I came across a line that stopped me cold: “You can silence fifty scholars with one fact, but you can’t silence one fool with fifty facts.”   - This quote’s authorship is uncertain. It captures the tragedy of our time perfectly. Because when critical thinking dies, collective foolishness fills the void. Everyone becomes an expert. Everyone is convinced they’re right, and everyone else, naturally, is wrong. Opinions drown out logic, emotions overrun evidence, and noise masquerades as knowledge. But why is this happening? Why does critical thinking feel endangered in an age that prides itself on information and intelligence? Where It All Began Where It All Began To understand why critical thought is fading, we first need to remember where it began. Critical thinking isn’t simply “thinking hard.” It’s the disciplined act of questioning assumptions, examining evidence, and applying reason before belief. It’s the art of not being fooled by others or by your own mind. Its story begins in ancient Greece with Socrates, the original troublemaker of thought. His method was simple: ask sharp questions until falsehoods collapsed under their own weight. He reminded the world of a profound truth: “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.”  That humility, that willingness to admit ignorance before seeking clarity, became the foundation of all rational inquiry. But humility has never been fashionable. In 399 BCE, Socrates was condemned to death for “corrupting the youth” and “disrespecting the gods.” His crime was thinking too freely. Yet his disciples, Plato, Aristotle, and those who followed, carried forward the torch of reason, shaping centuries of philosophy and science. During the Enlightenment, thinkers like Immanuel Kant reignited that flame, urging humanity to “dare to think for yourself.” Voltaire and others challenged superstition and tyranny, proclaiming that reason, not dogma, should guide human progress. For centuries, critical thinking has stood as the hallmark of education, democracy, and innovation. Of course, not everyone agreed. Nietzsche warned that the obsession with logic could drain life of passion. But even in critique, the idea endured: that freedom begins with the courage to ask why. The Age of Information, the Death of Reflection Fast forward to today. We live in a world where every answer is one click away. It feels empowering until you realize how it’s changing us. We are drowning in data, yet starving for depth. Psychologists call it information overload : the flood of input that overwhelms our ability to reflect. Our brains were never built for this torrent of trivia. So, we adapt by taking shortcuts. Ask someone to add 56 and 87, and most will reach for their phone. The more we outsource our mental effort, the less we practice it. Nobel laureate Daniel Kahneman described two systems of thought: System 1  is fast, instinctive, and emotional. System 2  is slow, deliberate, and rational. The home of critical thinking. But when algorithms, calculators, and AI handle the heavy lifting, System 2 goes unused. Like a neglected muscle, it weakens. We no longer remember the answer, only where to find it. Researchers call this the Google Effect. Our relationship with knowledge has become transactional. We skim headlines instead of reading articles, react instead of reason, and consume instead of contemplate. The Socratic habit of questioning, asking “why” and “how” until something makes sense, has been replaced by “search and scroll.” We have gained convenience but lost comprehension. Echo Chambers and the Comfort of Certainty If information overload dulls the mind, echo chambers numb it. Technology has amplified our tribal instincts. Algorithms now curate our realities, feeding us content that mirrors our beliefs. The result is an endless hall of mirrors, which psychologists call confirmation bias. We see what we already agree with, hear what we already believe, and grow increasingly certain that we, and our group, are right. Over time, the mind loses its appetite for challenge. Instead of asking “Could I be wrong?” we start saying “This is what we believe.” Even skeptics aren’t immune. Atheists, rationalists, environmentalists, conservatives, progressives, every tribe has its echo. And when loyalty to the tribe becomes stronger than loyalty to truth, thought itself becomes political. Dialogue gives way to dogma. Doubt becomes betrayal. The Socratic spirit, the courage to ask uncomfortable questions, quietly disappears. The Business of Outrage The Business of Outrage And then there’s the media. The accelerant in this cultural bonfire. Outrage is profitable. Fear and fury drive clicks, and clicks drive revenue. Every headline is designed to provoke, not to inform. Everything is a crisis, a record high, a historic low. The constant adrenaline leaves us exhausted and suspicious. Even creators with good intentions face a dilemma: dramatize or be ignored. The result is an economy of exaggeration, where moderation dies in obscurity. When every issue feels urgent, reason