of leadership begins with the courage to say, “I might be wrong.”