Three of Me

I wake up sweating more often now. A low hum of anxiety, dulled at the edges by modern chemistry. There’s just so much to do.

I’ve been quiet these past few years—disappearing first into work, then into a kind of darkness. Social circles, nests built for the better part of a decade, grew cold. What started as overwork became something else entirely. Let’s call it explosive decompression.

If I sound vague, it’s because I don’t know how to describe it exactly. I was gone. And now I’m back. But not the same. Some of the mysteries I once thought impossible to crack—the mysteries of unrelenting momentum and ambitious work—are mysteries no longer. I’ve learned that what held me back for years wasn’t lack of skill or opportunity but something far stranger: a fear that I could. That I could do the things I once believed belonged only to others—those with years of training, experience, or talent. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like knowing you could learn to speak French fluently. You even know how: the tutor, the immersion, maybe a move to Paris. But the fear isn’t over the process. It’s the fear of becoming someone who simply speaks French perfectly. A fear of who you’d become. I can’t explain it better than that.

Qu’est-ce qui a changé? We’re living in the age of AI, and it’s changed everything. When I tell people what I’m up to, they react the same way:

Wow, that’s a lot!

And I respond.

Yeah, but there are three of me. A developer, a researcher, and this skin suit wandering around, bumping into conversations, eating, sleeping.

(I don't say that last bit) When I see the endless webinars, masterclasses, and panels about how AI will change the world, I shake my head in frustration.

You’re missing the point.

It’s already here. Ask it what you want to know. Wield it—not tomorrow, not once the perfect conditions are met. Not someone else. Not future you. Now you. Sometimes, I want to shake people awake.

Don’t you see? It’s right there.

But it’s not my place, I remind myself. They have to find their own way.

An epiphany instead: Data was never just the key. It’s the whole damn treasure chest. The only real challenge left is sorting the piles, so we can usher in this golden age of intelligence. And here we are, alive and responsible for that. Imagine recounting your part of this moment in history. What stands in our way? Practically? Basic human maintenance. Hydration. Bathroom breaks. And the apathy. Don't forget the apathy.

But one day soon, there really will be three of me. And this skin suit won’t be typing anymore. Somewhere, as an impulse of electricity through a neural network—an afterthought of silicone—you might find out what we’re up to.