The delight of common sense
The need for QR codes in restaurants perplexes me to this day. I remain unconvinced that opening a PDF on my phone was the breakthrough dining experience humanity had been waiting for. During the pandemic, of course, it made perfect sense. It was practical, sanitary, and necessary. But long after the masks disappeared and the world reopened, the QR code remained, lingering stubbornly like an office memo no one remembered to repeal.
Now it simply feels asinine.
Perhaps this is why common sense feels increasingly uncommon these days. We seem to have developed a deep suspicion of anything simple, direct, or uncomplicated, even though the simplest answer is so often the right one. Somewhere along the way, we began mistaking complication for sophistication.
You may have noticed this, too. The shortest distance between point A and point B is now interrupted by an app you need to download, an account you need to create, or a perfectly ordinary idea that has been overcomplicated in the name of making it feel innovative. We have somehow convinced ourselves that if something is straightforward, it must surely be lacking depth, intelligence, or modernity.
And yet some of the best parts of life still rely almost entirely on common sense. A good conversation. A well-cooked meal. Knowing when to apologize. Understanding when enough is enough. Most meaningful things rarely improve by being made unnecessarily elaborate. But what is common sense, and why is it now so seemingly hard to come by?
Common sense is, in a word, practicality. It is the habit of using what is already available before reaching for something extra. A sharp knife will often accomplish what an expensive kitchen gadget promises to do. It may require a little more effort and a little more skill, but that effort is precisely the point. Have we made simple tasks so complicated that the willingness to do them ourselves has become a luxury?
At its root, though, admittedly, practicality is not all that sexy. It is a simple, direct, and, dare I say, practical way of looking and doing things.
The majority of what we deem practical and straightforward lacks the extra bells and whistles: there is no swiping; there are no Likes to be had. To be fair, technology itself is not the problem. AI, smartphones, and modern conveniences are extraordinary tools. The problem begins when tools stop assisting our judgment and start replacing it. The moment we outsource basic reasoning, problem-solving, and decision-making to technology, we risk losing the very skills that made those tools useful in the first place.
Like any muscle, common sense grows through use. The ability to adapt, persevere, and solve problems develops only when it is exercised. Yet many modern conveniences remove precisely those opportunities. Small frustrations are immediately solved for us. Minor obstacles are bypassed. We become less accustomed to figuring things out for ourselves. Over time, resilience weakens not because people have become incapable, but because fewer situations require them to practice it. Tactile craftsmanship is beginning to be lost; the joy of working with one’s hands. It’s now all cerebral but made lazy because it will inevitably be run through AI somewhere.
So what is the delight of common sense? The delight comes when you realize that you are able to solve a conundrum all on your own, and thus build up some sort of self-esteem that says, "Hey, I can do this after all."
My ideas are not AI-generated nor are they written by a bot. Or perhaps, “this task didn’t need the app I downloaded after all! I can just think my way through it.”
We are surrounded by information. Advice is available at the touch of a button. Entire industries now exist to explain things that previous generations simply learned by doing. We watch videos on productivity instead of being productive. We consume content about fitness instead of exercising. We research hobbies for months before beginning them. Somewhere along the way, preparation started masquerading as participation.
There is, of course, value in knowledge. The world is more complex than it once was, and expertise matters. I would much rather my surgeon have access to modern medical research than rely entirely on common sense. But not every situation requires expert intervention. Not every decision requires exhaustive analysis. Many of life’s daily problems are solved the same way they always have been: by observing, adapting, trying, failing, and trying again. Yet failure itself has become something we increasingly seek to avoid. We want guarantees before we begin. We want certainty before we commit.
We want five-star reviews before we visit a restaurant and detailed tutorials before we attempt a task.
The result is that many people spend more time preparing to act than actually acting.
Common sense, by contrast, has always been a little untidy, even a little dirty.
It accepts that not every outcome can be predicted. It understands that experience is often the best teacher. It recognizes that sometimes the quickest way to learn something is simply to begin and make a few mistakes along the way. This may explain why previous generations often seemed capable of extraordinary resourcefulness and resilience despite having access to far fewer tools. When something broke, they attempted to repair it. When a problem emerged, they looked for solutions within reach before searching for outside help. They were not necessarily smarter than we are. They simply exercised the muscles of judgment, adaptation, grit, and practicality more frequently.
Like any muscle, common sense weakens when left unused.
The irony is that many of the conveniences designed to save us effort have also removed opportunities to practice the very skills that made us resilient in the first place. Navigation apps mean we rarely learn directions. Search engines mean we seldom commit information to memory. Online reviews tell us what to think before we have formed an opinion of our own. AI is now doing a lot of writing in the world, and is being used by people to cram for papers and jobs.
Don’t get me wrong, convenience is wonderful. Dependency is something else entirely. There is a difference between using a tool and surrendering responsibility to it. One empowers us; the other slowly convinces us that we are incapable without it. And perhaps that is the real danger. Not that technology will make us less intelligent, but that it may persuade us to trust our own judgment a little less each year.
The delight is not that it makes life easier. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes common sense requires more effort, more patience, and more responsibility. You have to learn the skill. You have to make the mistake. You have to figure things out. Because that is precisely where the satisfaction lies. There is a quiet confidence that comes from solving a problem without an app telling you how. From fixing something instead of replacing it. From cooking a meal from memory. From navigating a new city without consulting your phone every three minutes. From discovering that your own judgment is still capable of carrying you through life.
Common sense is not intelligence. It is not education. It is not even expertise. It is simply the ability to look at a situation and ask, “What is the most sensible thing to do next with what I have in front of me?”
That question has guided farmers, craftsmen, parents, entrepreneurs, and ordinary people for generations. It built homes, businesses, families, leaders, and communities long before there was an algorithm available to optimize the process. The world kept moving even without having to ask Waze or Google Maps where we’re going.
Technology is a remarkable servant, but a terrible master. The moment we begin outsourcing not just our labor but our judgment, we lose something far more valuable than convenience can ever provide. We lose trust in ourselves. Perhaps that is why the delight of common sense feels so refreshing today. In a world increasingly filled with subscriptions, notifications, dashboards, updates, and endless digital solutions, common sense reminds us that not every problem requires a new tool. Sometimes, the most reliable one has been with us all along.
Sometimes the answer is already sitting in front of us. Much like a perfectly good physical menu.
