Once I wrote a text and asked AI to edit it. AI returned a blank page. I thought: something is wrong. A technical malfunction? Machine overheating? Who knows.
I asked again. Silence. A little later—a new blank page.
What is going on? All right. Tomorrow.
The first thing I did the next morning was reread my text. It wasn’t perfect. There were rough spots. But it had something genuine. In fact, I liked it.
After thinking for a moment, I opened AI again and… quietly thanked it for not editing my text.
Strategy in competitive interaction is not only about finding the best course of action. It is about finding a course of action that can overcome the opponent’s course of action.
You cannot develop an effective strategy without understanding the opponent’s strategy. You need to study it, reconstruct its logic, identify what it is trying to achieve, anticipate its next moves, and only then decide how to act. At the same time, no strategy can anticipate everything. The best strategy, therefore, combines sustainability with adaptability: it is robust enough to withstand the opponent’s moves, yet flexible enough to adjust as the situation changes.
Walking is thinking. Sometimes subtle, sometimes explicit. By walking we change not only our location but the sequence of our thoughts. Ancient Greek Peripatetics knew this well. Modern students are sitting in the class, in the Athenian Lyceum Aristotle conducted his classes while walking on the covered walkways (peripatoi). I am sure, that nicely affected the discussion dynamics.
Walking is observing. People who mostly live online might feel as though they are on an unfamiliar planet with streets, trees, and plants where they might encounter other beings just like themselves. Fantastic!
Walking is breathing. Yes, imagine, that we are breathing all the time. Who would have thought? There are so many other important things we are engaged with. But walking can gently remind us that we are breathing beings. Homo Breathing. And, as it turns out, that is so interesting and fascinating.
To breathe deeply — so that not only we, but also our planet, could breathe. And she could walk on.
We think waiting is wasted time. Yet much of life is waiting. We wait to finish school. Then wait for a job, or a degree. Then wait for a wedding, children, a promotion. We wait for retirement, wait for our health to improve. Then wait for something else — something we don’t quite know.
Maybe we wait when our afterlife destiny is decided — hell or paradise. Perhaps waiting continues there too.
So, no reason to be impatient in a queue, or on a waiting list. There will always be more waiting ahead.
Certainty gives us a sense of safety. That is nice. But certainty is boring. Imagine reading a novel when you already know every page. Hm.
Uncertainty is different. It can produce anxiety. But it may also bring something that makes life interesting, intriguing. Surprise, discovery, and, finally, excitement and delight.
Imagine that you are writing a thrilling novel and, at the same time, you are the central character in it. Who is driving the plot — the writer or the character?
Imagine what can happen tomorrow. Do you know? Of course, you may know something, I believe. But still, uncertainty prevails.
I am pleased to begin a new chapter in my professional life as Diplomatic Practice Coordinator at the University of Oxford, following a competitive selection process.
In this role, I will contribute to the Foundations of Diplomacy programme at the Department for Continuing Education through teaching, curriculum development, and the design and delivery of experiential learning. This includes diplomatic simulations, practical exercises, and educational visits that help connect academic study with the realities of diplomatic practice.
The appointment brings together several strands of my career—as a diplomat, scholar, and educator—and provides an opportunity to work with colleagues and students from around the world while continuing my academic engagement with the University of World Economy and Diplomacy in Tashkent.
I look forward to contributing to Oxford’s long tradition of excellence in education and to further developing my research and teaching on diplomacy, negotiation, and strategic interaction.
Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey has revived interest in one of the oldest heroes of Western civilization. Viewers discuss the film’s scale, visual power, and interpretation of Homer’s epic. Watching it, however, I found myself reflecting on something else: what exactly made Odysseus extraordinary?
He is almost universally remembered as the cunning Odysseus. Yet I increasingly suspect that the resourceful Odysseus captures his character more accurately. The distinction matters.
Cunning is often associated with deception, clever tricks, or manipulation. Resourcefulness is something broader. It is a form of practical intelligence—the ability to understand a situation, adapt to changing circumstances, and discover workable solutions when conventional options have disappeared. Throughout the epic, this is precisely what Odysseus does.
