I often wonder why I chose to exist in this modern world.

A highly intuitive, deeply artistic being, trying—sometimes desperately—to understand the human condition in an era defined by speed, productivity, and now artificial intelligence. As AI becomes more dominant in the workforce, I can feel something far larger moving beneath the surface. Not a technological shift, but a shift in what we value.

Historically, our worth has been measured through money, success, roles, hierarchy, and productivity. Those structures are dissolving. And while many celebrate the collapse of outdated systems, I find myself asking a quieter, more unsettling question:

What are we actually shifting toward?

Over the years, I’ve watched people slowly abandon themselves. Not dramatically—but subtly. They let go of their intuition, their capacity for critical reasoning, their creativity, their inner authority. I understand this deeply, because I’ve done it too. Self-abandonment often begins as survival—to fit in, to avoid ridicule, to not be seen as “too much,” “too strange,” or “crazy.” What starts as adaptation becomes erasure.

Now, we are at an all-time high of abandoning ourselves—only this time, it’s happening collectively.

With the increasing reliance on AI, I keep asking: What are we so willing to give up before we even know where we’re going next? Efficiency is seductive. Outsourcing feels like relief. Letting something else think, decide, generate, and optimize can feel easier than staying present. But relief can quickly become avoidance—avoidance of feeling, responsibility, and the inner work required to know who we are without roles or output defining us.

I moved more deeply into art because I could no longer bypass my own avoidance. Art does not allow numbness. It doesn’t let you hide behind logic or explanation. It asks for presence—or nothing at all. Through this immersion, something became painfully clear to me: humans are being asked—not by governments, not by laws, not by technology—but by their own consciousness to return to parts of themselves that have been abandoned for eons. This is not an external mandate. It is an internal reckoning.

AI does not scare me. No matter how sophisticated it becomes, no matter how much we try to program it, it can never be me. It will never feel awe ripple through the body. It will never experience grief cracking something open. It will never stand before a piece of art and feel itself remembered.

What does scare me is how rapidly our sense of worth is shifting—and how unprepared most of us are for that transition. I sense a looming void: a space where old definitions of value no longer apply, yet new ones have not been embodied. Many will get caught there—not because AI replaced them, but because they never reclaimed themselves.

This moment is not asking us to compete with machines. It is asking us to return to what was never meant to be outsourced: intuition, creativity, presence, discernment, embodied knowing. AI is not the threat. Human avoidance is. And the future will not be shaped by how advanced our technology becomes, but by whether we choose to come home to ourselves before we forget how.