Ep. 15: Patterns, Second Chances, and Our Search for Certainty
EPISODE DESCRIPTION
This week, three stories from the worlds of government, policy, and technology lead to some core human questions:
Why are we so quick to connect dots and create explanations when events seem related? How do we know when it’s worth trying something again—and when it’s time to let go? And who should be responsible for putting guardrails around powerful new technologies?
Along the way, we explore pattern recognition, randomness, second chances, AI, and our search for certainty in a complicated world.
Referenced in the Episode:
Anthropic proposing pause in AI development (WSJ):
TRANSCRIPT
This week, three stories caught my attention. One involved a series of deaths and disappearances among researchers connected to government agencies. Another was about Congress once again considering permanent Daylight Saving Time. The third involved growing concerns from AI companies about the speed at which artificial intelligence is advancing.
Each story raised a question without a clear answer. Why do we sometimes see connections where none exist? How do we know when it’s time to keep trying versus when it’s time to let go? And who should be responsible for slowing down powerful technologies before they become dangerous?
The common thread wasn’t government policy. It was the uncomfortable reality that we don’t always know.
And if there’s one thing human beings seem to hate, it’s not knowing.
Why We Connect the Dots
One of the stories that has been circulating over the past several months involves a number of researchers and government employees working in fields like aerospace, defense, and nuclear science who have died or disappeared since 2022. As the story gained traction online and eventually reached more mainstream coverage, many people began asking the same question: could all of these cases really be unrelated?
I’ll admit that was my first reaction too.
When enough unusual events happen in a similar space, our brains naturally start looking for a connection. It feels strange to believe that so many tragedies could simply be coincidental. We want there to be an explanation.
Investigators ultimately said they found no evidence of a coordinated plot. The individuals didn’t work together in the ways social media often suggested. There was no indication of a national security threat. Many of the cases had entirely different explanations, and while some investigations remain ongoing, officials have said they found no evidence tying the events together.
That should have been the end of the story.
Yet part of me still found myself thinking, Really? There isn’t some larger connection here?
That reaction says a lot about how our brains work.
Human beings are built for pattern recognition. It’s one of the most important tools we’ve ever developed. Pattern recognition helps us recognize faces, understand language, learn skills, and navigate the world around us. For much of human history, it also helped keep us alive. If our ancestors heard a noise in the bushes, it was usually safer to assume there might be danger than to assume everything was fine.
The downside is that a brain optimized for finding patterns can sometimes find patterns that don’t actually exist.
But I don’t think that’s the whole story.
I think we also have a complicated relationship with randomness. Randomness feels unsettling because it offers no explanation. If something happened for a reason, then maybe we can understand it. Maybe we can learn from it. Maybe we can protect ourselves from it. Coincidence doesn’t give us that comfort. Coincidence just shrugs and says, “Sometimes things happen.”
We see this in our personal lives all the time. Someone doesn’t text us back, and suddenly we create an entire narrative. They seemed distracted during dinner. Maybe they weren’t interested. Maybe they’re upset. Maybe they’re seeing someone else. Before long, we’ve constructed a complete story despite having very little actual information.
The stories we tell ourselves aren’t necessarily irrational. They’re often our best attempt to make sense of incomplete information. The problem is that we can start treating those stories as facts.
Sometimes the most useful thing we can do is stop and ask ourselves whether we’re working with evidence or simply trying to eliminate uncertainty.
When Is It Time to Try Again?
The second story involved Congress once again discussing permanent Daylight Saving Time through the Sunshine Protection Act. My immediate reaction wasn’t really about the clocks themselves. It was, “Didn’t we already try this?”
The answer is yes.
Back in the 1970s, the United States experimented with permanent Daylight Saving Time. The idea was largely driven by energy concerns, and initially there was a fair amount of support. More daylight in the evening sounded like a good thing.
Then winter arrived.
Parents became concerned about children heading to school in darkness. Communities raised safety concerns. Public support shifted quickly, and the policy was eventually reversed.
Seeing the proposal return got me thinking about a much bigger question. How do we know when something deserves another chance?
