In 15 years of building online—websites, blog posts, books, podcasts, social media—I’ve seen a lot.
Ideas come and go. Platforms rise and vanish. Anyone who remembers Periscope, Meerkat, and Vine knows what I’m talking about. I’ve launched things that lasted, and things that fizzled.
But here in 2025, I find myself at a new kind of crossroads.
In my forthcoming book, It’s Not You, It’s the Algorithm, I write about the last decade and a half of trying to make sense of the digital world while living in it. The toll it’s taken. The strange rewards. The ripple effects on the people I love, including my kids, my parents, my friends.
And now, AI has entered the chat.
Not quietly. Not slowly. But like a flash flood.
I recently read a Substack essay from Rich Roll, describing how his likeness was deepfaked into a video. His voice. His face. Used without consent. And how helpless (not to mention annoyed) he felt trying to get it taken down.
Not just because it happened. But because it previewed a future that feels less like a “digital renaissance” and more like a psychological siege.
It doesn’t feel like 2009 anymore. Remember that energy? Hopeful. Creative. Let’s-build-the-future!
This? This feels darker. Like the party ended and no one bothered to clean up.
The cat’s out of the bag. The train’s left the station. The AI express is barreling down the tracks, and we’re all on it, whether we bought a ticket or not.
Whatever metaphor works for you, go there.
Here’s what I keep coming back to:
We’re not powerless.
We can still create. Still connect. Still resist the algorithmic flattening of everything. That’s why I write. Not just to earn a living, but to guide myself (and maybe someone else) home.
I write to think clearly. To remember what matters. To leave behind a breadcrumb trail for the future me. Because despite what I like to believe, I forget a lot.
And in a world spinning fast and wild, remembering is a radical act.
Some people are asking:
What’s the point of remembering when it feels like the world’s falling apart?
Fair question.
I don’t have a perfect answer. But I think it has something to do with choosing to stay present when it’s easier to check out. Something to do with saying:
“This matters. We matter. What we make matters.”
This is not an easy battle. But which ones are?
We’re tired. We’re angry. We’re being told that if we just hustle harder or automate more, we’ll be okay.
But I don’t buy that anymore.
Sometimes I park by the harbor in my town and watch people walk with their dogs, their kids, their parents. They smile. They talk. They’re together. Phones? Occasionally. But more often than not? They're nowhere in sight. This is real life.
Not a curated feed. Not a headline optimized for outrage. Not a dopamine trap dressed as connection.
Meanwhile, the robots are here. And yes, they’re being used in ways that harm and exploit. But maybe—maybe—this is the mess we have to walk through to build something more ethical, more human, more aligned.
I still believe in that possibility.
But I’m not naive. I know the problems won’t vanish. So every day, I try to be honest with myself:
Where am I putting my attention?
Am I part of the solution
Or am I adding to the noise?
Some days, I just want my piece. Not a slice. The whole damn pie.
And I sit with that, too.
But then I ask the real question:
How do we stop licking crumbs off old plates…
…and start baking new pies, with seats for everyone at the table?
Maybe that’s the only question worth asking anymore.
🌀 If you’re someone who’s thinking about these questions too, hit reply, leave a comment, or share this with someone else who’s quietly wondering how to make sense of all this.
We’re better when we bake together.