December 23, 2024. We Can Be Wrong But We Can't Lie

You know what's been on my mind lately? The difference between being wrong and lying. This thought wasn't born in a vacuum - it came from years of learning from some incredibly wise people who've shaped my perspective on what it means to build something meaningful.

I remember sitting in a research class, listening to my lecturer - this brilliant guy with a PhD who'd seen it all. He said something that completely rewired my brain: "If you want to do research on something unconventional, not everyone has the expertise to evaluate that issue. So you need to find people who are willing to learn with you and help evaluate and review your research."

That hit me hard. Here was this accomplished academic, essentially saying we're all learners in the end. Sure, he had years more experience than I did, but his expertise wasn't about knowing everything - it was about knowing how to navigate the unknown. That's when it clicked: being not know or wrong isn't about lacking knowledge; it's part of the journey of discovery.

But then he dropped another lines that's stuck with me: "As a researcher, it's common to make mistakes, to fail at experiments. As long as we document it well and share it without modifications, it provides learning experiences to us and to the readers, so they don't have to repeat the same mistakes. What's uncommon, however, is lying or dishonesty."

He explained how you might get away with plagiarizing or fabricating data - people might not catch it right away. But your dishonesty becomes a hidden trap for anyone trying to build on your work. You're not just lying; you're setting up future researchers for failure.

This resonated even more deeply when my engineering mentor - a high-ranking officer in a national business - shared his perspective. "As an engineer," he told me, "it's common to make mistakes, blow up some tools (though not recommended), face design flaws and criticism. It might cost money, and it might cost lives. But from there, we learn how to build and modify systems, how to build safer instruments, how to conduct proper research."

Then came the part that really stuck: "What's uncommon and deeply cursed by the engineering community is dishonesty, not having integrity. Imagine you build a reactor, then lie about some parts to make it look good. Then some group in another part of the world tries to replicate your work, and it blows up. That's something we can't tolerate."

These lessons hit differently when you're trying to build something new. Here I am with Abdi & Brothers Company, pushing boundaries, trying to reshape systems. Every day brings new challenges, new unknowns, new chances to be wrong. And you know what? That's exactly how it should be. Like when I first started coding our prototype - there were so many moments where I thought I had the perfect solution, only to find out hours (or days) later that I was completely off track. Those weren't lies; they were honest mistakes, stepping stones toward getting it right.

Being wrong means we're in uncharted territory. It means we're pushing limits, testing theories, learning. When our code doesn't work, when our assumptions fall flat, when our plans need complete overhauls - these aren't failures. They're data points. They're lessons. They're contributions to the collective knowledge of what works and what doesn't.

But lying? That's a different beast entirely. When we lie about our progress, fudge our numbers, or pretend to know things we don't, we're not just deceiving others - we're poisoning the well of innovation. We're setting traps for everyone who might try to build on our work. I've had moments where I could have made things sound better than they were. Could have rounded up those user numbers, could have made our progress sound more impressive, could have pretended I knew exactly where this journey was heading. But what's the point? A house built on lies is just waiting to collapse.

So I made a decision early on: we can be wrong, but we can't lie. Lying, that's how we lose trust, lose direction, and eventually lose ourselves.

I think about people like Elon Musk and Steve Jobs, whom I've like to mentioned before. Yes, they had grand visions and made bold claims. But the best of their work came from actual innovation, not deception. When SpaceX rockets exploded in the early days, Musk didn't hide it - he shared the footage. Those failures were badges of honor, proof they were pushing limits.

This is especially crucial now, as we're trying to reshape world systems and build new frameworks for humanity progress. Every mistake we make and honestly document becomes a stepping stone for others. Every failure we transparently share becomes a lesson someone else doesn't have to learn the hard way.

That's why at Abdi & Brothers Company, we'll document our failures as meticulously as our successes. We'll be open about our uncertainties. We'll admit when we don't know something.

Because in the end, being wrong is temporary - it's a state of learning, of growing, of pushing forward. 

To anyone out there building something new, whether it's a company, a project, or just a different way of doing things: embrace being wrong. Wear your mistakes like medals of honor. They're proof you're trying, proof you're pushing, proof you're alive in the arena instead of watching from the sidelines.

Just don't lie. Not to others, not to yourself. 

The future we're trying to build needs to be built on truth, even when that truth means admitting we don't know everything. Even when that truth means our dreams might take longer to achieve than we hoped. Because at the end of the day, being wrong is temporary. But trust, once broken, is hard to rebuild. And in this journey of reshaping systems and building something meaningful, trust isn't just nice to have - it's everything.

Here's to being wrong, learning from it, and always keeping our integrity intact. Because that's how real progress is made.