feels irrelevant. We scroll past nuance because it’s too quiet to compete. Calm analysis has become an endangered species. The tragedy isn’t that people are uninformed, it’s that they are misinformed but confident. Rebuilding the Muscle of Reason So how do we bring critical thinking back from the brink? Cultivate curiosity. Einstein once said, “I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious.” Curiosity is the engine of wisdom. Ask “why” one more time than feels necessary. When you hear a claim, look for the evidence. Play devil’s advocate with your own beliefs. Slow down. Reflection takes time, and time is the one thing the digital world discourages. Read the full story. Check the source. Sit with the complexity. Meditation, journaling, and focused reading can retrain the brain to think in full sentences again. Step outside your echo. Follow people who challenge you. Read publications from opposing perspectives. Not to argue, but to understand. The goal isn’t comfort; it’s clarity. Teach and model it. Critical thinking isn’t taught once; it’s cultivated daily. Educators should prioritize inquiry over memorization. Leaders should show their reasoning, not just their conclusions. Admitting uncertainty isn’t weakness; it’s integrity. The Courage to Question Critical thinking will never trend. It doesn’t fit into 280 characters. It’s quiet, unglamorous work, the daily discipline of refusing to be fooled. But it’s also freedom. The freedom to think for yourself, to question what you’re told, and to keep your mind your own. Socrates paid for that freedom with his life. The least we can do is not waste our lives living an unexamined life. Because, as he reminded us over two millennia ago: “The unexamined life is not worth living.” ✍️ Author’s Note: A Thought from Uncle Gary Sometimes I wonder if we’re not suffering from a lack of intelligence, but a lack of stillness.  We’ve confused information for wisdom, scrolling for insight, and reaction for reflection. Critical thinking isn’t about being right; it’s about being awake. And the world could use a few more awake minds right now. — Gary Domasin

Hey Uncle Gary, Quick question that’s been weighing on me.    I work at a retail shop in Downtown LA, and yesterday I heard ICE might be in the area. I don’t own the store, and I’m not involved in hiring, so I don’t know anyone’s legal status, and honestly, that’s not my business. But I care about my coworkers, and I’m trying to figure out what I’d do if ICE agents came in and started harassing people. Part of me wants to refuse service or ask them to leave, but I also know that could escalate things. What are my rights in that situation? What’s the smartest, safest way to respond if they try to detain someone? I’d love to hear how others have handled this, or what they wish they’d done differently. Signed, We The People To We The People, I’m not a lawyer, and I can’t speak to the specifics of what’s legal from city to city across Los Angeles County. Immigration enforcement is a complex and sensitive issue, and the rules around what ICE can and can’t do, especially in private businesses, can vary depending on jurisdiction, ownership, and local ordinances. That said, my strongest recommendation is to speak with a legal professional who specializes in immigration or civil rights law. They’ll be able to give you accurate, location-specific guidance on what your rights are, what your responsibilities might be, and how best to protect yourself and others without escalating the situation. In the meantime, it’s worth checking public platforms like Reddit, especially threads focused on LA workers, immigration law, or community organizing. You’ll find real stories, practical advice, and solidarity from people who’ve faced similar situations. Just remember: online advice isn’t a substitute for legal counsel, but it can help you feel less alone and more prepared. Emotionally, the most important thing is to stay calm. No violence, no escalation. If ICE does enter your workplace, your priority is safety, for yourself and those around you. Document what you can, avoid confrontation, and seek support immediately. There are organizations in LA that offer rapid response and legal aid in these situations. You’re asking the right questions. Keep asking. Keep listening. And keep showing up for your coworkers with clarity and care. Concerned American, Uncle Gary

