Trust the fog

There’s an ache that’s hard to name.

You feel it when you open your laptop and ask,
What’s the point of making anything anymore?

You feel it when a client wants content faster, cheaper, and suddenly the suggestion isn’t you, it’s ChatGPT.

You feel it when the thing that once made you unique (your words, your design, your voice) can now be generated in seconds.

And no one blinks.

We were told our creativity was the thing they couldn’t automate.
And now we’re watching that line blur, pixel by pixel.

It hurts.
Quietly.
Deeply.

But that ache?
It’s not the end.

It’s the beginning of something else.

This isn’t a threat. It’s a shift.

AI is fast. It’s impressive. It’s useful.

But let’s be clear: it doesn’t care.
It doesn’t wonder.
It doesn’t feel that invisible tug pulling you toward an idea you can’t yet explain.

It doesn’t ask what this work is really for.
Or why it matters.

You do.

And in that difference lies your edge.

Curiosity is your creative leverage.

Not taste.
Not style.
Not productivity.
Curiosity.

Because while AI can remix the past, only you can see what’s missing.
Only you can follow a strange thread into unfamiliar territory and say, “Wait. What if we tried it like this?”

Only you can trust the silence. The drift. The fog.
That beautiful, frustrating space between what you’ve done and what you’re about to discover.

Machines fill in blanks.
But you? You ask better questions.

And that’s where new things are born.

Let the tools run. Then go off-script.

Yes, use AI. Let it sketch, suggest, automate, assist.

But don’t hand it the steering wheel.

Because your value isn’t in how fast you produce. It’s in what you’re willing to explore.
It’s in the dots you connect that no algorithm would.
It’s in the tension you’re willing to hold without rushing to resolution.

The creative edge isn’t speed.

It’s vision.

This is your invitation.

To stop selling hours.
To stop chasing formulas.
To stop polishing what’s already been done.

And to start making from a place of deeper curiosity.

Ask harder questions.
Design for the future, not the feed.
Write what you don’t yet understand.
Paint what you haven’t fully seen.
Create work that could only come from your particular way of noticing the world.

That’s what makes you irreplaceable.

So trust the fog.

That uncertain space where you don’t yet know what’s next?
That’s the studio.
That’s the sketchbook.
That’s the source.

Creation has never been about certainty.

It’s about feeling your way forward. Question by question, mark by mark, until something true takes shape.

Let the machine replicate.

You? You’re here to create.