Josh Allred's Blog

Social media, political ideology, COVID, the erosion of institutions, and the degradation of communities have all led us to distress each other. Artificial intelligence pushes us further apart—if we allow it. It’s easy to assume a well-written piece must have been AI-generated. The same goes for any piece of art, a well-crafted email, or a presentation that knocks your socks off. The thing is, we don’t ask the CFO if their work is authentic when they show up with great results:

Did you do this work?

Did you really?

What do you mean you used Excel?

What do you mean you didn’t do the formulas by hand?

Wait, you used a calculator?

It’s a slippery slope to assume that because the artist used the tools available, they didn’t do great work. And when the world is one giant sandbox, don’t be upset how someone uses it.

AI is great at auto completing tasks. And can produce a lot of junk too. Soon it’ll be just mediocre. Exceptional work, however, still needs a curator and good taste.

We can choose a different path. And start by assuming people want to do good work.

Every baker has a favorite recipe. And while we need to be passionate about what we are trying to make, we can’t ignore the infrastructure needed for great things to happen.

The difference between what content we consume today and just two years ago—we have to stop and ask, “Is this authentic? Is it real?” We have to use discernment now more than ever, which is difficult when everything is coming at us from everywhere.

The alternative is to slow the flow. Of course, you can’t control who is going to put out more content. But you can control what you choose to read, when, where, how, and so forth. That’s the discipline.

Staying informed is easy. Finding the truth is hard.

We often think it’s the features we don’t want. But what’s more interesting is the features we need to add to our lives—the guardrails in particular. Minimalism is difficult to achieve. Not because we don’t know how. It’s because the incentives in our culture drive us toward more, more, more!

Originally coined by Corey Doctorow. It’s the downward spiral of the lock-in phenomenon: users simultaneously hate the product they can’t seem to quit. Meanwhile, the platform is incentivized to make money by any means necessary. Hate speech. Violence. Seeking the attention of kids. Manipulation. A race to the bottom for your attention.

Lock-in makes switching costly—in time, money, and emotional capacity. It’s hard to say goodbye.

We have ti accept, the internet is not what it used to be. We think we don’t pay for products like Instagram or Facebook. But we pay with our lives as our communities collapse.

With the rise of AI, when will these platforms become untenable? The answer is actually yesterday. Perhaps, you can’t just quit it yet. But at the very least, try de-shitting your phone if you haven’t yet. Turn off notifications. Delete the apps that mine your attention. Take back your life.

HT Ezra Klein, Cory Doctorow, and Tim Wu.

There’s so much time spent on maintaining ourselves that we get so little to just be.

We have to sleep for 8 hours. Shower and shave. Eat every day. Drink water every few hours. Use the bathroom. Brush our teeth. Work out. Don’t forget the cooking and the cleaning. And so on. Then we spend more time commuting with no one to talk to. Work 8+ hours. And then we are, understandably, tired.

And what is left isn’t very much after achieving what’s optimal for a human to thrive?

This is why we can’t measure living by existing. We exist, but sticking ourselves in a cryo chamber isn’t much of a life.

We measure life by how we live.

Physical bruises are a reminder that we could get hurt. A bruise can teach us something about our limits. What we can and what we cannot do. Rarely do we consider the value of these lessons. It turns out our ego can get bruised too. And there is certainly value in getting a bruise early in life. The consequences down the road can be so much more catastrophic.

Sometimes we lack the energy or the will. Regardless, we can become complacent in our reasons. Saying we already know how this story will end. In fact, we like to skip to the end. Assuming nothing new will happen.

But that is precisely the problem with our culture today. We don’t have a crystal ball. We don’t let fortune cookies guide us. Because we don’t know what will happen. Only when we say yes to what could happen do we open the door to new possibilities.

I am not a flexible person. It has been difficult for me for as long as I can remember. Recently, I was finally convinced to try yoga. After a couple of months, with some consistency, I’m proud to say, I am doing so much better. And now I am at least below average in flexibility (which is way better than feeling like the worst in the Wasatch).

We get so used to these labels we stick on ourselves. We forget that we are an unfinished story. One that can be changed.

As long as the future can’t be written, it remains uncertain.

The hammer hasn’t changed much in quite some time. It has looked more and less the same as it was first invented.

Think of also plumbing or electrical in a house. A toaster, socks, or your local park.

Technology can feel exponential in the age of AI. But most tech is linear. It gets better with more use. Until it feels good enough.

There’s comfort in how things work. When things change too quickly, when the world feels out of control, we look for something to hold on to.

Usually, it is a story we like to tell. To help us sleep better at night. Unlike a hammer, stories are often fiction—at least the ones we like to tell.