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	<description>Running over sticks and stones</description>
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		<title>Why AI Keeps »Forgetting« Your Work—and How to Deal With It</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/running/why-ai-keeps-forgetting-your-work-and-how-to-deal-with-it/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Tue, 30 Jun 2026 08:58:46 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Coffee]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Running]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Technology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[AI]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Apps]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Collaboration]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=54007</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[Gone. Just gone. Two weeks of work. Gone to waste? Two minutes earlier I had been perfectly happy. The new feature worked on the first try. Exactly the way I’d described it. I clicked through the application one more time, just out of habit, and suddenly stopped. Two features that had been working flawlessly for weeks were gone. Not broken. Just gone. So I started digging: comparing files, tracing changes, restoring older versions from backups. Probably half an hour of extra work. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. And every time I found myself asking the same question: How can an AI delete something it should already know exists? The answer is surprisingly mundane. It also says a lot about what working with tools like ChatGPT or Claude is actually like. Most people probably imagine an AI working on a software project the way another developer would. It knows the current state of the code, adds new features, suggests improvements. It remembers what already exists, what decisions have been made, which mistakes have &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">54007</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>Algorithmic Monocultures: AI’s Overlooked Diversity Problem</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/algorithmic-monocultures-ais-overlooked-diversity-problem/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Fri, 05 Jun 2026 06:55:06 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Workplace]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[AI]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Algorithms]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hiring]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Organizational Psychology]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53984</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[Until recently, companies at least had to make the same mistakes independently. One organization might overvalue prestigious universities. Another might mistake confidence for competence. A third might quietly screen out unconventional careers. Their judgments were often flawed. But they were flawed in different ways. Now we are building systems that allow organizations to make the same mistake together. Much of the debate around AI asks whether machines can make better decisions than humans. Reasonable question. Possibly the wrong one. A more consequential question is what happens when large numbers of organizations begin relying on the same systems to decide on their behalf. A recent study of more than four million job applications across 156 employers points toward an answer. The researchers describe the emergence of an »algorithmic monoculture«: a situation in which organizations increasingly depend on the same vendors, the same models, and ultimately the same logic for evaluating candidates. The term shifts the focus. Suddenly the issue is not only whether a system is biased, but what happens when everyone uses it. From Bias &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">53984</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>We Are Entering the Age of Plausibility Overload</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/we-are-entering-the-age-of-plausibility-overload/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 28 May 2026 10:58:58 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Science]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[AI]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Plausibility]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Technology]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53979</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[We all knew AI would eventually generate fake citations. That was almost the boring part. The more interesting question is why so many of them passed through systems designed to evaluate knowledge in the first place. A recent study audited 111 million references across 2.5 million papers and preprints. Its estimate: nearly 147,000 hallucinated citations entered scientific literature in 2025 alone, many surviving peer review and later appearing in published journal articles. The numbers are striking. But that was not the part that stayed with me. The Weak Point What stayed with me was how little friction a plausible-looking citation can encounter once a system is already operating near capacity. Science has always depended partly on trust. Organizations do, too. Peer reviewers are overloaded, researchers publish under pressure, managers skim presentations between meetings. Very few people can independently verify the assumptions behind a market forecast, an AI roadmap or a strategy paper. So credibility often gets assessed indirectly: institutional reputation, internal alignment, familiar language, confidence. Large language models fit remarkably well into environments like these. &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">53979</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Most Dangerous Thing About AI Might Be How Much Effort It Still Feels Like</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/the-most-dangerous-thing-about-ai-might-be-how-much-effort-it-still-feels-like/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 13 May 2026 09:31:43 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Mental Health]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[AI]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Philosophy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Technology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Thinking]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Work]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53965</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[The first time I spent an entire afternoon working with AI, I closed my laptop with that strangely satisfying feeling of having done hard intellectual work. My brain felt cooked. I had compared models, refined prompts, rewritten outputs, tested workflows, chased better phrasing, discarded entire approaches. It felt intense. Dense. Productive. But later that evening, an uncomfortable thought appeared. What exactly had I been working so hard on? Not the actual text, at least not in the way I used to. Not the slow process of building an argument sentence by sentence, wrestling vague intuitions into something coherent, discovering what I actually think while writing. A large part of the effort had moved elsewhere. Into steering the machine. Recently I came across a clip of Cleo Abram talking about »time under tension« in weightlifting as a metaphor for intellectual growth. Her point was simple and powerful: muscles grow under resistance, and maybe thinking works the same way. Writing, editing, struggling with ideas, staying inside the tension of not yet knowing where a thought leads. That &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">53965</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>How I Ended Up Next to John Irving</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/running/how-i-ended-up-next-to-john-irving/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 22 Apr 2026 09:46:59 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Running]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Training]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Apps]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Literature]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Technology]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53957</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[A few years ago, I contributed an essay to a book about running. It was called Die Philosophie des Laufens (The Philosophie of Running) and published by Mairisch, a small independent press with excellent taste and the kind of literary courage that larger houses often like to claim for themselves. In January, Mairisch got in touch with me about something unexpected. Diogenes — one of the most established and respected publishers in the German-speaking world — wanted to include my essay in an anthology. The book would be called Lauf und davon — Geschichten vom Jogging (Run and Away — Stories of Jogging). Of course I said yes. It felt like one of those decisions you make instantly, happily, almost casually, without fully understanding what is actually happening. The Experience of Being Alive in a Running Body Only today did it really land. My