Why I Started Collecting Business Cards Again
I recently found an image online, stamped in bold, glaring red letters over a blurry, chaotic crowd of faceless people moving in every direction. It read: "CAN'T RUSH GREATNESS". I sat there looking at that image, and then I looked at the current, hyper-accelerated state of the world, and I could not help but laugh out loud at the absolute absurdity of our timeline. We are currently sprinting at breakneck speed toward a future where we are entirely obsolete.
And for what?
Let me be entirely clear upfront: artificial intelligence can be absolutely magnificent. I benefit from it every single day, and in many ways, I genuinely love it. It is a brilliant, terrifyingly capable tool that accelerates our ideas, expands our creative boundaries, and acts as a massive lever for human potential. But as we stand on the precipice of this new era, we have to pause, step out of the relentless tech-bro hype cycle, and ask ourselves a very serious, deeply unglamorous question: at what cost?
The System That Doesn't Need Us
We are actively, enthusiastically building a system that does not actually need us to function. We are approaching a reality where robots can fly themselves across the globe, mine their own rare-earth minerals, manufacture their own microchips, and cool their own massive data centers.
Our society is about to go through a massive, unprecedented shock for absolutely no reason at all. Why? Ask yourself this every single day. Why are we doing this? Most of us did not ask for this. Most of us do not want a frictionless, automated existence. Yet, an overwhelming majority of people cannot even begin to anticipate the avalanche that is coming, and to our own demise, many simply do not care.
Think about the kids growing up right now with massive, world-shifting dreams. Think about the middle class, or the people who are naturally excluded from the most lucrative, highly insulated opportunities in the tech sector. If we build a world entirely predicated on speed, surveillance, and automated efficiency, we are actively deciding to leave them behind. We do not need to find faster ways to make ourselves irrelevant, and we certainly do not need to invent new ways to culturally and economically starve the middle class.
If we become completely obsolete in the systems we have built, how do we achieve greatness? How do we find purpose? You cannot automate a legacy, and you certainly cannot optimize a soul.
Outsourcing the Human Experience
We are being sold a vision of the future where we are told we need an AI "agent" to book our dinner reservations because we are apparently too crippled by our own brain-rot devices to simply call a restaurant or speak to a human host. We are outsourcing the absolute most basic, beautiful frictions of human life in the name of "efficiency."
But the friction is the entire point. The awkward pause on the phone, the serendipity of walking into a room, the shared glance with a stranger, the physical effort of navigating a city—that is the actual texture of reality. When we automate away the effort, we automate away the experience. We are trading the rich, chaotic tapestry of human existence for a sterilized, algorithmic waiting room.
The Luxury of the Analog
At the end of the day, when you strip away the silicon, the data centers, and the relentless pressure to constantly produce, human beings are remarkably simple creatures. We need safe shelter. We need incredibly good food. And we need deep, resonant, undeniable connection. That is the actual baseline for a truly great life.
Living beautifully is not just about fulfilling our basic survival needs through a screen; it is about engaging with the physical world in a way that makes us feel alive.
Recently, as an act of quiet, joyful rebellion against this impending obsolescence, I started doing something completely archaic: I just started walking around New York City.
No Yelp reviews. No algorithmically generated itineraries. No AI concierges telling me what I am statistically most likely to enjoy based on my purchasing history. I rely entirely on my own two feet and my own unmediated taste.
If I walk past a restaurant and the lighting looks incredibly chic, and the room is buzzing with that unmistakable New York energy, I just walk through the front door. I ask the host for a physical menu. I stand there, take in the shadows, listen to the clinking of the martini glasses, and actually feel the scene. I use my own human intuition to decide if it is a place I want to be (PS: <-WHAT A CONCEPT LOL). And if I love the vibe, I do not bookmark it on an app. I take a physical business card from the front desk, slide it into my pocket, and promise myself I will come back.
Proceeding with Fabulous Caution
We do not need a machine to tell us how to live, how to love, or what constitutes a meaningful afternoon. So, proceed into this new era with fabulous, extreme caution. Cling fiercely to your analog habits. Talk to strangers on the street. Cultivate your own un-algorithmic taste. Gatekeep your peace.
Let the machines mine their own minerals. Let them run their sterile data centers and calculate the fastest routes. They will never, ever know the sheer, unmatched thrill of wandering into a dimly lit cocktail bar on a Tuesday night just to see what happens. They can have the efficiency. We will keep the magic.
After all, you can't rush greatness.