If these 7 abstract concepts don’t confuse you, you're more intelligent than 95% of the population

I’ve spent years as a financial analyst and even more years as a writer, and one thing’s stayed true across spreadsheets and stories: some ideas don’t sit neatly in a box.

They’re slippery. They bend back on themselves.

And yet, when you can hold them steady—at least long enough to make sense of them—you make better decisions, stay calmer under pressure, and navigate life with less drama.

That’s what this post is about: seven abstract concepts that most people find confusing. If these don’t throw you off, there’s a good chance you’re thinking at a level that puts you in rare company.

Let’s get into it.

1. Ambiguity

Do you panic when there’s no clear answer—or do you get curious?

Ambiguity is that foggy place between “yes” and “no,” where the data’s incomplete and the path forward is murky.

The less comfortable we are with it, the faster we grab at premature conclusions. I’ve done it too: back in my analyst days, I’d force a model to spit out certainty because a meeting was looming.

It felt good in the moment. It cost me clarity later.

Here’s the reframe: ambiguity isn’t the enemy, it’s information about the landscape. When I stop insisting on a clean line and instead ask, “What would I need to learn to feel confident?”, the fog becomes a map.

Intelligent thinkers don’t erase uncertainty; they price it in. They draft provisional plans, test assumptions, and update as reality offers new clues. That little word—“provisional”—is a superpower.

Try this: whenever you feel the itch to be sure, write two or three plausible scenarios and the trigger that would make you switch paths. You’ll feel calmer because you’ve built optionality into your next move.

2. Paradox

F. Scott Fitzgerald famously wrote that “the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.”

Paradox is what happens when both sides are a little bit right. Be confident and humble. Move fast and be patient. Protect your boundaries and be generous.

The unsophisticated move is to choose one pole and wage war on the other. The smarter move is to ask, “What’s the right ratio here and now?”

When I started trail running, I had to learn the paradox of pacing: go slow to go fast. If I sprint the first incline, I flame out. If I respect the hill, I finish strong. Paradox isn’t about splitting the difference; it’s about locating the context where each pole shines.

Your life will ask you to be two things at once. Let it.

3. Nonlinear change

Most growth doesn’t climb like a staircase; it curves like an S.

In nonlinear systems, small inputs can lead to outsized outcomes—or no visible outcomes for a while, then a sudden surge.

That’s why a person can practice a skill for months and feel stuck—until one day it clicks and everyone calls it “overnight.” It wasn’t. It was compounding beneath the surface.

If you understand nonlinearity, you don’t quit just because the graph looks flat. You design for tipping points: consistent reps, tight feedback loops, and a bias for small experiments that can scale quickly if they work.

A quick check-in I use: “Am I mistaking a quiet curve for failure?” If the answer is yes, I double down on process, not outcome.

Progress happens silently—until it doesn’t.

4. Emergence

Have you ever looked at a community garden and noticed how the whole behaves differently than any single plot?

That’s emergence: when simple parts interacting create properties that don’t exist in the parts themselves.

Teams have vibes. Cities have rhythms. Markets have moods. None of those live inside one person’s head; they emerge from the interactions.

The practical payoff of understanding emergence is humility: you stop pretending you can predict complex outcomes from isolated inputs.

Back when I worked in finance, we’d model a product’s “expected” result as if customers were independent actors. In the real world, behavior spreads. One small policy tweak could nudge a cluster of people who then nudge others.

Recognizing emergence makes you look for network effects, local incentives, and the rules of interaction—not just the ingredients.

Action step: before you change a system, sketch the actors and their most likely interactions. Ask, “What new behavior might emerge if these rules meet these incentives?” You won’t foresee everything, but you’ll miss less.

5. Systems thinking

“All models are wrong, but some are useful,” said statistician George Box.

Systems thinking starts there. It’s the habit of zooming out far enough to see how parts connect, then zooming back in to make wise local moves.

When I help a reader plan a career pivot, I don’t just list steps. We map the system: money, time, energy, family, health, curiosity.

Tweak one variable—say, switching to a fully remote role—and the others shift. Maybe you gain two hours of commute time but lose easy social contact.

