“Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn.” —Benjamin Franklin 

We like to think we understand learning. It’s something we’ve all done, something we do every day, something as natural as breathing. And yet, beneath its apparent simplicity lies a paradox so fundamental that it shapes everything we know about education, skill-building, and personal growth. 

We are taught to believe that learning happens in the stillness of a classroom, in the quiet of a lecture hall, in the patient turning of pages in a textbook, even, weirdly enough, the youtube video that has someone telling it to us in a funny accent. We imagine it as something passive—a process of osmosis, where knowledge seeps into us like ink soaking into paper. But the reality is something else entirely. Our brains aren’t books.

Real learning is chaotic. It is full of friction. It is not something we receive; it is something we do. 

And therein lies the paradox. 

The Temporal Pincer of Learning

The film Tenet plays with time in a way that breaks the brain: events unfolding both forwards and backwards, colliding in ways that make cause and effect indistinguishable. The whole paradox sets in place a fixed fluctuating timeline. The “temporal pincer movement” in the movie—a strategy where one team moves forward in time while another moves backward—feels, at first glance, like a bizarre piece of science fiction. But it is also a perfect metaphor for how we learn. 

Think about it. 

We often believe that learning moves in one direction: first we acquire knowledge, then we apply it. First, we listen, then we do. But in reality, learning moves in both directions at once. We understand concepts better after we’ve struggled with them. We only realize what we didn’t know after we’ve attempted to use the knowledge we thought we had. 

Learning isn’t linear. It loops back on itself, twisting and warping as experience reshapes what we thought we understood. We do not just learn in order to act; we learn because we have acted. And these two actions loop into each other, providing learning.

The Great Absorption Myth

In school, we were given an image of learning that made sense at the time: you sit quietly, absorb information, and reproduce it when necessary. The good students were the ones who listened, took notes, and stored knowledge away like squirrels hoarding nuts for winter. 

This idea persists because it feels intuitive. Learning should be as simple as downloading information into our brains, right? 

Except, it isn’t. 

Cognitive science tells us that passive absorption is wildly ineffective. Studies on retention and understanding consistently show that real learning happens when we are forced to engage with material—when we struggle with it, manipulate it, argue about it, break it apart and put it back together. 

You don’t learn to swim by reading about swimming. You don’t learn to play the piano by watching a pianist. You don’t learn to code by memorizing syntax. 

And yet, the absorption myth persists. 

The Doing Paradox

“I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand.” —Confucius 

There is something beautifully paradoxical about learning: we don’t truly understand something until we’ve already tried to use it. It is in the doing that knowledge is forged, not in the mere knowing. 

Consider the difference between reading about bicycle mechanics and actually riding a bike. The former might teach you the principles, but it is only in the act of balancing on two wheels, wobbling and falling, that real understanding takes shape. That being said, reading about bicycle mechanics can improve your bike riding skills. 

Or take music theory and sheet music. You don’t become a master saxophonist just by reading sheet music. Neither do you become a master violinist. But just as you must spend countless hours practicing and doing the skill, so too you’re unlikely to become a master musician unless you do read sheet music. Unless you gain information beyond the rut of your experience.

Why, then, do we resist this truth? 

Because action is uncomfortable. Learning through doing means embracing uncertainty. It means making mistakes. It means failing, often repeatedly, and pushing through that failure. It’s much more pleasant to imagine that we can prepare ourselves perfectly before ever taking action. 

But learning doesn’t happen in preparation. It happens in the attempt. 

The Persistent Myth of Learning Styles

Another idea that refuses to die is the concept of “learning styles”—the belief that some of us are visual learners, others auditory, others kinesthetic, and so on. The idea is comforting. It provides a neat categorization, a sense of control. It allows us to believe that if we just learn in our preferred way, everything will fall into place. 

But the science tells a different story. 

A mountain of research has debunked learning styles as a meaningful concept. A study by Pashler, McDaniel, Rohrer, and Bjork (2008) found no evidence that tailoring instruction to a person’s “learning style” improved their learning outcomes. Instead, what actually helps is using multiple methods—seeing, hearing, doing, questioning, struggling—regardless of one’s personal preference. 

Yet people still cling to learning styles. Why? 

Because it feels right. Because it simplifies something complicated. Because it gives us an easy answer to a difficult question. 

And perhaps because, like the passive absorption myth, it lets us off the hook. If learning styles were real, then struggling with something outside our “style” would mean the system was broken, not that we needed to push through the discomfort. 

Why We Cling to Comfortable Illusions

Learning, real learning, is often painful. It requires us to stretch beyond our comfort zones. It forces us to confront our own ignorance, to wrestle with frustration, to fail and fail again before we get things right. 

And humans don’t like that. 

We like predictability. We like certainty. We like control. The idea that we can learn simply by listening, or that we can find our perfect “style” and stick to it, gives us a sense of order. 

But the reality of learning is messier, more chaotic, and ultimately more rewarding. 

Breaking Free from the Illusions

So what do we do with all this? How do we escape the paradoxes that hold us back? 

1. Stop waiting until you “know enough” to start doing. You won’t truly learn until you engage. Start before you feel ready. 
2. Embrace the discomfort of struggle. It’s not a sign of failure—it’s the mechanism by which learning happens. 
3. Ditch the idea that learning should be effortless. The struggle is the point. Learning is supposed to be hard. 
4. Expose yourself to multiple learning approaches. Don’t box yourself into a single “style”—mix things up. Experiment. Engage in different ways. 
5. Reframe failure as part of the process. The best learners aren’t the ones who avoid mistakes; they’re the ones who make them, analyze them, and adjust.

The paradox of learning is that it is both forward and backward, both passive and active, both frustrating and exhilarating. 

It is not something you receive. It is something you become. 

So step into the paradox. Lean into the friction. And start learning—not by waiting, but by doing. 

One habit I’ve shamelessly borrowed (stole) from my older brother is rooted in the idea of New Year’s resolutions. He doesn’t do a traditional resolution of “I’ll do 500 pushups a day everyday.” Instead, my brother has a tradition: each year, he learns a new skill. It’s simple, but profound. And a few years back, I decided to do the same. Not only will I learn a new skill, but I’ll also put it into practice, refine it, and let it grow over time. Who knows? Maybe this year, my new years resolution won’t be 1080p, but rather 4K.

And so, let’s learn.