It all starts the same way. An email — three days left for a discount, a course on a topic that seems to have grown right out of my head. Now it’s “Thinking Strategies,” before that “Modern Storytelling,” earlier something about data analysis. Sometimes it feels like they form my invisible inner university with a program no one ever finishes.

My fingers act on their own. Open the email, click the link, scroll through the course program from top to bottom — sometimes I go back to the start, even though I already know what I’ll pick. Then “buy.” At that moment my body lifts just a bit — no joy, no thrill, just a tiny feeling of growth. No fanfare. Two millimeters up against the gravity of everyday life.

It’s weird to watch this split inside me. Buying should be just the first step — now I have to learn, watch the videos… But the tab closes almost right away. Sometimes I even forget what login I made for the platform. At the moment of purchase, I already know: I won’t come back. Somehow that knowledge doesn’t stop me from buying another course a month or two later.

Actually, it’s easier the second time.

I catch myself in this cycle with a light laugh. Here we go again! Sometimes I see stats: turns out most courses are finished by less than ten percent of students. Most stay eternal beginners in their own lives.

There’s no tragedy here. More like a new ritual: virtual candles for your future self.

Seems more honest to admit — we don’t pay for knowledge or even skills. We pay for the right to maybe become someone better. The future version of ourselves — the one who makes it, with good habits and books neatly lined up in the browser’s “saved” section. Bought a running or Italian course? Already almost a runner or a speaker — even if just for a couple minutes after paying.

The brain takes it seriously, gives a small dose of pleasure in advance — good job! The path to the goal is supposedly started (even if only with money), so you can relax from the stress of change. Sometimes just declaring the intention gives the same emotional hit as actually doing it.

The more serious the mindset (“now I’m really going to study!”), the further the real start moves away.

More energy goes into getting ready — almost none left for moving forward.

I have a whole collection of these half-lived chances on accounts across platforms. Digital charms: I keep them like tickets to countries I’ll never visit (but the very chance warms me). Deleting feels wrong; admitting failure means losing the illusion of growth forever.

Sometimes I remember old stories about indulgences or candles for others’ health. You pay — and feel relief right now; maybe nothing changes tomorrow morning, but inside you’re already a different person, one and a half percent better than before.

At some point, a strange shift becomes clear: the online course industry works more like a market selling permission to be better someday than a real education system for everyone. People buy the promise of becoming a different person — and that instant effect lasts just long enough for the cycle to repeat in a couple months.

And then everything flips: if the joy of growth happens early and without much effort — did the growth happen at all?