An Unexpected Round Trip

I promise you, this story is about AI.

This past Friday we had a torrential downpour in New York City.? For a city that never sleeps (or at least didn’t until it started pressing the snooze button in 2020), it’s amazing what a little bit of nature can do.

Like a good New Yorker, I did what any of us do in a rainstorm - put on a pair of waterproof shoes, a raincoat, and my huge stolen hotel umbrella that could take out a hundred tourists in a single block.

This is what we call resilience, folks.

At this point, I’ve figured out how to almost entirely avoid being above ground in a rainstorm.? Last summer, my daughter and I got caught in a flash flood during a concert and managed to cross lower Manhattan in a single subway station, no trains involved. ?

As I traipsed into my underground sanctuary, I passed through the Oculus, the Calatrava cathedral (aka a mall) that makes me feel like I’ve been born again every time visit the Apple Store to buy a new charger.? But today there were alarms going off and big strobe lights pulsing.

Now mind you, I’m on the grounds of the World Trade Center.? I lived through 9/11 in this city and you would think that some sort of trauma response would go off in my head.

But no.? I’m just looking around trying to figure out how to get myself on a subway train uptown because there is no way in hell I’m missing out on the Linked In Top Voices invitation to the HQ at the Empire State Building.? There’s also no way in hell I’m paying $100 for an Uber.

I navigate from platform to platform trying to game the system - which trains are running?? You need to keep your ear close to the ground to find out, and finally my guru arrives wearing an MTA badge and looking like she just filmed a shoot of Stranger Things (which is not out of the realm of possibility —it’s NYC).?

The oracle proclaims: “I spied with my little eyes a four and five….” at which point the crowd divides into the believers and the non-believers.? I am a believer. ?

And so it goes, I arrive on the platform we'd call the Green Line back in Boston. In true New York fashion, we do not speak of the color.? The doors open and there before me is the most glorious seat.? I slide in getting cozy with the stranger next to me and we lock eyes and smile.? We are the lucky ones. Every time I get on a subway, I make sure I’m in a car with my ride or die. ?

So, given that I lucked out on catching an uptown train, I decide not to push it with a transfer.? I took the express to Grand Central and yes, my friends…this is where the road less traveled revealed her mysteries.

I’m feeling on top of the world.? I’ve got Sara Barielles rocking out on my AirPods (which now only work for listening to music).

“How big your brave is?? Say, what you want to say and let the words fall out.? Honestly, I want to see you be brave.”

HELL YES.

I’m on my way to the big house of voice, under my big stolen umbrella, dodging big ass puddles and I turn to my right where I see her.

She is sitting there, in the middle of the median, wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a swim cap, and I’m thinking…

Man, I overdressed.

It takes me a NY minute to realize that she is not real.? She is a statue.? She is art.

And, she’s not alone.

After wiping out last week when I took a wet curb a little too fast, I’ve decided that I’m going to resist my j-walking tendency and actually stop at each traffic light.? And that’s when I start seeing the pattern.

This one is wearing a yellow raincoat, with her face proud to the sky feeling the raindrops fall down on her face.

Sara sings in my ear, “I want the water in my eyes.? I want to cry until the end of time.”

And I remember thirteen years ago being that girl in the raincoat, who all alone when her whole world was crashing down, took an elevator to the top of the Empire State Building, looked out upon this city and made a vow to herself that she would somehow, some way find her voice in the land of nine million.

It’s not lost on her that she’s on her way to be recognized as a top voice. ?

It’s hard not to believe in God when the stories just write themselves.

And so once again, I laugh out loud at life - at the way that chaos is turned into patterns and patterns turned into insights.

I laugh out loud at the fact that I’m on my way to an event where I’m being recognized for my social media presence, where I will fail to take a single picture of a real human that I can use on social media. ?

I laugh out loud at the fact that I’ve started writing the next newsletter in my head as I awkwardly hold my elephant sized umbrella while fumbling to take a one-handed picture.

