
Cheers to 2025
Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
There is a statistic that should discourage any lion from ever hunting again. Three out of every four times a lion charges after prey, it fails.
Twenty five percent success. Seventy five percent waste. If a man ran a business on those numbers, his accountant would resign quietly, his investors would call an emergency meeting, and his mother would move from praying for his success to praying for his sense.
Yet the lion hunts again tomorrow. Not with less hunger, but with the same readiness it had before the first failed chase.

It does not sit in the grass replaying its missed strike, questioning whether it was built for this life, or wondering what the other lions will say.
It simply resets, and waits for the next opportunity to run.
Scientists who have spent their careers observing predators say the explanation is not appetite, though appetite plays its part.
The deeper explanation is something quieter and far more instructive, something built into the marrow of nature itself.
They call it the Law of Wasted Efforts, and it governs far more of this world than we care to admit.
Read that again slowly. This is not the exception in nature. This is the rule. Waste, by our human definition of the word, is not a flaw in the design of the natural world. It is the design itself. Nature does not budget for efficiency the way we do.
It budgets for abundance, knowing that abundance will absorb the loss and still leave enough behind for life to continue.
I think of this often when I remember the early years of building anything worth building.
Before Qoray Mobility ever moved a single passenger or charged a single battery, there were pilots that stalled, partnerships that fell apart at the signature stage, and routes we mapped out with great excitement that never carried a single tricycle.
Each of those was, by every reasonable measure, a wasted effort. Time spent. Money spent. Hope spent.

And yet none of it was actually wasted, because it was the very thing that taught us where the real route was.
We only fail when we stop trying.
This is where the difference between man and the rest of creation becomes painfully clear. Only the human being, of all of God’s creatures, has decided that a failed attempt is proof of unworthiness.
A fish does not conclude, after losing half its offspring, that it should stop laying eggs. A cloud does not refuse to rain over the ocean simply because the ocean will not grow a single tree from it.
Nature keeps moving because nature understands something we spend half our lives forgetting: that the attempt was never the point. Continuation was always the point.

We, on the other hand, keep a ledger. We count our missed calls, our declined proposals, our business ideas that never left the notebook, our relationships that ended before they matured, our prayers that seemed to bounce off the ceiling.
We add them up and hand ourselves a verdict: failure.
As though a man’s life can be fairly judged by the attempts that did not work, rather than by whether he kept walking after they didn’t.
I have sat in boardrooms in Lagos where a single difficult quarter was spoken of like a funeral. I have watched brilliant young people abandon good ideas after one rejection, convinced that the market, or God, or life itself, had spoken a final word over them. But the market rarely speaks a final word.
Neither does a closed door, a lost client, or a quiet season. What looks final is often only the first three quarters of a hunt that was never going to succeed on the first attempt anyway.
This is not a call to recklessness, and it is certainly not a call to keep repeating the same failed strategy while calling it faith.
The lion does not charge blindly. It studies the wind, the distance, the weakest member of the herd, and it adjusts its approach with every failed attempt.
Wisdom and persistence are not opposites. They are dance partners. The Law of Wasted Efforts does not ask us to be foolish; it asks us to be undiscouraged.
If there is one word that captures how this world actually works underneath all its noise and metrics and quarterly reports, it is simply this: continue. Continue after the pilot that failed.
Continue after the manuscript that was rejected. Continue after the calling that seems to be taking far longer than you expected. Continue after the year that gave you far less than you prayed for.
The rain that falls into the ocean today does not know it is preparing the atmosphere for the rain that will fall on farmland tomorrow.
It simply falls, faithfully, and lets the larger design handle the accounting.
Never stop at any stage of difficulty. Keep moving. Keep thinking. Keep trying. And above everything else that this fast and unforgiving world will ask of you, keep praying, because there is a kind of endurance that discipline alone cannot manufacture.
Perhaps the real tragedy is not the seventy five percent of attempts that fail. Perhaps the real tragedy is the lion that, after one bad season, convinces itself it was never built to hunt.
How many of your seeds have you already declared lost, when they were only ever meant to feed the ground for the next one?
And what would change in your life today if you finally believed that the attempt was never the failure, only the stopping is?

