What do we do when AI can cobble together in seconds essays that take us hours (or days) to write – not even counting years of practice?
Maybe it just raises the bar for us – requiring is to make new work that continues to stand out from AI-generated content.
As things stand, that’s still possible.
But what happens when the bar is set so high that our human brains can’t jump over it anymore, even with a lifetime of practice?
Make way for the people, projects, and things you want to stay.
Life goes fast enough already without you pressuring it.
No rush. Less haste. More space.
Before I learned not to listen
I would stand
seemingly still
but secretly swaying
swallowed up by a willow tree
and its play with the windBefore I learned not to listen
I would hold my head against the rind
reach
reconnect with an old friend
the way it has always felt best
cheek pressed to chestBefore I learned not to listen
a breeze in the leaves
rustling ruminating
would sound like raindrops in my ears
making my eyes answer
with a torrent of tearsBefore I learned not to listen
a rolling thunder
thumping like a beating heart
would rumble from my cheek to my ear
replacing my fear
with a memory I used to held dear
we were never really apartBefore I learned not to listen
before the lust for language
reduced what I could see
and sense within
I would allow the whispers of the wordless world
speak to me like kinBefore I learned not to listen
Lukas Van Vyve
I would accept
that once upon a time
I remembered your name
and once upon a time we both knew
we were one and all the same
I guess all I really want to say today is:
There’s something you’re doing great at.
There always is.
Can you see it?
I basically write the same song over and over, but they’re just verses of this one really long one. I’m trying to figure it out.
The Tallest Man on Earth
I write every day so I start to understand what I really want to say.
I don’t usually get it right on the first try; maybe I’m not even getting close after 100 iterations.
And that’s fine.
There probably won’t be one post that captures it all.
Maybe understanding emerges from whole of the 100 iterations instead?
Almost broke the chain today.
Then I remembered:
“We must all suffer from one of two pains: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret. The difference is discipline weighs ounces while regret weighs tons.”
Jim Rohn
Nothing builds more trust than daily practice, back to back.
Today, remembering that is more than enough.
I’m back on track.
Trying to become good fast makes you impatient. And impatience may well stop you from ever becoming good in the first place.
Because the only way to become good is by understanding that in today’s practice session, you likely won’t be perfect anyway.
That you likely won’t write your most insightful words.
That you likely won’t run an all-time best.
That you’ll likely spend a large part of your yoga session stumbling and losing balance.
When you go into your practice session with that mindset…
Suddenly it makes sense to focus hard on getting that one sentence right.
Now it makes sense to focus on rhythmic breathing while running instead of pushing for a better time.
Now it makes sense to focus on a tiny part of your body during an entire yoga session to train your awareness instead of trying to chase poses because “they look professional.”
Even if there is not much time to “become good,” it still makes sense to assume there is time.
Because that gives you the freedom to focus on the small adjustments that prepare you for when the time comes, and you truly need to perform.
Since I’m always practicing anyway, I don’t have to be good at this today.
