Day 37: Reflecting on creativity, AI risks, and the beauty of human imperfections. Back to the grind.
It’s 5 a.m. on a Monday as I write this, reflecting on yesterday—Sunday, December 1st.
Lately, I’ve been feeling like bureaucracy is slowly draining the creativity out of this journey. Yesterday was consumed by drafting website documentation, fine-tuning the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy, and connecting Google services.
These tasks are essential—they’re as much a part of building a business as creating a legal entity. But let’s be honest, this isn’t the thrilling part of building a product; it’s the grunt work of maintaining it. Philosophically, I remind myself: If you love the ride, you have to love the grind.
On the bright side, this gave me time to reflect on my December mini-marathon. I’ve realized I don’t want to follow rigid plans or force myself into checklists. Instead, I want to act from the heart.
Every morning, I open my Notion document and review the list of features and tasks for my MVP launch. This has been my ritual for 37 days now. And while this version of the project is relatively new, its roots go all the way back to 2020, during the pandemic.
The idea has evolved so much since then—pivoting countless times. Yet, three pillars remain unchanged:
Over time, I’ve realized this project is as much a dialogue with myself as it is with the world. I’m my own harshest critic and most grateful listener.
The rise of AI brings undeniable risks—to safety, livelihoods, and our sense of connection. AI eliminates opportunities overnight, often without warning.
If you remove one person from a crowded plaza, no one notices. But if you erase the entire plaza, you’re left alone. That’s the direction we’re heading—towards a world of profound loneliness.
I don’t want to live in a world where taxis drive themselves, planes fly without pilots, restaurants operate without servers, and concerts feature AI improvising “in the style of Joe Satriani.”
I love people, imperfections and all. I love how Satriani deviates from his studio recordings during live performances. I love how Eddie Van Halen’s solos weren’t always perfect, or how Sammy Hagar missed a note during that 1991 Dallas concert. These flaws make art—and life—beautiful.
Day 37: Reflecting on creativity, AI risks, and the beauty of human imperfections. Back to the grind.
It’s 5 a.m. on a Monday as I write this, reflecting on yesterday—Sunday, December 1st.
Lately, I’ve been feeling like bureaucracy is slowly draining the creativity out of this journey. Yesterday was consumed by drafting website documentation, fine-tuning the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy, and connecting Google services.
These tasks are essential—they’re as much a part of building a business as creating a legal entity. But let’s be honest, this isn’t the thrilling part of building a product; it’s the grunt work of maintaining it. Philosophically, I remind myself: If you love the ride, you have to love the grind.
On the bright side, this gave me time to reflect on my December mini-marathon. I’ve realized I don’t want to follow rigid plans or force myself into checklists. Instead, I want to act from the heart.
Every morning, I open my Notion document and review the list of features and tasks for my MVP launch. This has been my ritual for 37 days now. And while this version of the project is relatively new, its roots go all the way back to 2020, during the pandemic.
The idea has evolved so much since then—pivoting countless times. Yet, three pillars remain unchanged:
Over time, I’ve realized this project is as much a dialogue with myself as it is with the world. I’m my own harshest critic and most grateful listener.
The rise of AI brings undeniable risks—to safety, livelihoods, and our sense of connection. AI eliminates opportunities overnight, often without warning.
If you remove one person from a crowded plaza, no one notices. But if you erase the entire plaza, you’re left alone. That’s the direction we’re heading—towards a world of profound loneliness.
I don’t want to live in a world where taxis drive themselves, planes fly without pilots, restaurants operate without servers, and concerts feature AI improvising “in the style of Joe Satriani.”
I love people, imperfections and all. I love how Satriani deviates from his studio recordings during live performances. I love how Eddie Van Halen’s solos weren’t always perfect, or how Sammy Hagar missed a note during that 1991 Dallas concert. These flaws make art—and life—beautiful.
This is the final showdown: Human vs AI — and we're here to win!
Day 37: Reflecting on creativity, AI risks, and the beauty of human imperfections. Back to the grind.
It’s 5 a.m. on a Monday as I write this, reflecting on yesterday—Sunday, December 1st.
Lately, I’ve been feeling like bureaucracy is slowly draining the creativity out of this journey. Yesterday was consumed by drafting website documentation, fine-tuning the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy, and connecting Google services.
These tasks are essential—they’re as much a part of building a business as creating a legal entity. But let’s be honest, this isn’t the thrilling part of building a product; it’s the grunt work of maintaining it. Philosophically, I remind myself: If you love the ride, you have to love the grind.
On the bright side, this gave me time to reflect on my December mini-marathon. I’ve realized I don’t want to follow rigid plans or force myself into checklists. Instead, I want to act from the heart.
Every morning, I open my Notion document and review the list of features and tasks for my MVP launch. This has been my ritual for 37 days now. And while this version of the project is relatively new, its roots go all the way back to 2020, during the pandemic.
The idea has evolved so much since then—pivoting countless times. Yet, three pillars remain unchanged:
Over time, I’ve realized this project is as much a dialogue with myself as it is with the world. I’m my own harshest critic and most grateful listener.
The rise of AI brings undeniable risks—to safety, livelihoods, and our sense of connection. AI eliminates opportunities overnight, often without warning.
If you remove one person from a crowded plaza, no one notices. But if you erase the entire plaza, you’re left alone. That’s the direction we’re heading—towards a world of profound loneliness.
I don’t want to live in a world where taxis drive themselves, planes fly without pilots, restaurants operate without servers, and concerts feature AI improvising “in the style of Joe Satriani.”
I love people, imperfections and all. I love how Satriani deviates from his studio recordings during live performances. I love how Eddie Van Halen’s solos weren’t always perfect, or how Sammy Hagar missed a note during that 1991 Dallas concert. These flaws make art—and life—beautiful.
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