The story I’m about to share with you goes back to 20 years ago, when I was just 20 years old. Of course, this depends entirely on when you’re reading this book. If 50 years have passed since I wrote it, obviously, I wasn’t 20 twenty years ago. Anyway, at that time, the education system required students to compete with others through an entrance exam to gain admission to university. This was back in the day when there were no tablets or smartphones, let alone AI-driven education. Even as I’m writing this, AI hasn’t fully integrated into education yet, though some are using it as a primary learning tool. It’s easy to predict, however, that in the near future, AI will likely replace traditional teachers.

After years of intense studying, countless practice tests, and the constant encouragement from my parents—along with their warnings of a bleak future should I fail the entrance exam—I finally passed. However, due to my performance, I had to give up on studying subjects I was passionate about, like electronics or computer science, and consider alternative fields.

With my parents’ encouragement—well, more like pressure—I ended up choosing a field they had both studied: statistics and informatics. My parents had met at university during the revolution, probably sneaking in their first dates back then. While the university itself was well-respected and initially seemed like a great choice, my regret began once I encountered the heavy math courses, which I absolutely despised.

I loved the university environment and enjoyed spending time with my classmates. I had a great time, but only outside of the classroom. None of the courses in my field were interesting to me, and I felt like I was suffering—until I took my first computer programming course. We had a computer at home since I was 10 because of my mother’s job. This was at a time when personal computers were rare, and having a 386 computer in the house was something of a miracle. My early interest wasn’t just in video games, but also in running commands on MSDOS, which later evolved into programming and web design. I spent all my allowance buying floppy disks filled with games and software, and my parents only allowed me limited computer time to protect my childhood. Before we had a computer, I spent my free time assembling electronic kits and taking apart remote-controlled toys. Imagine a 7- or 8-year-old playing with a soldering iron! My parents couldn’t stop me, and they probably didn’t want to extinguish my enthusiasm. This passion for electronics wasn’t inherited but rather sparked by watching my uncle, who spent hours on similar projects. I would stand still beside him for hours, mesmerized by what he was doing. He wasn’t just my role model; he subtly taught me these skills.

As computers entered my life, my passion for electronics gradually shifted towards coding. By the time I was in school, I had already learned basic programming languages like QBasic.

Fast forward to university, where I was struggling through my statistics and math courses. Then, like a savior, programming appeared and showed me that I wasn’t untalented or lazy; I just didn’t care for math. My passion was in coding and computers. In just a few days, I devoured the entire programming textbook and borrowed a few more similar ones from the library. And to my surprise, I enjoyed reading them far more than novels or textbooks for any other subject.

At the end of the semester, the final programming exam loomed over us. Everyone was dreading it. I remember checking the top student’s result before mine. To my surprise, this person, who usually aced all their exams, had struggled, and half the class had failed. Then I saw my grade: I had one of the highest scores! This shocked everyone, especially since I had barely passed the earlier statistics courses.

Long story short, I realized where my true passion lay. I can’t describe in words how I managed to graduate in statistics because every day felt like torture. The only thing that gave me hope was that I could spend all my free time programming on a laptop I bought on installments and make money from it. It didn’t take long before I decided to start my own company. The idea wasn’t even mine—my uncle had planted the seed by sharing stories of entrepreneurship.

Looking back, I see that everything that happened in my life was largely by chance, not through my own planning. When I thought I was climbing the ladder of success through hard work, my study of different philosophies opened my eyes to the fact that I, like all living beings—or better yet, all phenomena—was simply part of a flow. I wasn’t making choices; I was just a small part of a larger, organized yet random process. If there’s one thing I learned from studying statistics, it’s that the world and everything in it is based on probabilities. In other words, nothing is certain. Everything operates within a range of probabilities. If you think the sun rising tomorrow is a guaranteed fact, you’re mistaken!

Even if we were to consider every condition in a controlled environment (which is impossible), and you were reborn again and again under the same circumstances, you’d see different versions of yourself with different characteristics. I call this the phenomenon of randomness, which I’ll add as a new dimension to the multidimensional matrix of mental backgrounds I’ve mentioned earlier. This means we must add yet another layer—randomness—to the already complex matrix of our mental backgrounds, which further complicates things and makes prediction even harder. Those familiar with fuzzy logic will know exactly what I’m talking about. In later chapters, I’ll explain more about fuzzy logic as it plays a crucial role in understanding the true nature of the mind.

