When I was young, I believed for a long time that there were circles you could get into, and once you were inside, everything would change. Life 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 chance of ever getting in.

I wanted into those circles. Artists. Athletes. Lawyers. Soldiers. Police officers. Tech people. Always the ones that fit the phase of life I was in at the time. The key was that they were closed. Not something you could just walk into. The exclusivity itself was the promise. Quality. Knowledge. A higher level of existence.

It became clear pretty quickly that getting in required sacrifice and loyalty. I paid the price. I made the expected sacrifices.

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And eventually, I did get into a few of those circles. Not by accident. I worked with them, alongside them, for them. I was inside. I listened. I observed. I was part of how things worked. And somewhere after the initial excitement wore off, a question started to echo in my head-one Montaigne once asked in a different form: what is the shared lie we represent to the outside world from within this circle?

Not a lie in the sense of deliberately misleading others. More like a collective stage set. An unspoken agreement. We show the outside world that we are stronger, more composed, more confident. That things are under control. That we’ve figured it out. That we’re capable of more than others.

Inside, though, the reality is very different.

 

Permanent time pressure. Deadlines that constantly slip. Projects that are never truly finished. Spoken and unspoken fears. Health issues. Relationship chaos. Forced smiles before meetings. Exhaustion you’re not supposed to admit. Decisions postponed because no one wants to carry the consequences. Mandatory leisure programs. Mandatory travel.

The same noise as everywhere else. Just surrounded by more expensive props. Better suits. Bigger words. And a constant liquidity problem.

After a while, it becomes obvious that the problems inside the circle are no different from those outside. The difference isn’t their weight-it’s that they’re hidden behind the outline of a closed system. From the outside, these circles look stable. Maintaining that appearance costs enormous amounts of money. From the inside, they’re fragile. They require constant maintenance.

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

Life inside the circle isn’t easier. There’s no extra time. No less fear. No fewer failures-just better explanations.

 

That’s why today I say something I couldn’t have accepted when I was young: don’t long to be inside the circle. Not because it’s bad-but because it’s not what you think. What it takes away is illusion. And illusion is something we already have very little of. Yet illusion is an effective survival tool. As it fades, disillusionment grows. About what? About everything.

If you do get in, look around. It’s instructive. Sobering. But don’t believe that life starts there. Life always starts in the same place: where you are. Inside the circle, you just realize this faster.

This is the report.

From inside the circle.