What do you complain about the most?

A catastrophic shortage of history and common sense.

Not a mild shortage. Not a seasonal dip. A full-blown famine. The intellectual equivalent of an empty grocery store with the lights still on and a sign in the window insisting everything is fine.

Nothing makes me grind my teeth faster than watching the same mistakes roll back into town wearing a fake mustache and a new slogan. History isn’t even subtle about it. It practically waves its arms and shouts, We’ve done this before! But half the room is too busy arguing about the wallpaper to notice the building is on fire.

Common sense used to be the referee. Now it’s missing, presumed dead, and nobody has filed a report.

We live in an era where information is infinite and understanding is optional. Libraries in our pockets. Entire civilizations archived and searchable in seconds. And yet people stroll confidently into conversations like explorers who burned their maps on purpose. Selective memory has become a lifestyle. Pick the chapters you like, ignore the ones that make you uncomfortable, and declare victory before lunch.

It’s maddening.

Because history isn’t there to shame us. It’s there to warn us. It’s the world’s longest-running instruction manual written in mistakes, victories, disasters, and hard-earned lessons. Ignore it long enough and you don’t become enlightened—you become a rerun.

And common sense? That’s the survival instinct of civilization. The quiet voice that says maybe we should slow down, double-check, and avoid walking straight into the same wall we hit last time. Without it, we’re just sprinting confidently toward déjà vu.

So yes—that’s my complaint.

Not the mistakes themselves. Mistakes are human.

It’s the stubborn refusal to remember them.