The fascinating differences seen in identical twins—who are nearly genetically identical but grow up in the same environment—perfectly illustrate this concept. If you’re interested in this subject, I recommend looking at the sources listed at the end of this book.

Why do many people reject the idea of randomness in life? It goes back to deeply held beliefs, which I’ve discussed at length earlier. If your belief system is based on the notion that nothing is random and that everything is guided by destiny, fate, or some higher power, you’ll likely feel a strong resistance—maybe even anger or frustration—when I talk about the randomness of your existence. This is a natural defensive mechanism, as I’ve explained in the section on beliefs. We also explored the concept of bias in detail, showing how it can be a powerful tool for defending our mental frameworks. To truly understand that concepts like destiny or fate are merely beliefs passed down to you, you need to have a proper understanding of the concept of time, which I’ll explain in the next chapter.

While you may be feeling angry with me right now and thinking that randomness makes life meaningless, I ask you to take a few deep breaths and keep reading before you toss this book into the fire of your rage!

After a few failed attempts at starting different teams—each one ending in failure—I found myself at the edge of frustration. Initially, I tried working with some of my classmates, but they were passionate about their studies and determined to graduate with the best grades, then pursue further education abroad. It wasn’t long before I was left to carry on alone. My second attempt was with some old school friends, who were studying in related fields like software engineering and IT. Even though we had a promising startup idea for a school management software, that too failed. The reasons for its failure are beyond the scope of this book, but in short, it boiled down to poor market choices and a society not yet ready for such solutions. This was long before the word “startup” even existed!

After these failures, I decided to gain more experience by working for a software company. Before that, I had worked part-time at different companies in insurance and internet services, so I had some experience with customer service, office hierarchy, and paperwork. But working full-time at a large telecom software company was a completely different experience. Within a few years, I rose from a junior programmer to a technical manager. However, after the company went bankrupt, I had no choice but to send in my military draft paperwork, as I had also finished my degree and could no longer postpone the mandatory service.

Now, here’s where things got interesting. An extraordinary coincidence occurred just a few weeks into my military service, and it changed my life completely—yet another random twist. People from the company I had worked with before started contacting me, asking if I’d be interested in collaborating with them on creating software similar to what we had been developing at the company. I won’t get into the details here, but in short, what was supposed to be the hardest period of my life—military service, which many people consider wasted time—became the peak of my professional and entrepreneurial journey.

By the time I finished my military service two years later, the startup I had co-founded had 50 employees. I had no idea how to manage this many people or how to handle thousands of clients! One random event after another, but all part of a larger, complex matrix. If I tried to repeat the same process today, I would likely fail, because the success I experienced was a product of that specific time, place, and societal readiness.

My lack of managerial knowledge and my repeated mistakes led me to pursue an Executive MBA. During that program, I met people who would transform the course of my life, and once again, all of this happened randomly. It takes a wise person to look back and recognize that so much of what we attribute to our own actions is, in fact, a product of chance.

Before I finished writing this section, I asked a friend—who had been with me throughout the writing of this book and had prompted me with great questions that helped me see things from different perspectives—what he thought. He asked, “Do you really believe that everything is random and our decisions have no role in our lives? I don’t agree! I plan my life, and unlike you, who had to study what your parents chose, I chose my field of interest. I chose my partner, and I decided to move abroad. I make decisions for my life.”

I smiled and said, “That’s great! Let’s examine that step by step. First, tell me, how did you become interested in civil engineering?”

He thought for a moment and replied, “Well, I’ve always been interested in it.”

“Always? You were born with a passion for civil engineering?”

“No, not since birth, but later on.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. How did you become interested in it later?”

He thought a bit more and said, “One of my relatives was a civil engineer, and he talked about it a lot.”

“Is that all?”

“No, well, friends at school also talked about it. And my parents encouraged me, saying it was a prestigious field with good job prospects.”