Hey Uncle Gary, So I went on this date. It was fun, he picked the spot, we had great convo, dinner was amazing. Afterward, we played pool at a bar around the corner, and he walked me back to my apartment. I kissed him goodnight. It felt sweet, like maybe the start of something. I was hoping I’d hear from him the next day… maybe a “had a great time, let’s do it again.” Instead? Boom. A Venmo request. Half the bill. I was honestly shocked. I always thought if a guy asks you out, he pays. Isn’t that just basic manners? Or am I being totally old-school? I live in the big city, dating’s already chaotic, and now I’m splitting the check like it’s a networking lunch? Help me out, am I wrong for expecting him to cover it? Signed, Venmo Queen Dear Venmo Queen, Oh girl. You gave him a kiss and he gave you an invoice? That’s not a date, that’s a dinner receipt with a side of pool. Let’s start here: you’re not wrong for feeling thrown. There’s a rhythm to dating, and while the “who pays” debate has evolved, the first date still carries a kind of social choreography. If he picked the spot, initiated the plan, and walked you home, it’s fair to expect he’d pick up the tab, or at least not turn the next morning into a transaction. Now, does that make you old-school? Maybe. But old-school isn’t the same as outdated. It’s about intention. You weren’t expecting champagne and caviar; you were hoping for connection. And instead of a follow-up text, you got a bill. That’s what stings, not the money, but the message. Here’s the bigger truth: dating in the city is  chaotic. Everyone’s juggling apps, expectations, and emotional bandwidth. But manners still matter. Generosity still matters. And if someone’s idea of romance includes a Venmo request before breakfast, you’re allowed to say, “No thanks.” You’re not wrong for wanting a little grace. You’re not wrong for hoping a sweet night might lead to something more. And you’re definitely not wrong for expecting a date to feel like a date, not a Dutch treat with a digital receipt. Keep your crown, Queen. And next time, maybe ask: “Are you looking for connection, or just someone to split the bill?” But to keep this a clean date. Pay & Block. Uncle Gary

by Gary Domasin After reading Michael Slepian’s work on the psychology of secrecy, I’m left thinking less about the secrets themselves and more about the quiet damage they inflict. His book, The Secret Life of Secrets , doesn’t just catalog the kinds of things people hide-it explores what happens when we carry those hidden truths alone, and how that burden can quietly erode our health, happiness, and sense of connection. Slepian’s research is staggering in scope: 50,000 people surveyed, hundreds of studies, and a decade spent mapping the emotional terrain of secrecy. What emerges is a clear pattern: people who keep more secrets tend to feel worse physically and emotionally. Their relationships suffer. Their joy dims. And often, it’s not the act of hiding that hurts most—it’s the mental weight of living with the secret day after day. One of the most striking ideas is that secrecy isn’t just about protecting others from the truth. It’s often about protecting our own self-image. We see ourselves as moral, decent people. When we act against that image, say, through infidelity or deception, we bury the evidence. But the shame doesn’t stay buried. It festers. Slepian notes that the more immoral we judge our secret to be, the more shame it evokes. And shame, unlike guilt, doesn’t push us to make amends; it isolates us. The data on infidelity is especially revealing. One in three people admitted to cheating, and among them, responses varied: some vowed to never tell, some confided in a third party, and some came clean to their partner. Interestingly, when Slepian asked people in committed relationships whether they’d want to know about a one-time betrayal, three-fourths said yes. That’s a sobering reminder that while we fear disclosure, many people value honesty, even when it hurts. But Slepian doesn’t advocate confession for confession’s sake. His advice is more nuanced: if a secret is harming your well-being, talk it through with someone you trust. Not necessarily the person you wronged, but someone who can offer compassion, perspective, and maybe a nudge toward resolution. The goal isn’t just to unburden-it’s to understand. He also explores the strange ways we punish ourselves for secrets we feel we got away with. People deny themselves pleasure, take on unpleasant tasks, or ruminate endlessly. It’s a kind of self-imposed penance, but it doesn’t resolve the underlying tension. As long as the secret remains, so does the sense of escaping justice, and the cycle of self-punishment continues. What I found most moving was Slepian’s personal story. For 26 years, his parents kept secret the fact that he and his brother were conceived through donor insemination. Everyone else in the family knew. When the truth finally came out, it reshaped his understanding of secrecy, not just as a researcher, but as a son. “We may not want our secrets to be known,” he writes, “but we do want ourselves to be known.” That line lingers. Ultimately, the book isn’t a call to bare all. It’s a call to discernment, to self-compassion, and to connection. Some secrets are harmless. Others are corrosive. The challenge is knowing which is which, and having the courage to speak when silence is doing us harm. “If any sort of secret is affecting your well-being, I would advise you to at least talk it through with someone you trust,” says Michael Slepian. Michael Slepian is the author of the new book The Secret Life of Secrets  and an associate professor of leadership and ethics at Columbia Business School.

