Days of Future Fast

"There is only one moment in which life is available, and that is the present moment." -Thich Nhat Hanh

The other day, I took my daughter for a ride in the car. She’s growing up so fast, as they all do, and I was thinking about that as we drove back home. When we got there, she wanted to see how much taller she’d gotten; she’s at an age where we’ve been tracking it by drawing lines against the doorway, and her progress always makes us both smile. So we measured, and sure enough, she’d grown another half inch in what feels like just a few weeks. Feels like we’ll be eye to eye next month at this rate!

After a moment, it occurred to me that she’s probably tall enough now to ride without her booster seat. She’s still in elementary school, and I’d been watching her grow increasingly uncomfortable in the thing. Long legs dangling down, neck craned too far over when she napped as we drove.

So I suggested we try something new, told her what I was thinking, and off we went, back to the car. I took the booster seat out, and we drove around for a while.

“SOOO much better Daddy, thank you!”

And then it hit me. The ride just before that one? That was the last time she’ll ever ride in a booster seat in my car. Probably the last time I’ll ever have one in my car that a child of mine sits in.

POOF. Just like that, it had been the last time.

This happens over and over again, but how often do we catch it? Things change, the world shifts, time moves on. There was a last time I changed her diaper. A last time I put her down for a nap. A last time she sucked her thumb. Did I know it when it happened? Nope, sure didn’t.

But this time, I caught it, immediately, on the first time she did something new.

So I told her. I explained the whole thing, the way I’ve walked through it here. I told her that’s why it matters to live in the present, to really appreciate the everyday things. As it turns out, the small things turn out to be the big things. And, thank goodness that’s true. There’s joy all around you if you know how to see it.

Of course, there will also be a last time she ever speaks to me. We’re all on a ride that ends in death at some point, and that’s life. Well, until consciousness transfer gets worked out, but that’s another matter. Until then, we die. All the time.

Later that day, I was on a call with a group of tech CEOs and Operators, talking about AI. The experience with my daughter was still fresh, so when it was my turn, I got a little philosophical (surprise, surprise). Here’s what I said:

I think this has always been true: Every generation looks back and realizes they were living through something they couldn’t fully see at the time. But from the perspective of the future, right now, these are the good old days. We’re in them. We just don’t always see them that way.

I think this is an important meditation to do, especially now. We’re all riding on an exponential growth curve, the likes of which we’ve not encountered before. And, the human mind doesn’t really do all that well with exponentials. The example I like here is to equate it to time. A million seconds is about 11 days. But a billion seconds? That’s 33 YEARS.

What we’re witnessing now is the rise of an era where intelligence is a commodity and speed is no longer speed. It’s like shifting from a world of horse and buggies to a world with Star Trek-like transporters, where matter can be sent instantly around an ever-expanding and accessible universe.

Said differently, the future is happening faster, and faster, and faster, collapsing into the present more quickly every moment, it seems.

Think of it this way. As I’m sitting here, gazing out the window of the cafe where I’m writing this, there are no autonomous robots that I can see anywhere. How long before they are littered all over the world, like those damn rentable scooters you find all over major cities? Six months? A year? Certainly within 5 years, autonomous humanoid robots will be seen everywhere, cutting grass, cleaning streets, fixing power lines, and driving cars.

Or how about this. When I look up at the sky, I see… the sky. Beautiful blue, picturesque clouds, birds, and maybe an airplane or two. Roughly the same view a kid in this town would’ve had ten, twenty, or thirty years ago. That’s still available to us. Right now.

I think there’s some solace to be had here, as we press on ever further down the amygdala-heavy road we’re zooming down. I think there’s a chance to balance all the change and the fear and the overstimulation and the exhaustion by simply… slowing down a bit. Find your breath. Focus on what you are grateful for (gratitude, being of course, the way to signal, “I’d like more of that please!“). Choose from love, not fear. Connect with the people you care about, including yourself.

Because here’s the part I don’t think we’re saying out loud enough: the faster the future comes, the sooner the good old days become the distant past. The compression works in both directions. What feels like now becomes back then on a shorter and shorter clock. Which means the booster seat moments, the small ones you almost miss… those are going to accumulate and recede faster than any of us are used to.

So look up while the sky is still just sky. Catch the small things before they become the last things. I think you’ll be glad you did.

Until next time,

-Paul Michael