contributor’s copy arrived in the mail, and suddenly the whole thing became real in the most physical, unmistakable way. There it was: my name, my text — Im Takt, aus dem &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">53957</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>He Was Done — I Still Had to Tell Him It Wasn’t Enough</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/he-was-done-i-still-had-to-tell-him-it-wasnt-enough/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 20 Apr 2026 08:53:11 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Workplace]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hyrox]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Leadership]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sport]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53951</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[His legs were shaking before he even went down into the next squat. He stood in front of me at the wall ball station with that look people get when they are no longer really deciding anything. They are just trying to keep the body moving for one more rep, then one more, then somehow another. He picked up the ball, dropped down, came back up, threw, caught it. I watched the movement and called it straight away: no rep. Not because he missed the target. Because he had not gone low enough. That was the hard part. It was not some obvious fail. Not a total collapse, not a messy rep, not something dramatic enough for anyone around us to notice. It was a matter of depth. A few degrees in the squat. A tiny gap between almost there and there. He nodded, barely, took the ball again, tried again. Same thing. Close, but not enough. No rep. I Had to Say No, and I Had to Keep Him Going By then his legs &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">53951</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>You’re Not Your Job. Fine. Now What?</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/youre-not-your-job-fine-now-what/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Tue, 14 Apr 2026 09:32:17 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Workplace]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Autonomy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Competence]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Job Crafting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Motivation]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reflection]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Relatedness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Self Determination]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53939</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[It usually happens in a very ordinary moment. Someone asks what you do. At dinner. On a train. Between two meetings. You answer almost automatically, but not quite. There is always that tiny pause before the sentence lands. »I’m a lawyer.« »I’m in health care.« »I’m a carpenter.« »I work in marketing.« It sounds like a small difference. It isn’t. Because in that moment, you are not just sharing information. You are revealing a relationship to your work, and maybe to yourself. Lately, I have been seeing more and more versions of the same argument: don’t say »I am« when it comes to work. Say »I work as.« The line is usually delivered as a small act of wisdom. A sign that someone has thought deeply about identity, freedom, and the danger of reducing a whole person to a title. And almost everyone seems ready to applaud. We hear a sentence like that and immediately assume reflection. Maturity. Self-determination. Emotional health. I’m not so sure. We Applaud the Sentence Before We Examine It Of course &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<item>
		<title>Some Things Need Tuning, Others Need Leaving</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/some-things-need-tuning-others-need-leaving/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 25 Mar 2026 11:01:39 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Coffee]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mental Health]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Decision-making]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Happiness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Resilience]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Workplace]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53928</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[There’s a certain kind of story the internet instantly falls for. You know the format: someone with just enough status to sound unquestionable, simplicity, a symbolic detail like a black coffee, a minimalist detail like a black coffee, and one sharp sentence delivered with enough detachment to pass for life philosophy: »I stopped adding sugar to things that were bitter.« It’s exactly the kind of line that spreads because it offers more than advice. It offers posture: standards, clarity, self-respect, no more pretending. Quotes like: »The most successful people don’t add sugar. They taste things as they are — and if it’s bitter, they stop drinking.« And to be fair, it works because it touches something real. People do spend a lot of time sweetening things that are not good for them. They stay in draining relationships, flattening jobs, and dynamics that quietly wear them down, and instead of naming the problem, they soften it with interpretation. They call it complicated, demanding, a phase, an opportunity to grow. In that sense, the quote names a &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">53928</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>In the Dark, Organizations See Eigengrau</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/in-the-dark-organizations-see-eigengrau/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 12 Mar 2026 07:31:41 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Workplace]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Communication]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Information]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Leadership]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Perception]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53904</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[Try this tonight. Turn off the lights, close the curtains, and wait until the room is as dark as it gets. Then keep your eyes open and look into the darkness. You might expect to see black — complete absence, the visual equivalent of silence. But that is not what happens. Instead, a faint grey appears. No shapes, no contours, just a dim and uniform field hovering in front of your eyes. In German there is a word for this phenomenon: Eigengrau, literally »intrinsic grey.« It describes the subtle brightness we perceive even when no light reaches the eye. Vision science explains why. Even in complete darkness the retina does not fall silent. Photoreceptors continue to fire occasionally, neurons remain active, and the brain interprets this background activity as a minimal level of brightness. What we perceive, in other words, is not the world but the baseline activity of our own perceptual system. We never see pure darkness. We see Eigengrau. Noise: perception always starts with a baseline One of the central insights of perceptual &#8230;]]></description>
		
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		<post-id xmlns="com-wordpress:feed-additions:1">53904</post-id>	</item>
		<item>
		<title>Free somebody</title>
		<link>https://trotzendorff.de/psychology/free-somebody/</link>
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		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Trotzendorff]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 09 Mar 2026 10:45:57 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Psychology]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Workplace]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Carreer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Freedom]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Learning]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://trotzendorff.de/?p=53898</guid>

					<description><![CDATA[You did everything right. You studied. You worked hard. You built the résumé people told you to build. Degree, internships, late nights, promotions. The quiet promise behind all of it was simple: if you put in the effort, you would eventually gain something that feels like freedom. More autonomy. More room to decide how to live. More control over your time. For a long time that story made sense. Work hard, move up, become free. But for many people today, that promise feels strangely hollow. The ladder is still there, but climbing it doesn’t necessarily lead to the place it once promised. Careers have become less predictable. Work has intensified. Security often feels temporary. You can follow the script perfectly and still end up wondering where exactly that promised freedom is supposed to appear. Which makes a sentence by Toni Morrison feel unexpectedly sharp: »I tell my students, ›When you get these jobs that you have been so brilliantly trained for, just remember that your real job is that if you are free, you need &#8230;]]></description>
		
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