And I’m sad when I get to the third statue of a woman resting her head on an inflatable life raft and it’s time to turn right to head inland towards the Empire State Building.

I was at a fundraiser a few weeks ago and arrived before my host to a sea of men in suits at the building formerly known as The Four Seasons and now simply called, “The Pool,” for the famous fountain at the center of the room. ?

I wormed my way through conversations in progress towards the bar, where I found a gentleman standing there alone. ?

Pining for the most banal conversation starter I could find I asked, “So what do you do?” to which he replied, “I own the Empire State Building.”

Bada bum.

He shared with me the fascinating stories of it’s real estate lore, the land having been originally owned by Columbia University, making it’s way to fund Cooper Union’s tuition-free arts school for a while, and then back into the hands of good old profit-making real estate moguls, including our favorite Voldemort whose name I shall not speak. As I said, NYC writes its own stories on the regular.

So finally, I arrive at my new friends’ fallacial palace (not a typo). Alas, I ascend only to the third floor, but I know it’s fancy because it’s in the kind of elevator where you just type in your number and it takes you to the floor.

And when I get there, the room is filled with both friends and strangers.? I see some people that I’ve known for all of a year.? I meet other travelers and I honestly can’t imagine a room where I’m more at home. ?

Just imagine a party where everyone is like three-drinks in friendly, but cold sober.? I meet Courtney Addy who introduces herself with photos on her phone of birthing a cow; Eugina Jordan who has just moved to South Carolina and has flown in for the event, but would at the drop of a hat rent a car and drive herself home in the dark alone during a hurricane; Miljana Nikodijevic , who brings us rose-flavored Turkish delights from Serbia and tells stories about her mother and cellophane; I bond with DANIELLE GUZMAN , who I admire as the “Grande Dame of Social,” another woman fearless enough to wear white in a rainstorm; and Talal Gedeon , who tells me he is Jordanian (which I assume means that he lives next door, until I find out that he actually lives in Jordan and I realize how small my real world has become)….and I haven’t even gotten to Melynda Kloc , who breaks my heart into a million pieces and mends it with gold in a five minute conversation about grieving.

Among this group, I find I have very little to say as I’m trying to soak up the small fraction of the billions of kernels of knowledge these folks drop effortlessly.

But I know what you are thinking....WTF does this have to do with AI?

And to be honest, I was kind of wondering myself until the panel portion of the presentation when the Linked In Collaborative Articles Dev Team took the stage. They graced the edges of the room like a scaffold holding up a sculpture under construction.

The speakers - Leah Shin , Cathy Liu and Devin Skolnick - talk tech as the rain-drenched statues posing on Park Avenue, unencumbered by the weather.

We talk a lot on this platform about “The Algo” as if it has a mind of its own. But as I looked around at the team behind it, I saw thoughtful, curious people making one decision at a time. They shared a vision for the future where AI helps humans collaborate, built on trust.

That's when LinkedIn Director of Engineering, Shweta Patira, crystallized it:

"The AI is just a canvas for you to tell your story."

THE END

P.S. Whatever you do, don't sign up for the presale of my book if you dislike meandering stories without clear implications. Temperature: Creativity in the Age of AI will most certainly will frustrate you. However, if you find joy in connecting threads between randomness and meaning, this book will captivate you. It explores how embracing rules paradoxically unlocks creativity. Within its pages, you'll discover my winding journey to humanize technology through tales of rainstorms, chance encounters, and the vibrant characters that bring ideas to life. So I implore you - do not wander into this book seeking straightforward tech insights. But if you dare break rules to reveal new perspectives, join me in following the unexpected breadcrumbs of serendipity - brought about by my accidental trip into the world of AI.

My book pre-sale begins today! If you are interested in joining my Launch Party on March 7, 2024 from wherever you are in the world, please consider purchasing a ticket, which comes with a book. It's been 13 years and one long accidental trip in the making.