At some point, we became a civilization of spectators.
We watch other people travel.
We watch other people cook.
We watch other people build companies.
We watch other people exercise.
We watch other people have sex.
We watch other people watch other people.
And then, apparently exhausted from all this activity, we lie in bed and scroll through videos of strangers organizing their refrigerators.
What the fuck happened to us?
We have somehow built the most powerful collection of tools in human history—and decided the highest use for them is watching a 23-year-old explain the proper way to butter a piece of toast.
Think about that.
You are walking around with a device in your pocket that gives you access to almost the entirety of human knowledge.
Every great book.
Every scientific discovery.
Every piece of music.
Every language.
Every business idea.
Every great thinker.
Every imaginable skill.
And increasingly, artificial intelligence that can help you understand, analyze, design, build, write, calculate, code, research, and create things that would have required entire teams of people only a few years ago.
We have essentially been handed fucking superpowers.
And what are we doing with them?
Scrolling.
Watching.
Reacting.
Liking.
Sharing.
Arguing with strangers.
And checking to see whether someone we haven't spoken to since high school enjoyed their omelet in Cabo.
Everything around us is designed to get us to consume.
Consume content.
Consume products.
Consume opinions.
Consume outrage.
Consume politics.
Consume entertainment.
Consume other people's lives.
Wake up.
Pick up the phone.
Someone tells you what happened overnight.
Someone tells you what you should be angry about.
Someone tells you what everyone is talking about.
Someone tells you what restaurant you should try.
Someone tells you what shoes you should buy.
Someone tells you what movie you should watch.
Someone tells you what stocks you should own.
Someone tells you what you should believe.
And now an algorithm quietly decides which version of reality you should see next.
Then we wonder why everyone seems to be thinking the same fucking thing.
This may be the greatest intellectual disease of our time.
Reaction has replaced thought.
Something happens and within 14 seconds everyone is expected to have an opinion.
Not a considered opinion.
Not an informed opinion.
Just an opinion.
Immediately.
Preferably an angry one.
We don't investigate anymore.
We react.
We don't question.
We react.
We don't contemplate.
We react.
We don't even finish reading the fucking headline.
We react.
And somewhere in Silicon Valley, a computer says:
Excellent. He is furious. Show him twelve more.
This is the part I think we are losing.
The willingness to ask:
Why?
Why do we do it this way?
Why does this company exist?
Why does this industry work like this?
Why can't this be better?
Why does everyone believe this?
Who decided this was normal?
What if they're wrong?
What if there is an entirely different way?
Most genuinely interesting things probably started with somebody looking at something everyone else accepted and saying:
This makes absolutely no fucking sense.
That person is my kind of person.
Because progress rarely comes from the person who understands the rules best.
It often comes from the person willing to ask why the rules exist in the first place.
This is where things get really interesting.
Artificial intelligence could become the greatest tool for human creativity ever invented.
Or it could become the greatest excuse mankind has ever invented to stop thinking.
The difference will be determined by us.
You can use AI to tell you what to think.
Or you can use AI to help you think bigger.
Those are profoundly different things.
One creates intellectual dependence.
The other creates intellectual leverage.
I don't want AI replacing my curiosity.
I want it pouring gasoline on it.
I want to ask crazier questions.
Explore ideas faster.
Challenge assumptions harder.
Understand things I never understood.
Build things I couldn't build before.
Take some ridiculous idea that has been sitting in the back of my brain for ten years and say:
Fuck it. Let's see if this can actually work.
That is extraordinary.
For the first time in history, almost anyone with curiosity, imagination, and determination can have something resembling a research department, strategy firm, engineering team, design studio, writing partner, and slightly psychotic brainstorming partner sitting on their phone.
And we're using it to write emails saying:
"Thank you for circling back."
Jesus Christ.
I don't think the next great divide will simply be between people who use AI and people who don't.
Almost everyone will use it.
The divide will be between people who use technology to consume more and people who use technology to create more.
Observers and builders.
Followers and questioners.
People waiting to see what happens next—
and people trying to make something happen next.
And creation doesn't mean you need to start a billion-dollar company.
Create a dinner.
Create a garden.
Create a painting.
Create a business.
Create music.
Create a ridiculous invention.
Create a tradition with your family.
Create a neighborhood gathering.
Write something.
Build something.
Fix something.
Teach somebody something.
Invite twelve people over and put their fucking phones in a basket.
Just participate in your own life.
This may be the strangest part of all.
We know our time here is limited.
Every single one of us knows how this story eventually ends.
Yet somehow we have allowed companies to build trillion-dollar businesses around helping us kill time.
Think about that phrase.
Killing time.
Time is the one thing you cannot manufacture.
You cannot buy more of it.
You cannot invest it and get twice as much back.
You cannot call customer service and ask for a refund.
And we're voluntarily killing it.
One scroll at a time.
One episode at a time.
One meaningless argument at a time.
One more hour watching somebody else live their life.
I don't want to kill time.
I want to use every fucking second of it.
I want to see things.
Taste things.
Build things.
Meet fascinating people.
Ask inappropriate questions.
Have long dinners.
Make mistakes.
Start companies.
Write stupid blogs.
Create things that may completely fail.
Laugh until my stomach hurts.
And occasionally look around and think:
I cannot believe we actually pulled this off.
Because someday the scrolling stops.
The notifications stop.
The emails stop.
Everything stops.
And when that day comes, I don't think any of us will wish we'd consumed more content.
We'll wish we'd created more memories.
More relationships.
More beauty.
More laughter.
More ideas.
More things that existed because we were here.
So stop spending your entire life watching everyone else live theirs.
Consume less.
React less.
Observe less.
Question more.
Think more.
Build more.
Love more.
Gather more.
Create more.
And every once in a while, put the fucking phone down.
There is an entire world outside the screen.
Go fuck with it.