Dear Uncle Gary, I teach English at our community college, and once a month our department holds a meeting where we share updates, lesson ideas, student wins, and classroom challenges. It’s about 17 of us, including our department chair, Marisol, and the rest of the faculty. There’s a tradition at these meetings where we also share a few personal photos, something from our lives outside of school. Most people show vacation pics, family moments, hiking trails, or quirky hobbies. It’s a nice way to connect, and I genuinely enjoy seeing what everyone’s up to. Here’s my dilemma: the hobby I spend most of my time on is one I’m proud of, but I’m not sure how it would land in a semi-casual work setting. I’ve been training in pole dancing for the past couple of years. It’s physically demanding, creatively fulfilling, and honestly, it’s the best workout I’ve ever found. I’ve even started performing in amateur showcases. It’s not risqué or provocative in the way people sometimes assume—it’s athletic, artistic, and empowering. But I’m a male teacher, and I know that comes with certain optics. I’m not sure how my colleagues or Marisol would react to photos of me mid-invert or doing a shoulder mount. Some would probably find it fascinating or even inspiring, but others might feel uncomfortable or just not know what to make of it. So here’s my question: is it appropriate to include this hobby in a work presentation that’s meant to be personal but still professional? Or should I stick to something safer, like a picture of my dog or a weekend hike? Signed, Pole Fitness Dancer Dear Pole Fitness Dancer, Well, aren’t you just the Cirque du Soleil of tenure track. I love it. You’re out here defying gravity while the rest of us are just trying to defy the urge to grade papers in bed. Now let’s talk shop. You’re asking whether it’s appropriate to share photos of your pole dancing hobby in a work meeting. And I say: it depends. Not on the pole, although I do hope it’s securely fastened, but on the context, the tone, and the delivery. You’re not talking about anything salacious. You’re talking about strength, artistry, and discipline. You’re talking about a sport that demands core control, spatial awareness, and a willingness to hang upside down like a chandelier with abs. That’s not scandalous, that’s impressive. But here’s the rub (and no, not that kind): some folks still hear “pole dancing” and picture a smoky club and a soundtrack by Def Leppard. You know it, I know it, and Marisol probably knows it too. So if you do decide to share, frame it. Give it context. Lead with the athleticism, the creativity, the personal growth. Maybe skip the thigh-highs and go with a photo that highlights the movement, not the mystique. And if you’re still unsure? Test the waters. Mention it casually in conversation with a colleague you trust. Gauge the reaction. You don’t have to go full shoulder mount in the slideshow, maybe just a glimpse of the studio, the rig, the training. Let them see the dedication before the dazzle. Because here’s the truth, authenticity builds trust. And when you show up as your full self, graceful, grounded, and maybe a little upside-down, you give others permission to do the same. So whether it’s your dog, your hike, or your gravity-defying hobby, share what makes you proud. Just make sure the pole isn’t the only thing with a strong foundation. Yours in strength and sass, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I’m the only one in my friend group who doesn’t want kids. They treat me like I’m missing something. Am I? Signed, Missing Something Dear Missing Something, Let me tell you something that might surprise you. Not wanting kids isn’t a flaw. It’s a choice. And it’s one that deserves just as much respect as choosing to have them. You’re not missing anything. You’re opting out of something, and that’s a very different thing. Choosing not to have children doesn’t mean you lack love, or depth, or purpose. It means you’ve looked at the menu of life and said, “I’ll pass on the parenting platter, thanks. I’m full on other things.” Now, your friends may mean well. They may genuinely believe that parenthood is the ultimate fulfillment. And for them, maybe it is. But fulfillment isn’t one-size-fits-all. Some people find it in raising children. Others find it in building careers, creating art, traveling the world, mentoring, loving deeply, sleeping in past 6 a.m., you get the idea. If they treat you like you’re missing something, it’s probably because they can’t imagine a life different from their own. That’s not judgment, it’s limitation. And it’s okay to gently remind them that your life isn’t a rehearsal for theirs. You don’t owe anyone a baby. You owe yourself a life that feels honest, intentional, and whole. If you’ve made that choice with clarity and conviction, then you’re not missing anything. You’re living on purpose. With love and a firm handshake. Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, How do I rebuild trust with someone who says they forgive me, but still keeps their distance? Signed, Trying Dear Trying, Forgiveness is a door. Trust is the long walk back through it. When someone says they forgive you but still keeps their distance, it doesn’t mean they’re lying. It means they’re healing. Forgiveness is a gift they gave you. Trust is a gift you’ll have to earn. So here’s what you do, you show up. Not with grand gestures or guilt-soaked apologies, but with consistency. With patience. With proof, not just that you’re sorry, but that you’ve changed. That you understand what hurt them, and you’re not asking them to hurry past it. Let them set the pace. Let them have space. And when they peek out to see if it’s safe, let them find you being kind, being honest, being steady. You don’t rebuild trust by asking for it. You rebuild it by becoming someone who deserves it. And if they never fully come back? You still get to become that person. With hope and humility, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, I just turned 40 and still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Is that normal, or am I just lost? Signed, Peter Pan Dear Peter Pan, First off, welcome to the club. Membership includes artists, accountants, baristas, and I know at least three retired dentists who still don’t know what they want to be when they grow up. You're not lost. You're just alive. Forty isn’t a deadline. It’s a checkpoint. I totally changed my life at forty. I’m in the process of changing things at sixty-five. And if you’re asking the question, that means you’re still curious, still searching, still open. That’s not failure. That’s fuel. The myth is that grown-ups have it all figured out. The truth is, most of us are winging it with a mix of hope, habit, and caffeine. Some people find their calling at 22. Others stumble into it at 63 while trying to fix a broken toaster and realizing they love working with their hands. So what now? Start small. Follow the itch, not the map. What makes you lose track of time? What do people thank you for? What would you do even if it didn’t pay? That’s the trailhead. And remember: Peter Pan never grew up, but he sure knew how to fly. Love, Uncle Gary P.S. If you ever want to talk about what lights you up, or what scares you, I’m here.

Dear Uncle Gary, My husband told his family I was unfaithful, and now I feel exposed and ashamed. Can we rebuild trust after something like this, or do I need to accept that his loyalty to his family is greater than to us? Signed, The Cheater Dear “The Cheater, First, let’s strip away the label. You’re not a headline. You’re a human being who made a mistake, or maybe didn’t, depending on the full story, and now you’re standing in the wreckage wondering if anything can be rebuilt. That takes guts. Here’s the hard truth: trust isn’t just about fidelity. It’s about how we handle each other’s pain. Your husband didn’t just share a private wound, he handed it to people who weren’t equipped to hold it gently. That’s not loyalty. That’s deflection. So yes, rebuilding is possible. But only if both of you are willing to do the messy, unglamorous work of repair. That means honesty, boundaries, and a shared commitment to protect the relationship from outside interference. If he’s more concerned with his family’s opinion than your healing, that’s not partnership, it’s performance. Ask yourself: is he angry, or is he cruel? Is he hurt, or is he punishing you? There’s a difference. And it matters. You’re allowed to want forgiveness. You’re allowed to want privacy. And you’re allowed to ask for a love that defends you, even when you’ve stumbled. You’re also allowed to ask his participation in couples therapy. You both need a little help right about now. Love, Uncle Gary P.S. Shame thrives in silence.