It’s a question most of us face repeatedly throughout our lives. Should we revisit a relationship that ended? Should we keep pursuing a business idea that hasn’t worked yet? Should we continue investing time in a project that’s struggling to gain traction?
History gives us mixed messages.
On one hand, we learn from failure. If something didn’t work before, that information matters. On the other hand, some of the most successful ideas, businesses, inventions, and movements in history only succeeded because someone kept trying after repeated failures.
If everyone gave up after the first setback, we’d lose a tremendous amount of innovation and progress.
That makes me think the important question isn’t whether something worked before. The more useful question is why.
Why did it fail?
Has anything changed since then? Have the circumstances changed? Has the strategy changed? Have you changed?
If the answer to all of those questions is no, then it’s fair to wonder why the outcome would be different this time. But if you’ve learned something, gained experience, or discovered a better approach, then trying again may not actually be repeating the past at all.
It may be building on it.
I also think it’s worth examining our motivations. Are we trying again because we’ve grown and believe we have a better chance of success? Or are we trying again because we’re afraid to let go?
That’s not always an easy question to answer.
Sometimes persistence is exactly what a situation requires. Other times, wisdom looks a lot more like acceptance. The difficult part is figuring out which one applies to the situation standing in front of us today.
The AI Question
The third story involved Anthropic, one of the leading AI companies, raising concerns about the speed of AI development. Their warning is straightforward: artificial intelligence is advancing so rapidly that we may soon reach a point where systems can improve themselves in increasingly significant ways.
Naturally, that raises questions about safety.
Anthropic’s proposal is that AI companies should work together to slow development if certain risks emerge. While I appreciate the intent, I struggle to see how that works without some form of independent oversight.
The incentives simply don’t line up.
If one company slows down while competitors continue pushing forward, the company that pauses risks falling behind. Even if everyone agrees in principle, who verifies compliance? Who monitors development? Who enforces the rules?
Competitors generally don’t regulate one another.
That’s why conversations about AI almost inevitably lead to discussions about regulation. Historically, society has relied on governments and independent bodies to create guardrails around technologies that carry significant risks. The challenge is that AI appears to be moving faster than almost anything we’ve seen before, while regulation tends to move at a much slower pace.
As a result, it sometimes feels like policymakers are staring at a problem that is growing faster than their ability to respond to it.
And if I’m being honest, that makes me uneasy.
Not because I think disaster is inevitable, but because uncertainty is uncomfortable. Once again, we’re faced with a future that we can’t fully predict and a question that doesn’t yet have a clear answer.
Learning to Live With Uncertainty
What strikes me most about these three stories is that they’re all examples of our desire for certainty.
When events seem mysterious, we want explanations.
When something fails, we want a formula that tells us whether to keep going or move on.
When technology advances rapidly, we want rules that guarantee safety.
In every case, we’re trying to transform uncertainty into certainty. We’re telling stories, building frameworks, creating policies, and searching for answers that make the future feel more predictable.
And sometimes those efforts help.
But uncertainty isn’t always a problem that can be solved.
Sometimes it’s simply the reality of being human.
We won’t always know why things happen. We won’t always know whether we’re making the right decision. We won’t always know what comes next. As much as I wish otherwise, there isn’t a framework that can eliminate every unknown or guarantee every outcome.
What we can do is ask thoughtful questions. We can gather good information. We can challenge the stories we’re telling ourselves and remain open to the possibility that we don’t have all the facts. We can make the best decisions we can with the information available to us today.
And then, at some point, we have to move forward anyway.
Maybe that’s the real challenge. Not eliminating uncertainty, but learning how to live with it.
Because despite all our efforts, uncertainty has always been part of life. It was here before us, and it will be here long after us. Yet somehow people continue building businesses, falling in love, starting families, creating art, taking risks, and finding meaning. They continue moving forward without having all the answers.
Maybe that’s because certainty was never actually the requirement.
Maybe courage, curiosity, and a little faith in ourselves are enough.
And if that’s true—if we can ask good questions, make thoughtful choices, and keep moving forward even when we don’t know exactly how things will turn out—then there’s a pretty good chance it’s gonna be fine.
This transcript has been lightly edited for readability.