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

There is a woman I know, call her Adaeze, who loves her husband the way a well-tended fire loves the wood it is given: completely, warmly, without……

A message arrives from someone you have not spoken to in years. A parent needs surgery. An account number is attached, and a photograph of a hospital bill that may or may not be real. You have just been paid. Not much is left after rent and the small emergencies that always find a way to arrive before the salary does. You send something anyway. You do not ask why the message found you specifically, out of everyone this person knows.

I ran into a post on social media a few days ago. Someone had turned Animal Farm into a slideshow, cartoon pigs in suits, captions lifted straight from the book, the whole thing dressed up for a scrolling audience. It stopped me mid scroll, the way certain things from your teenage years do when they show up uninvited in your adult timeline.

In Part One, we established something that the available evidence handles quite comfortably: the female is not the weaker version

Her name was Nkechi. She was thirty-one years old, and she was dying — at least, that is what the doctors privately believed.

It was the spring of 1900. A group of Greek sponge divers, blown off course by a fierce Mediterranean storm, dropped anchor near the small island of Antikythera — a barren, wind-battered speck of land sitting between Crete and the Greek mainland. They were looking for shelter. What they found instead would take another century for the world to begin to understand.

In 1927, a Peruvian archaeologist named Toribio Mejia Xesspe was hiking through the desert plateau south of Lima when he noticed something odd about the ground. Shallow lines. Trenches, really — no deeper than 10 to 30 centimetres — scraped into the reddish-brown surface of the earth to reveal the pale yellow-grey subsoil beneath. They ran in straight lines for hundreds of metres. He noted them, filed a report, and moved on. They were curious. They were not yet miraculous.

Let me be honest with you right from the jump. This piece is personal. It is not a theoretical
think-piece written from the safe distance of academia. I co-founded a clean-tech electric vehicle company from scratch—the kind that starts with a big idea, a small team, an even smaller budget, and an almost embarrassing amount of optimism. So when I talk about the greed for growth and what it costs you, I am not talking from a podium. I am talking from the trenches.

I want to tell you something about confidence that most people get spectacularly wrong.
And I mean that without arrogance — because I got it wrong too, for longer than I care to admit. I walked into rooms with my chest out and my chin up and told myself that was confidence. I practiced certain expressions in the mirror before big presentations. I rehearsed answers to imagined tough questions in the shower until the water ran cold.
I looked confident. I performed confidence quite convincingly, if I do say so myself.

There is a conversation you have been postponing.
You know the one. It has been living rent-free in the back of your head for days, possibly weeks. You have rehearsed it in the shower. You have drafted opening lines in your head while stuck on the Third Mainland Bridge. You have imagined seventeen different versions of how it could go, and approximately sixteen of them ended badly.
So you have said nothing. You have smiled when you did not feel like smiling, agreed when you wanted to disagree, and quietly let something important fester because the alternative — the actual conversation — felt like detonating a device in a room you still have to live in.

There is a category of question that polite intellectual company tends to avoid: the kind that, if you pull the thread long enough, begins to unravel not just a specific mystery but the entire fabric of what we think we know about human history. The Pyramids of Giza are that thread. They have been standing in the Egyptian desert for roughly 4,500 years.

Let me take you somewhere. Not to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean — at least, not yet. First, to Lagos. Nigeria. Sometime in the late 1980s. A teenager who should probably have been revising for exams is instead sitting cross-legged on the floor of a library, holding a book that is older than most of the furniture around it, reading about a city beneath the sea.

This is my story of discovering a film that challenged everything I thought I knew about the gift of time, every pulsating detail documented to inspire you to leap beyond your limitations and appreciate the beauty of growing old.
This story explores the paradox of immortality and why a movie from 2015 still resonates so deeply with audiences today.
I hope you find it worth your time.
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1 thought on “The Law of wasted efforts”
This is an extraordinary piece of writing for me. I can’t explain the clarity it produces for me. A quick scan of my life journey, suddenly is filled with connecting dots that are now needing my honest gratitude.
Thanks again, Akin omo Akin!