Dear Uncle Gary, My dad keeps forwarding me articles about ‘the dangers of oat milk.’ Should I be worried, or just block him? Signed Milk Man Dear Milk Man, Look, your dad’s oat milk crusade isn’t really about oat milk. It’s about connection. It’s about trying to stay relevant in your life, even if the method is… well, alarmist dairy propaganda. So before you block him, maybe ask yourself: when’s the last time you two actually talked? Not texted. Not exchanged articles. Talked. Because sometimes people send links when they don’t know how to say, “I miss you,” or “I’m not sure where I fit in your world anymore.” You don’t have to agree with him. You don’t even have to read the articles. But maybe you pick up the phone. Say, “Hey Dad, I got your oat milk thing. You doing okay?” And let the conversation go where it needs to. Worst case, you get a lecture on emulsifiers. Best case, you get your dad back. Best, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, Last night, after my friend’s rehearsal dinner. I’m one of her bridesmaids, and everyone had left the restaurant except me and her fiancé. We stayed behind to help tie up a few loose ends. In the parking lot, he tried to kiss me. I pushed him away, and he laughed. Then he said, “The best part is, if you tell Sophia, she won’t believe you.” I’m stunned. I don’t know what to do. Should I tell her? Should I stay quiet and hope it never happens again? I feel sick just thinking about it. Sincerely, Caught in the Worst Kind of Secret Dear Caught in the Worst Kind of Secret, You’re in a painful spot, and I want to start by saying: I believe you. That moment in the parking lot wasn’t just inappropriate; it was calculated. That line he threw at you? “She won’t believe you.” That wasn’t a joke. That was a power play. He’s banking on silence. He’s betting on your fear. And he’s hoping shame will do the rest. Now, let’s be honest. If you tell Sophia, there’s a chance she won’t believe you. Not because you’re untrustworthy, but because denial is easier than heartbreak. She’s on the edge of a life she’s been planning, and the truth you carry could shatter it. That’s a heavy truth to hold. But here’s the deeper truth: silence protects no one but him. If you say nothing, he walks into that marriage with a secret and a smirk. If you speak up, you give Sophia the dignity of choice. You give her the chance to ask questions, to confront, to decide for herself what kind of man she’s marrying. You don’t have to make it dramatic. You don’t have to make it public. But you do have to decide what kind of friend you want to be, and what kind of peace you want to live with. Because this isn’t just about one kiss. It’s about whether you let someone use your silence to rewrite the truth. And if he ever tries that line again, “She won’t believe you”, you can look him dead in the eye and say, “That’s not your call to make.” With strength and grace, Uncle Gary

Dear Uncle Gary, Is it weird that I enjoy eating dinner alone more than with friends? Signed, Recluse Dear Recluse, Not weird. Not even close. In fact, I’d argue it’s a sign of emotional maturity, and possibly excellent taste in dinner companions. There’s a quiet kind of magic in solo meals. You get to eat what you want, when you want, without negotiating over appetizers or pretending you’re fascinated by someone’s latest juice cleanse. You can savor the silence, binge a show, read a book, or if you’re at a restaurant, you can just look into the crowd of people in the place like a philosopher with a fork. Now, if you’re only eating alone because the idea of company makes you break out in hives, that’s worth exploring. But if it’s simply your preferred vibe, your way of recharging, reflecting, or just enjoying your own damn company, then lean in. The world’s loud enough. Dinner doesn’t have to be. Besides, some of the best conversations happen when no one’s talking. Love, Uncle Gary P.S. If you ever want to invite someone to dinner who won’t interrupt your chewing with unsolicited life advice, I know a guy.