Unable to defeat the Cyclops by force, he escapes through invention. Faced with the irresistible song of the Sirens, he refuses the false choice between surrender and avoidance. Instead, he creates a third solution: his companions block their ears while he is tied to the mast, allowing him to hear the song without destroying himself.
At its heart, resourcefulness is the ability to reject false dilemmas. This distinguishes Odysseus from many other epic heroes. Achilles represents physical excellence, courage, and glory in battle. Odysseus represents situational intelligence. His victories are rarely the product of superior strength. They emerge from perception, judgment, timing, adaptation, and imagination.
These qualities extend far beyond mythology. Diplomacy frequently rewards resourcefulness more than power. Negotiation often depends less on imposing one’s will than on discovering possibilities invisible to others. Leadership in uncertain environments rarely follows a manual; it requires interpreting situations for which no established solutions exist.
Perhaps this is one of the reasons why Odysseus still feels so modern. We live in an age where uncertainty has become the norm. Technological change, geopolitical instability, economic disruption, and social complexity constantly create situations for which no ready-made rules exist. In such circumstances, resourcefulness becomes one of the most valuable forms of intelligence.
Nolan’s film also reminds us that Odysseus is not simply a triumphant hero. He is a tragic figure. His intelligence never frees him completely from suffering. Nor is he an isolated individual shaping events entirely through his own will. His fate unfolds within a world governed by forces greater than himself—the gods of Greek mythology continually help, obstruct, reward, and punish him.
In that sense, Odysseus cannot be understood apart from the civilization that created him. He is a product of ancient Greece—its values, beliefs, and imagination. Yet he also transcends his own time. He has become one of humanity’s enduring archetypes: the person who confronts seemingly impossible situations not with superior force, but with ingenuity, judgment, and the determination to find a way forward.
That is precisely why every age rediscovers him differently. Every interpretation of Odysseus reflects the concerns of its own time. Some admire his courage. Others celebrate his cunning. Today, I suspect many of us are drawn to something else: his remarkable capacity to remain effective in a world of uncertainty.
Yet Nolan’s film also reminds us that resourcefulness is not the opposite of tragedy. Odysseus survives not because the world becomes less cruel, but because he continues to adapt to it. His intelligence does not spare him suffering; it enables him to endure it.
Perhaps this is why Odysseus remains so compelling. Shaped by the values of ancient Greece, the rivalries of the gods, and his own strengths and flaws, he continues to challenge every generation to reflect on the limits of human possibility—and on our capacity to discover a way forward when circumstances seem impossible.
Perhaps that is why Odysseus continues his journey—not only across the seas of Homer, but across the imagination of every new age.
Watching major football tournaments has made me think about something that extends far beyond sport. At the highest level, success is rarely produced by individual talent alone. It depends on infrastructure.
A world-class football team requires youth academies, experienced coaches, strong domestic leagues, sports science, financial resources, international exposure, and regular competition against elite opponents. The same is true in academia.
World-class research depends on much more than brilliant scholars. It requires libraries, seminars, conferences, research funding, doctoral training, international networks, rigorous criticism, access to journals, and institutions that make excellence routine rather than exceptional.
Of course, exceptional individuals sometimes emerge despite weak infrastructures. History offers many examples. Yet sustained excellence—whether in sport, science, or the arts—is rarely achieved in this way.
There is, however, an important nuance. Infrastructure does not have to be domestic. Many outstanding footballers come from countries with relatively weak football systems but reach their full potential after entering the academies and clubs of Europe’s leading leagues. The same is true in academia. Talented researchers may begin their careers in modest universities yet flourish after joining stronger international research environments. What matters is not only where talent originates, but whether there are pathways connecting talent to infrastructures capable of developing and recognizing it.
Infrastructure also performs another, less discussed function. It does not merely produce excellence; it regulates access to excellence. Strong infrastructures cultivate talent, but they also influence who is admitted, trusted, recognized, funded, and given opportunities to grow.
Perhaps this offers another perspective on the long-standing structure–agency debate. Agency helps explain exceptional individuals. Infrastructure helps explain why exceptional individuals emerge repeatedly in some environments and only rarely in others.
Alisher Faizullaev 