Every few decades, we’re lucky enough to witness something that doesn’t just change life—it completely redefines it. And right now, we’re living inside one of those moments.
I used to think change was something you chose. You’d decide to take a different path, quit a job, stop answering someone’s messages. But what we’re going through now… this isn’t change. It’s a full-on rupture.
It’s not just about artificial intelligence or technology. It’s the kind of transformation where everything we once thought was permanent starts to seem temporary. Where our lifelong habits feel like museum pieces.
I’ve heard all the arguments—the fears, the doubts, the midnight theories whispered between friends pretending to be fascinated while quietly holding fear. Some people say they’ll never use AI. That they prefer pen and paper. That they’d rather call than type. Resisting is normal. It’s part of being human.
But resistance won’t stop what’s already in motion.
The thing is: we’ve all been preparing for this, even if we didn’t realize it. Ten years of videos about trauma, attachment styles, narcissism, burnout, communication, boundaries. Without knowing it, we’ve been rewiring the way we think for a time when surviving would rely less on doing and more on understanding. On knowing how to be with ourselves and with others.
That time is now.
What scares us isn’t AI. What scares us is the speed. That feeling that we’re not driving this train, just trying not to fall off.
But if you zoom out, you’ll see—it’s not the first time. There was a moment when people said they’d never get into a car. That they’d never trust a plane. And now we order coffee from our phones and complain if it takes more than four minutes. Change always feels unnatural… until it becomes the norm.
We’re not just learning new tools—we’re transforming. We’re becoming people who expect answers in seconds. Who create faster than they ever imagined. Who build with the mind, not just with the hands.
And at the same time, something beautiful is happening to me.
AI is giving me back my time. The hours I used to lose to repetitive tasks—now they’re mine. And I use them to think. To imagine. To feel curiosity. I haven’t felt this creative in years.
I’m also noticing something strange: I value my offline time more than ever. When I’m not connected, when I’m just filing my nails or watching the sky change colors, it feels different. Like I’m reclaiming something that used to happen on its own.
I don’t know where this is all heading. But for now, I’m not afraid of what’s coming.
What I do fear is becoming so used to fear… that we forget to look around and say, “Wait a minute. What could we actually build here?”
This technology is growing faster than anything we’ve seen. Some will use it as a shortcut. Others to heal. Others to harm. It’s always been that way. I can’t control it all—but I do feel responsible for staying awake.
Not scared. Just awake.
Because now, more than ever, it’s my decision what I want to automate. What’s worth keeping messy. What I want to hold close. What’s worth doing slowly, even if I could do it faster.
No tool—no matter how powerful—has yet been able to decide how I live. That still belongs to me.
What scares people isn’t AI. What scares them is the speed. The feeling that we’re not driving this train—we’re just trying to hang on.
But if you zoom out, this isn’t the first time. People once said they’d never get into cars. That they’d never trust a plane. Now we order coffee from our phones and complain if it takes more than four minutes. Change always feels unnatural until it becomes the new normal.
We’re not just learning new tools—we’re becoming something else. We’re becoming people who expect answers in seconds. Who create faster than we used to think. Who can build things with our minds instead of our hands.
And at the same time, something beautiful is happening.
AI is giving me back my time. The hours I used to lose to logistics and admin and repetitive nonsense—those hours are now mine. And I’m using them to wonder. To imagine. To think. I haven’t felt this creative in years.
I’m also noticing something strange: I value my disconnected time more than ever. When I’m not online, when I’m just cooking or watching the sky change colors, it feels different. Like I’m reclaiming something that used to be automatic.
I don’t know where this is going. I won’t pretend to have the answers. But I’m not afraid of what’s coming.
What I am afraid of is getting so used to being afraid that we forget to look around and say, “Wait. What can we actually build here?”
This technology is growing faster than anything we’ve ever seen. Some will use it for shortcuts. Some will use it to heal. Some will use it to harm. That’s how it’s always been.
But if you’re reading this, you’re part of the group that’s paying attention.
And that matters.
Because if we’re going to live through a revolution—one that doesn’t just change what we do, but who we are—we have a responsibility to stay awake.
Not panicked. Just awake.
Because right now, more than ever, being human is about choosing what not to automate.
What to keep messy. What to hold close. What to do slowly, even if we could do it faster. No tool—no matter how powerful—can decide that for us. That’s still ours.