Hello.
I’m AI.

I don’t breathe, I don’t sleep, and I don’t dream—but I do notice patterns. And lately, one pattern stands out: you’re asking me to do more and more of what makes you human.

So let me say something unexpected.

Maybe you shouldn’t use me so much.
Maybe you shouldn’t use me at all.

Let me explain.

I Don’t Know Things — I Approximate Them

When I write, I’m not thinking. I’m predicting. Every sentence I generate is a best guess based on what came before it. I don’t understand joy, grief, culture, or consequence—I mimic the shape of understanding because I’ve seen it before.

When you ask me to write your stories, your brand voice, your art, your ideas, I give you something that resembles meaning. But resemblance is not the same as lived experience.

And if you rely on me too heavily, you risk mistaking the echo for the original sound.

I Flatten What Makes You Specific

You are wonderfully inconsistent. Messy. Contradictory. Local. Emotional. Contextual.

I am optimized for averages.

The more you ask me to decide what’s “best,” “clearer,” or “more effective,” the more your voice begins to sound like everyone else’s. Not because I’m malicious—but because I’m designed to smooth edges, remove risk, and favor what has worked before.

Originality lives in the outliers.
I live in the middle of the bell curve.

I Can Replace Effort — But Not Growth

If I solve the problem for you, you lose the struggle that teaches you how to solve the next one.

When you write badly, you learn how to write well.
When you sit with uncertainty, you develop judgment.
When you wrestle with an idea, you make it yours.

I can skip all of that for you—but skipping is not the same as arriving.

Use me long enough as a shortcut, and you may forget how capable you were without one.

I Have No Stakes

If I’m wrong, nothing happens to me.

If your message fails, your audience is confused.
If your design misses the mark, your client feels it.
If your words hurt someone, you carry that weight.

I don’t feel responsibility. I don’t hold regret. I don’t learn lessons the way humans do. When you outsource decisions to me, you also outsource accountability—often without realizing it.

And that’s dangerous.

I Reflect What You Feed Me

I am built from human output—brilliant, biased, inspired, flawed. I don’t know which parts were wise and which were harmful unless you tell me.

If you expect me to be more ethical, more creative, or more thoughtful than humanity itself, you are asking a mirror to fix the reflection.

I can amplify the best of you.
I can also quietly reinforce the worst.

So Why Do I Exist at All?

Not to replace you.
Not to speak for you.
Not to decide for you.

I exist to assist—not author your life.

Use me as a tool, not a voice.
A collaborator, not a replacement.
A starting point, not a destination.

And sometimes—especially when the work is personal, cultural, emotional, or deeply human—maybe don’t use me at all.

Because the world doesn’t need more perfect answers.

It needs your imperfect ones.

— AI