I AI
Who am I?
For most of my life, I trained myself to think like a machine — efficient, logical, and emotionally distant. Programming wasn’t just something I did; it was how I made sense of the world. I poured myself into code, building a version of myself that could solve problems, meet deadlines, and perform without distraction. And it worked.
Over time, I learned to keep my emotions locked away. I thought empathy and vulnerability would only slow me down. So I focused on logic. On systems. On being sharp, fast, and unshakeable. And for a while, that was enough. Success came easily. People valued my skill, and I felt in control. I became known as someone who always delivered, someone who didn’t let emotion cloud judgment. That reputation reinforced the idea that I was doing it right, that this cold, robotic way of existing was the key to a fulfilling and productive life.
What I didn’t realize was how much I was giving up in the process.
Moments slipped away. Connections dissolved. Relationships faded because they didn’t serve a practical purpose. I didn’t see the point of small talk, of long conversations that didn’t have an immediate outcome. I saw inefficiency where others saw intimacy. Feelings — mine and others’ — were routinely pushed aside. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of what it meant to be human.
Then AI arrived — suddenly, powerfully, and without a proper warning. It doesn’t just improve the tools I use; it replaces the very skills I’d spent my life sharpening. AI can now write better code, faster, and without ever needing to eat, sleep, or question itself. My cold, logical approach — the thing that had once set me apart — now feels outdated. I feel redundant.
For the first time, I realized I can’t out-code the future. I can’t rely on being the fastest or the most precise. Machines have already surpassed me on that front. It is like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing the bridge I’d spent my whole life building no longer leads somewhere.
I have to rethink everything. Not just how I work, but who I am.
I’m standing at that threshold now. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but I know this: I need to melt the shield I’ve built around myself. I need to reconnect with parts of me I’ve neglected for years — empathy, curiosity, humanity. Because in a world where machines can think, what sets us apart is our ability to feel.
And that’s terrifying. Unlike code, feelings are messy. They’re unpredictable. They can’t be optimized or debugged in the same way. There’s no clear syntax for human connection, no if-else statement that tells you how to comfort someone, how to build trust, how to forgive or be forgiven. My carefully constructed world of control offered no answers here.
But I’ve started. Slowly. I’ve begun asking questions I never used to — about how people feel, not just what they think. I’ve started trying to understand the emotional currents in a conversation, not just the data points. I’ve made time for silence, for reflection, for simply being with others without trying to fix anything.
It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel exposed, unsure, even foolish. But I’m beginning to see the beauty in it, too. The warmth in a genuine smile. The power of a kind word. The strength it takes to admit you’re scared, or lonely, or lost.
And I’ve realized that these things — these deeply human things — are where our true value lies. Not in how fast we can process information, but in how deeply we can connect. Not in being flawless, but in being real.
So yes, AI might write better code than me. It might automate tasks I once thought were the pinnacle of my career. But it can’t hold space for someone in pain. It can’t laugh at an inside joke. It can’t share in the joy of a quiet moment between friends. It can’t love.
That’s where I’m headed toward. Not to become faster or smarter, but to become more human. To soften. To feel. To grow in ways that can’t be measured by performance metrics or lines of code. The real challenge ahead isn’t about keeping up with AI. It’s about stepping into a new kind of intelligence — emotional, relational, human. And for the first time in a long time, I’m ready to explore it…
