This is the 88th edition of my newsletter, and I have a story that uniquely ties into that very number.

Back in 2007, the world-renowned—yet often controversial—mentalist Uri Geller visited the law firm where I worked. Famous for his claimed psychic abilities, he delivered a captivating motivational talk and performed some of his signature feats—most notably, the “spoon-bending” demonstration—for many of our lawyers and staff. Unfortunately, I was abroad that day and missed the show, leaving me disappointed and certain I’d lost a rare opportunity.

To my surprise, Uri returned to the office the very next day on personal matters. Because I was known around the firm for my interest in magic and conjuring, the partner in charge, invited me to his office where Uri was waiting. When I entered, Uri smiled and said, “Ah, Philippos, you’re the one who loves magic and missed yesterday’s performance.” I admitted that I was, indeed, that person. He then asked me to fetch a spoon from the kitchen.

At the time, I was well-versed in close-up magic and illusions, even capable of performing a spoon-bending trick myself. I was confident I could catch any sleight of hand. With a keen, practiced eye, I handed Uri the spoon and watched him closely.

To my amazement, as he gently rubbed the spoon’s neck, it began to bend—right before my eyes. His movements were relaxed and unhurried. I saw no deception, no secret moves. Yet there it was: an ordinary spoon, now undeniably bent. Despite my skepticism and experience, Uri Geller had fooled me completely.

But he wasn’t done. He then took a scrap of cardboard and a marker. Turning his back so he couldn’t see, he asked me to draw something—anything—on another piece of cardboard and cover it with my hand. I chose the number 8. After I concealed my drawing, Uri turned back, asked me to mentally project the image, and then made his own drawing. When he revealed it, he had produced an identical “8.” Placed side by side, they formed a perfect 88, identical in size and shape. I had no idea how he did it—it was pure magic.

You might say, “Well, he fooled you like he’s fooled millions of others.” That’s true. And if you had been there, I suspect you’d have been fooled as well.

But that’s not the point.

What does it mean to be fooled? To be fooled is to return to a state of childlike wonder, to acknowledge that there is still so much to learn. It’s a reminder that life is an unfolding mystery—an Ariadne’s thread gradually leading us away from the monstrous depths of our ignorance toward the ever-expanding light of our true understanding.

As a “foolish” amateur magician, my encounter with Geller rekindled my awe for the unknown and the brilliance of human ingenuity. It reminded me that the path to mastery—of any art, craft, or skill—is paved with moments of astonishment, ‘foolishness’, humility, and relearning. True growth often comes when we embrace the fact that, in many ways, we are always beginners.

So, dear readers, when was the last time you felt like a fool—in the best possible sense? When did you last stand before something or someone who reminded you how much more there is to discover?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Philippos