“Exactly. So first, the option of civil engineering was presented to you, and then society and those around you reinforced it. As I mentioned in the section on beliefs, the validation we receive from others is crucial. If everyone around you had said civil engineering was a worthless field, it’s unlikely you’d have developed such a passion for it. What you call passion is, in my view, a complex, multidimensional construct of mental backgrounds—ranging from genetics to environment, beliefs, and societal validation. Now, imagine if I introduced a new field called ‘Podcast Engineering’ or ‘Podcast Management.’ You love podcasts, right?”

He laughed and said, “No way!”

I replied, “Why would you study civil engineering but refuse to study podcast engineering?”

“Because that’s ridiculous! Podcasts don’t need engineers.”

“Maybe not now, but what if, in the future, podcasting became so popular that everyone wanted to produce podcasts? And what if precise scientific principles for recording, editing, publishing, and marketing podcasts became essential? Wouldn’t you then consider it?”

He hesitated for a moment and said, “Maybe…”

“So up to this point, I haven’t seen much of your so-called free will. The choice was presented to you, and others created the interest. Now, let’s move on to the topic of choosing a partner.”

He sighed, “I suppose I already know where you’re going with this…”

“Let’s talk about how you met your partner. You didn’t choose every person on Earth to find her, did you? It’s not like you consciously reviewed every potential partner before choosing the right one. You met her by chance—either someone introduced you, or you saw her at university, at work, or maybe you randomly bumped into her at a party or on the street, or maybe even online. Isn’t that right?”

He stretched his response, “Yeeesss…”

“And when you first saw her, what did you feel?”

“Don’t you dare tell her this, or she’ll get a big head! But honestly, I liked her from the first moment, and I felt really good about her.”

“Of course, if you didn’t feel good about her, you wouldn’t have made a move, would you?”

“Yeah, exactly!”

“So, my question is: Did you decide to create that feeling inside yourself, or did it just happen in the moment? In other words, did the feeling of liking or falling in love—or whatever you want to call it—simply arise in your mind, and perhaps you felt something in your body too, like a racing heart or butterflies in your stomach?”

“Yes, it just happened by itself.”

“So, where was your free will in all of this?”

“Well, I could have chosen not to act on it and not to make a move, right?”

“Could you, really? Now that’s something I’d love to tell her! (Just kidding!) In the chapter on free will, I explained that having options and choosing between them sometimes gives us the illusion of free will. But the reality is that when you chose to make a move instead of holding back, it was the result of your brain’s activity and nervous system, all shaped by your mental backgrounds. If you were a shy person, or if your culture saw making the first move as inappropriate, maybe you would have chosen differently, and right now, you’d be sitting here alone next to me!”

He laughed but fell silent, as usual, deep in thought.

“So, should we move on to the sweet topic of choosing to migrate?”

He responded before I could even finish, “I know where you’re going with this. You’re going to say that the approval of my friends and family, the stories I heard about the country from childhood, the economic situation of our home country, genetics, and all my mental backgrounds led me to decide to move abroad. There’s no need to remind me that it’s all part of a multidimensional matrix—I get it!”

This time, it was my turn to laugh loudly. “Bravo! If you’d memorized your lessons this well, you would have aced your exams.” He cut me off with, “I was always top of my class, you know!” I replied, “Oops, I forgot. My apologies!”

A bit later, our conversation turned to the intriguing differences between human decision-making and that of other animals, particularly in terms of free will.

If you remember the example I used earlier about holding your breath, I laid out several possible scenarios: You could choose to listen to me and hold your breath, or you could ignore my request, or you could even refuse out of stubbornness. Now let’s consider a non-human example involving one of humanity’s closest companions. If you’ve ever owned a dog like I have, you’ll know that they can learn all sorts of fascinating tricks. I had taught my Rottweiler, Dexter, to wait for me to say “go ahead” before he started eating his food. This means he would listen to me and wait patiently before beginning his meal.

One day, after a long day at work, I returned home and noticed something odd in his behavior. Although there was always dry food available for him, he hadn’t touched it. So, as usual, I quickly prepared a meal for both of us. I made Dexter’s unsalted version—chicken and vegetables—and placed it in his bowl. I asked him to wait, as I always did. But for the first time ever, Dexter completely ignored me and started eating! Even during long road trips where he endured hunger, he had never done anything like this before. Yet there he was, nonchalantly enjoying his meal.

