After recovering from cancer, I came back to life with a new perspective. What once felt urgent now seemed trivial. What once felt like sacrifice now felt like opportunity. Healing rewired me, reminding me that time is finite and that clarity is a gift. I return to work carrying more resilience, more perspective, and more compassion than ever before.

As AI becomes more present in our work and lives, I keep thinking about what it will never be able to do. This is a reflection on birth, death, presence, and what still belongs only to us. I’d love to hear what you’re noticing too.

AI is no more my writer than stilts are my legs.

New tools often spark curiosity—and controversy. Some assume AI hands writers an effortless shortcut, just as others might believe stilts let me leap ahead without effort. But those who truly understand know the truth: tools don’t replace skill; they demand it.

For over 40 years, writing has been my craft—scribbled on napkins, whispered into voice notes, woven into the quiet moments of everyday life. AI hasn’t replaced that. If anything, it has challenged me to see my creativity from a new vantage point. But the spark? The raw, messy, deeply personal process of storytelling? That remains entirely mine.

The real question isn’t whether AI can write. It’s whether we, as creators, embrace innovation without losing the soul of our work.

So to those who wonder if the stilts did the work, I say: Watch me run. To those who assume AI has taken the place of my pen, I say: Watch me write.