Amid all this talk about the inevitability of “AI”, I think it’s okay for us to ask what kind of future we want, and then move toward it together. And it’s already happening across the industry. ProPublica’s guild conducted a strike earlier this year, in part to win contract language that would prohibit layoffs resulting from “AI” adoption. UK workers at DeepMind, Google’s AI Research Lab, voted to unionize, in part to block usage of their employer’s models in military contracts. Thousands of tech workers in the University of California system voted to unionize, and gained the right to bargain over the use of “AI” tools in the workplace. DAIR has released a hub filled with resources for people looking to push back against “AI” and automation at work.

I think we can figure out our future together, right now. And as Mandy reminds us, it all starts with conversation. We have to talk with our friends, colleagues, and coworkers. We have to talk about our concerns, and what we wish were different. We have to map out how we’ll collectively instrument change in our workplaces, and in our industries.

I want to fix this industry. I want you to have a place in it. I want us to have a place in it. Maybe you do, too.

So, really: what do you want to happen next? I’ve got some ideas, but I’d love to hear yours.

I did go to urgent care. And while I was sitting there for an hour (accidentally bleeding on their carpet) I was reflecting on my rush to comfort the people around me for having to react to my injury, and remembered my one and only interaction with the school counselor in 6th grade. Back then elementary schools didn’t have counselors, psychologists, all that. 6th grade was the first time this concept was introduced, and I imagine his mandate was to meet with each kid at least once that year.

So I got called in, and I’m already semi-wondering if I’m in trouble for something, because I was always worried I was in trouble for something. He has me sit down and asks how I’m doing. I immediately have to hold back a flood tears. No one has ever asked me this. I don’t even know what’s happening in the moment, I just know that whatever emotions and feelings he accidentally scraped loose need to be locked down. My instinct was: I don’t want this guy I am meeting for the first time to have to worry about me or take care of me. So I just say “I’m fine, I’m fine, nothing to report, everything’s fine,” desperately trying not to leak tears all over myself, until he sends me back to class. And that was the last time I thought about that until now.

What’s that about one might wonder. Not me though.

When I got laid off last year¹, I vividly remember this sense of serenity, of total calmness, as I walked into work that morning.

I knew it was coming. And I knew it was gonna hurt my boss just as much as it hurt me.

During the entire brief meeting, I found myself genuinely asking him how he was feeling, how I could help him, despite the fact that I was the one who needed to figure out how I would feed my family.

I wonder if there’s a psychological term to describe that tendency. Like, a combination of altruism and shock.

When you accept that the future’s security may not come only in the form of a steady ascent up a pay scale, something shifts. You may not quit your job, but you reorient your time and professional priorities around independent people and relationships, not prestigious companies or brands. You may adjust your lifestyle, outgoings, consumption patterns, and sources of meaning so that they aren’t so reliable on a certain compensation package. You see the value of expanding your abilities and skills beyond merely looking employable online.

At least some of the work here, I think, goes back to what I wrote in November: keeping a foot in both worlds, Here and There. If, like almost all of us, you still need a high-paying job to sustain your life, then think about the idea that it might not be there forever. What are you doing in preparation for that day? What skills are you building that will be useful to others? What lifestyle are you becoming accustomed to in the meantime? And what people are you helping and investing in until that day comes?

This burpees and sit-ups challenge is the major driver in my life right now¹.

I really can’t explain it other than I feel like I don’t suffer enough, so I’m fortunate enough to be in a position where I have to force myself to suffer.

Because suffering is important. Suffering means growth, new perspectives, a fresh beginning with a renewed sense of purpose.

And it’s wild to me that Ben Gibbard perfectly articulated why I used to love ultrarunning. When will science catch up and make a surgery that will replace my meniscus?

Oh, and this quote also got me to pop pretty hard:

When we were heading out on the first leg of this [Death Cab and Postal Service] tour in the fall, people were like, “How are you going to do that? You're going to be so exhausted.” I'm like, “Motherfucker, I run 50K on the weekends! I run 30 miles for fun!”

The thing is, each cycle, it happens again. New artists, new art, new weapons, new masters, new ways to crush joy into little boxes that can serve the status quo.

This time around, let us use the joy of creation to bury them. This time around, let's break the cycle the only possible way: by working for everyone, by bringing everyone along. By avoiding the fist, ignoring the invisible hand, and instead linking arms with each other to rise above.

With joy.

When someone asks if you “need” something, there’s an implicit weight to that word. Need suggests dependency, maybe even weakness. It’s the difference between someone offering you food and asking if you’re hungry. One feels generous; the other feels like you have to admit to a deficit.

So I changed the question: “What’s the most important thing I can help you with this week?”

Noting this for the future.

This doesn’t just apply to the workplace, either. I’m in an era where my friends are having their second (or third+) child, and adding more burden on them by making them decide how I can help them with their burdens feels counterproductive.

Another case: my wife’s been busy with graduation at her school. Instead of asking her how I can help her deal with organizing the caps, gowns, diplomas, and tassels for 600+ students, I should have asked her what’s the most important thing I can help with.¹

In the Who Cares Era, the most radical thing you can do is care.

In a moment where machines churn out mediocrity, make something yourself. Make it imperfect. Make it rough. Just make it.

As the culture of the Who Cares Era grinds towards the lowest common denominator, support those that are making real things. Listen to something with your full attention. Watch something with your phone in the other room. Read an actual paper magazine or a book.

Be yourself.

Be imperfect.

Be human.

Care.

Permaculture has three main ethics: care of people, care of the earth, and ‘fair share’, or re-investing surplus back into the first two.

We do a lot of caring for the earth, and what the interns have taught me is how we can actually care for people. And through doing that: find ways of re-investing in ourselves.

If you do a project, you should write about it.

I recommend adding “write about it” to your definition of “done” for anything that you build or create.

With you. With my wife. With my kids. With my parents. With my boss. With everyone I work with. With every other Rails developer. With everyone on BlueSky. With everyone.

At least, on some things.

And that’s ok.

I should print this entire article out and hand it to everybody I know. Required reading for anyone who is trying to understand how to articulate the meaning of empathy.

One thing I’ll add: I recently listened to a podcast where they talked about the significance of music played in a church. Basically, at any point prior to the last ~150 years, if you wanted to hear music, you either had to make it yourself or physically go somewhere to experience it.

There was no permanence about music other than maybe sheet music and your memory of it.

Any time prior to 2010, I loved hearing Ignition (Remix). I heard it again the other day and had a visceral reaction against it. I turned it off and moved on.

It’s okay that I used to like the song, and it’s okay that I do not want to listen to it now.

And it’s okay that if I do hear it, I can choose to remember the good times happening all around me with that song as a background track instead of the artist.

This part was also fantastic:

When I type rails c it sure doesn’t feel as if I’ve just given a big thumbs-up to whatever shit-take DHH has just published on his blog. I’m not over here running bundle install fascism.

The thing is, I don’t care about literally anything DHH has to say that isn’t 100% about Rails. I don’t care what sort of moment he’s having or which extreme view he’s decided to cosy up to today. I don’t care about his social commentary. I don’t follow his blog or subscribe to his feeds. I’m only aware of any of his views when those outraged by it decide to push it into my life. It’s those people who are giving him more power, and elevating his status, outside of the one narrow place where he might deserve it.