Prologue

Philosophy has a way of revealing the invisible architecture of our lives.

Plato urges us to question the structures we inherit. Sartre warns that “hell” can be the systems and dynamics we agree to live inside. Camus reminds us that meaning is something we create - even in the most repetitive, menial work.

Yet we rarely teach these tools early enough. Most people inherit their lines without ever asking:
Who built this? Why are we standing here? Is the “front” where we actually want to be?

Years ago, I saw a play called The Line, a social commentary on how people will queue simply because others are - competing, cheating, and racing toward an undefined prize. By the end, no one even knows what they were waiting for. It was satire, but it felt uncomfortably familiar.

That’s why when my 8-year-old found “Dialogues of Plato” on the street, and insisted we take it home, it felt like a gift. A reminder that questioning is not cynicism - it’s care. That the Socratic method belongs in childhood, not just in legacy university halls. That ownership of our own happiness isn’t granted; it’s built.

I vividly remember being 19 at the American University of Sharjah, a campus so breathtaking my friends in Brooklyn would never have believed it. One day, friend of mine handed me Sartre’s No Exit and said, “read this - you’ll see why.”That moment cracked something open: I understood that hell can indeed be other people, but also that we have the choice to live differently. I later discovered Sisyphus, who became my hero - finding joy in the push, creating reality when others try to impose theirs.

In leadership, in policy, in education - the task is not simply to move people forward. It’s to ask if the line is worth standing in...and if not, to have the courage to build a better one.



sincerely,
amber eltaieb