The smart question isn’t “Is remote good or bad?” It’s “Given my system, how does this change ripple?”

Use two lenses: stocks (what accumulates, like savings, trust, or skill) and flows (what moves, like cash, communication, or practice).

If a result confuses you, there’s usually an invisible stock or a stuck flow driving it.

6. Opportunity cost

Opportunity cost is the value of the road you didn’t take. It’s invisible, which is why it’s so powerful.

We celebrate what we chose and forget what we gave up to choose it.

Here’s a simple test I use with clients (and myself): when you say yes to a project, name—out loud—the top two things you just said no to. If you can’t name them, you haven’t done the real math.

This is where counterfactual thinking (imagining alternative timelines) pays off. Not to obsess, but to compare.

If you’re considering grad school, don’t just weigh tuition against future salary. Weigh the three years of lost compounding, the network you’d have built by working, the experiences you’d skip, and the identity you’d gain.

Smart people don’t default to the most prestigious path; they choose the path with the best opportunity set for who they are becoming.

7. Probabilities, not certainties

Humans love a sure thing; reality deals in odds.

Understanding probabilities isn’t just for quants. It’s how you decide whether to switch careers, launch a side gig, or move cities.

The trick is to stop asking, “Will this work?” and start asking, “What’s the probability it works, what’s the payoff if it does, and what’s my downside if it doesn’t?”

I keep a loose, personal version of Bayesian thinking: start with a base rate (what happens for most people most of the time), then adjust up or down based on your evidence. For example, the base rate for sustaining a daily habit might be low.

But if you’ve kept a weekly practice for a year, have a friend doing it with you, and set up your environment, your odds improve.

Daniel Kahneman once observed, “Nothing in life is as important as you think it is while you are thinking about it.”

Probabilistic thinkers remember this. They discount the drama of the moment and keep sampling from reality. They’re less surprised, less rattled, and more decisive.

How to train your brain for these

You don’t have to be a philosopher—or a mathematician—to get good at abstract thinking. You just need reps. Here’s how I practice:

• Switch distances. When you’re stuck, zoom way in (“What’s the next smallest step?”), then zoom way out (“What system is this part of?”). Alternate until the picture sharpens.

• Name the unknowns. Literally list, “Things I don’t know yet,” and “Signals that would change my mind.” Treat curiosity like an operating system, not a hobby.

• Run small bets. Instead of debating, try a cheap, reversible experiment. Reality is the ultimate teacher.

• Narrate your paradox. Say, “I’m trying to be both X and Y here,” then pick the ratio for this context. You’ll feel your shoulders drop.

• Count the cost. For any yes, write the two nos. If the nos hurt more than the yes helps, renegotiate.

• Track base rates. Before you commit, ask, “What usually happens in situations like this?” Adjust your confidence from there.

A quick self-check

Which of these tripped you up?

• Did ambiguity make you itchy for answers?

• Did paradox feel like a cop-out?

• Did nonlinearity annoy your inner planner?

• Did emergence sound vague?

• Did systems thinking seem too big for daily life?

• Did opportunity cost feel abstract?

• Did probabilities make you long for guarantees?

If you found yourself nodding along instead of glazing over, congratulations—you’re already using the kind of mental models that help you outperform, without burning out.

And if some of these concepts did stretch you, that’s a good sign too. Stretch means growth. These ideas aren’t gatekeepers; they’re invitations.

Mastery isn’t memorizing definitions—it’s applying them on Tuesday afternoon when a colleague drops a problem in your lap and you’re tempted to react instead of reflect.

Final thoughts

When I’m out on a forest trail, the path ahead is rarely straight. There are roots to step over, switchbacks that don’t make sense until you reach the ridge, moments when the canopy goes dark and all you can see is five feet of dirt.

Abstract thinking feels like that sometimes. You won’t always know exactly where you are—but you’ll know how to move.

Hold two ideas at once. Expect curves. Watch for emergence. Think in systems. Count the unseen costs. Bet on probabilities. Stay friendly with ambiguity.

If those don’t confuse you, you’re not just “smart.” You’re equipped.

And that, more than a test score, is what will carry you through the messy, beautiful complexity of a real life.