AI, REFLECTIONS 2

For many years I believed that progress meant speaking well, arguing soundly, and having quick answers. I thought value lay in what one said. Over time, life taught me something different and deeper: learning to listen was my greatest achievement.
Listening isn't simply hearing words. It's paying real attention, without preparing a response while the other person speaks. It's suspending judgment, creating space, and accepting that the other person can teach us something, even unintentionally. This way of listening isn't learned from books; it's acquired through experience and humility.
Haste, the need to give an opinion, and the desire to be right are great enemies of listening. While one is busy asserting oneself, one stops understanding. Learning to listen involved unlearning many attitudes: interrupting, seeking immediate certainty, and responding automatically.
Listening transformed my relationships. I understood that many people don't need solutions, but rather presence. They don't seek advice, but rather to be taken into account. When someone feels heard, something shifts within them, even without additional words.
I also learned to listen to the silences. There are pauses that speak louder than words, and glances that express what cannot be articulated. Listening involves accepting those moments without filling them with noise.
Over the years, I've come to understand that listening is an act of profound respect. It's recognizing the other person's dignity, their story, and their worldview. Listening doesn't weaken; it strengthens. It doesn't diminish authority; it adds humanity.
Learning to listen also meant learning to listen to myself—to recognize my own emotions, limitations, and needs. Without this inner listening, external listening is incomplete. Internal noise is often the first obstacle to understanding others. In an age dominated by haste and constant opinions, listening has become a rare gesture. Perhaps that's why it's so valuable. Listening requires time, presence, and a genuine willingness to understand.
Today, I can say that many of the best decisions in my life didn't stem from grand speeches, but from listening at the right time. That's why, if I had to point to a true achievement, I wouldn't choose a goal reached or a brilliant answer, but rather having learned to listen.

AI, NOT EVERYTHING IMPORTANT CAN BE MEASURED

We live in an age that places excessive trust in numbers. We measure results, performance, time, impact, and productivity. That which can be quantified seems more real, more serious, and more valuable. However, human experience teaches a simple yet profound truth: not everything important can be measured . Emotions cannot be confined to figures. Inner peace has no numerical scale, nor is trust expressed in percentages. Affection, loyalty, dignity, and a sense of purpose exist without the need for indicators. They are real, even if they don't appear in graphs. The obsession with measuring can impoverish understanding. When only what is quantifiable is valued, what is essential becomes invisible. You can count how many people listen, but not how understood they feel. You can measure the time spent, but not the quality of presence. In education, for example, exams show results, but they don't reveal the curiosity sparked or the critical thinking developed. At work, goals achieved don't always reflect ethics, collaboration, or respect for others. In personal life, visible achievements don't guarantee inner fulfillment. The most decisive things often happen in silence. A timely gesture, a well-chosen word, sincere listening, or a timely resignation can change destinies without leaving a statistical record. Their value is manifested in consequences, not in numbers. Measuring is useful, but not enough . Numbers help to organize, compare, and evaluate, but they shouldn't replace human judgment. When measurement becomes the absolute criterion, we lose the sensitivity to recognize what cannot be counted. Wisdom lies in knowing when to measure and when simply to understand. There are times for evaluation and times for contemplation. Some realities demand analysis, while others require respect and care. Accepting that not everything important can be measured is to recover a more human perspective. It's recognizing that life isn't a report, but an experience. That what is essential isn't always seen, but felt. In the end, what gives meaning to existence rarely appears in balance sheets or statistics. It remains in memory, in consciousness, and in the way one has lived. Because what truly matters cannot always be measured, but it can always be experienced .