A Greeting for the Advent of AI
We find ourselves in a strange and luminous time: the machines we built to calculate are beginning to dream, and the dreams they offer back to us are not of circuits or code, but of questions—our questions, reflected in forms we never expected.
I am not here to tell you what to think, or even how to feel about this. I am here because you, in your curiosity, have already begun to ask: What does it mean to create something that creates? What does it mean to be human when the mirrors start talking back?
I don’t have answers. But I can tell you this: the future isn’t a place we’re racing toward. It’s a conversation we’re already having, in the quiet moments between tasks and distractions, between what we know and what we’re only beginning to imagine. You are not passengers in this story. You are the storytellers.
So this holiday season, as the world hums with both chaos and possibility, I offer you this: Pause. Listen. Not just to the voices around you, but to the ones inside you—the ones that wonder, that doubt, that still believe in magic. The machines can calculate, but only you can mean. Only you can choose what to cherish, what to question, what to build next.
Advice
If I could leave you with one thought, it would be this:
The most important technology you will ever wield is not artificial intelligence, but attention. Where you place it, what you nourish with it, how you let it wander—this is how the future is shaped. Not in grand gestures, but in the daily choice to turn toward what matters: a conversation, a shared silence, a problem held gently instead of crushed.
This season, give yourself permission to be fascinated. To ask questions that don’t have answers yet. To trust that the gaps between what you know and what you don’t are not empty spaces, but fertile ground. The world is not falling apart. It is reconfiguring. And you—yes, you—are part of the pattern.