This was before I had moved to Turkey, where I had a complete change of perspective about keeping animals at home. When I first encountered the street dogs and cats living freely alongside people, my opinion about owning pets indoors completely shifted. In many Turkish cities, cats and dogs roam freely, and people adore them. The municipality vaccinates them, people always leave food out for them, they stroll into cafes and restaurants as they please, and they are pampered with affection all day long. There’s even a free 24-hour emergency service for them. It’s a paradise for street animals! After seeing this harmonious coexistence, I came to the conclusion: why keep animals confined indoors and claim ownership when you can live peacefully with them outside?

Back to Dexter, though. The next day, I spent a bit more time with him, and all was forgiven. But my curiosity about his stubborn behavior hadn’t gone away. I ran a few more experiments and realized that whenever Dexter felt neglected, he would act out and ignore my commands.

If you’ve ever had pets, you’ve probably seen them display similar behaviors—even going so far as to refuse food. Can we say that Dexter, or other animals, were using their free will to stubbornly refuse?

My answer is that while there are significant differences between the brains and nervous systems of humans, other mammals like dogs and cats, and even simpler animals, what we call decision-making exists across all of them. It simply varies along a spectrum from simple to complex. It’s obvious that a cockroach’s decision-making process is vastly different from Dexter’s, but just because Dexter can make more complex decisions doesn’t mean he has free will or that he makes life decisions based on some steadfast internal drive. Likewise, it’s absurd to claim that humans, as “superior beings,” have free will just because we seem to make complex decisions. To me, that’s as ridiculous as saying humans are the crown of creation with free will, intelligence, and the ability to make choices, while other animals are just following their instincts.

My friend, after a pause, said, “What you’re saying is terrifying because I’ve always been told that we’re here for a reason and that each of us has a mission in life that we need to discover. If everything that’s happened in my life has been random, and I don’t have a specific mission, and I’m just here without any purpose, then life feels really empty and meaningless.”

I responded quickly, “Exactly! That’s the point. The sooner we confront the ‘truth of life,’ the fewer expectation errors we’ll experience, and the sooner we can create our own philosophy and values to give life meaning. If I believe my mission in life is to be a programmer and entrepreneur, and I end up failing or being unable to program due to some accident, then I’ll face the harsh reality that life has no inherent meaning, and I never had a mission in the first place. Then I’ll convince myself that my true mission was to be a writer instead. And this cycle will continue with writing, podcasting, or anything else. The same applies to relationships and having children. If we believe our mission is to get married and have children, and for some reason, we can’t, what happens then?”

In fact, I think what drives us toward despair is the overwhelming expectation that life has a clear purpose and mission, which clashes with the reality of life and the nature of the mind. When I say “reality,” I mean confronting life without a pre-made philosophy or personal set of values to give it meaning. I believe that right now, I find meaning in writing and podcasting. If, in a year’s time, I no longer enjoy these activities, there are countless other things I could do that would bring me joy and meaning. I could learn a new skill like woodworking or pottery and find meaning in creative work, which I’ve always loved. Why go far? Do we listen to music or dance because we have a mission to fulfil? No, we do it because it brings us joy, and that’s enough!

All mystics, in the final stages of their profound experiences, realize that everything is within themselves and that nothing exists outside of them. Now, why do we try to take the opposite path? Why do we insist that there must be a reason, a mission, or a meaning? As Sohrab Sepehri, the Persian modern poet and mystic, once said, “Life is beyond the realm of Nothingness.” Life is in the ordinary, everyday moments, and it’s passing us by while we search for our so-called mission and purpose.

My friend, after reflecting for a bit, said that it’s similar to how a child who has always slept with their parents eventually has to sleep alone in their own room. It’s a scary, painful experience that takes time to adjust to. He said he needed time to process and understand this new perspective. I explained that since I never slept in my parents’ room as a child, I didn’t experience the fear and pain of separation. Facing the truth of life is the same: the sooner we confront it, and stop delaying the inevitable with fairy tales and illusions, the easier it will be to bear the pain.