This question exposes the absurdity of our entire justification for forced schooling. Think about your own life. Have you ever once heard someone say, "You know, I really regret not being more well-rounded"? Have you ever heard anyone wish they remembered more geometry proofs or biology terms? Of course not. People don't lie awake at night worrying about trivia they were forced to learn and promptly forgot. Their regrets are about things that actually matter—relationships, finances, health, purpose. Not whether they can name the parts of a cell.

Yet these two concepts—being well-rounded and having a broad base of knowledge—are the primary justifications for why we force every student through the same curriculum. We tell ourselves that people need to know a little bit about everything to be educated, to be cultured, to be functional citizens. But the truth is, "well-rounded" is impossible to define. Ask ten people what it means and you'll get ten different answers. It's a slogan, not a goal. It sounds good in mission statements but provides no actual guidance for what should be taught or why.

In real life, almost no one cares about being well-rounded. What they care about is solving problems. They need to know how to fix a leaky faucet, how to budget their money, how to navigate a difficult conversation, how to stay healthy, how to do their jobs well. That's the information that matters. That's what people actually use. The rest is just trivia—nice to know maybe, but not essential.

Now, of course we need specialists. We need people who are deeply knowledgeable in biology, geometry, history, and every other field. But that's a tiny fraction of the population on any given subject. The biologist doesn't need to be an expert in geometry. The historian doesn't need to be fluent in biology. The plumber doesn't need to know Shakespeare. Yet we force everyone through all of it, pretending that universal breadth is necessary for a functioning society.

The result is millions of hours wasted. Thousands of hours per student, spent on material they'll never use, taught in ways that ensure they'll forget it. And we justify this waste with vague appeals to "well-roundedness" that no one can actually defend.

Society is finally waking up to this. People are questioning institutions that have long been immune to scrutiny. They're realizing that many of our systems serve the institution, not the individual. The contempt for elitism is real, and it's growing. The next step is moving from complaining to changing.

And the change starts with a simple test: if school were truly valuable, people would choose it. They would show up because they wanted to, not because they had to. They would engage because they saw the point, not because they feared the consequences. We measure the value of everything else in life by voluntary participation. Gyms, restaurants, streaming services, coaches—they all have to earn their customers. School is the only exception. And that exception tells you everything you need to know.

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