One of the ways a library was more honest than the internet is that it showed you the truth up front: rows and rows of shelves, a vast sprawl of knowledge that made it clear you could never consume it all. You knew your limits. So you focused on the book in front of you.
The internet, by contrast, only shows you a screenful at a time, and in doing so creates a subtle illusion: that infinite knowledge is within reach, just a few more clicks away. So we scroll. And scroll. Deluded by the tidy edges of our screens, we think we’re almost there - almost caught up - while the sprawl behind those edges grows exponentially.
The library was humble. The internet is seductive.
The library told you: this is more than you can ever master - so choose wisely, and dig deep.
The internet whispers: you’re almost done - just one more link, one more scroll, one more tab.
We are drowning in an ocean of information disguised as a mirage, a manageable pool. And unless we learn to recognize the shore—real conversations, deliberate thinking, quiet presence - we risk losing ourselves in the illusion of knowing, without ever truly understanding.
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