When I was young, for a long time I believed there were circles that, once you got into them, everything would change. Things would become cleaner, more enjoyable, more efficient. Fewer problems, more success. Those on the inside knew something. Something the rest of us could only stare at from the outside, with no real hope of ever getting in.

I wanted those circles. Artists, athletes, lawyers, soldiers, police officers, technology people. Always the ones that fit the phase of life I was in at the time. The point was that they were closed. You could not just walk in. Closure itself was a promise. Quality. Knowledge. A higher level of existence.

It became clear fairly quickly that entry required sacrifice and loyalty. And I made the sacrifices that were expected and required.

Then I got into several of those circles. Not by accident. I worked with them, next to them, for them. I was inside. I listened, I watched, I became part of how things functioned. And somewhere after the first wave of enthusiasm, Montaigne’s question started working in me: what is the general lie that this circle presents to the outside world?

Not a lie in the sense of deliberately misleading others. More like a shared stage set. An unspoken agreement. That outwardly we appear stronger, more composed, more confident. That things are in order here. That we have already solved it. That we are capable of more than others.

Inside, however, things look very different.

Constant lack of time. Deadlines piling up. Projects that are never truly finished. Spoken and unspoken fears. Health issues. Relationship chaos. Forced smiles before meetings. Fatigue that you are not supposed to name. Decisions endlessly postponed because no one wants to carry the consequences.

The same noise as everywhere else. Just among more expensive furniture. In better suits. With bigger words. And with permanent liquidity problems.

After a while it becomes obvious that the problems inside the circle are not different from those outside it. The difference is not their weight, but the cover provided by the circle itself. From the outside these circles look stable. From the inside they are fragile. They require constant maintenance, like an old machine that still works, but every part of it is creaking.

The biggest lesson was not disappointment. It was relief. Because I realized I was not behind. There was no secret knowledge I had missed. No door behind which the weight of life suddenly disappears.

Life is not easier inside the circle. There is no extra time. There is no less fear. There is no less failure, only better explanations.

That is why today I say what I could not have accepted when I was young: do not long for the circle. Not because it is bad, but because it is not what you imagine. What it takes from you is illusion. And we all start with very little of that. Yet illusion is an effective survival tool. When it diminishes, disillusionment grows. About what? About everything.

If you do get inside, look around calmly. It is instructive. Sobering. But do not think that life begins there. Life begins exactly where you are. Inside the circle, you just realize this faster.

This is the report. From the inside.