Sometimes, Monday's bring a dearth of ideas and motivation. I think this week has the makings of a slow cumbersome burn. I will spend the week fighting an uphill battle to achieve the bare minimum I am able to achieve some weeks by a Tuesday morning. Sometimes this bothers me, other times I don't even think about such things. I do wonder if there are things we can do to help push off the potential failures. People always claim meditation or preparation are key to succeeding even in the face of troubles. Does my resistance to these methods doom me to failure on a C-Suite level? Am I cursed to spend eternity plodding away at mid and low level jobs? Is the world and you and I live in just a bunch of people lying to everyone about their successes? Is everyone just filled with carp and the ones who succeed just purely lucky? how do you overcome your slow starts
My LinkedIn feed is infected with what everyone seems to refer to as AI slop. I will admit, for nearly a decade I have been trying to figure out what LinkedIn is, but have only been able to settle on "not this." It has become some odd version of Facebook but with a good haircut and a tie. It makes you feel like you are important and that your opinion matters. Feed the algorithm; feed Microsoft; destroy reality. I would like to ignore it, but I'm not sure that is possible (at least from a business world point of view). Regardless, today i realized one of my bigger issues with AI. AI lets you do things more easily which can be both a boon and a curse. This past summer, as we all basked in the warmth of the sun -- blissfully ignorant that Chief Brody did not mention that Chrissie Watkins had been killed by a shark earlier in the summer -- our conversations were filled with talk of the 50th anniversary of Jaws. As is part of any Jaws conversation, Bruce no doubt is m...
When I was a wee lad, there was nothing that worried me more than someone knocking on the front door when my parents weren't home. Even if I did answer the door, what would I tell them? It seemed safer to just hide in the dining room and wait until the knocking stopped; after all, how long could they knock for before giving up. As I grew older, my fears subsided to a point and I was happy to answer the door in any state. After all, people would be respectful... right? For the past decade, there has been a wrapping on the communal front door. Slowly that knocking has turned into a banging. Now, no longer the polite knuckled tapping but a full fledged clenched fist, pinky end led pounding upon what feels as though the only defense against Elie Wiesel's night. Each day the pounding grows louder. Each day its defense less palatable. Yet we cower in silence under the dining room table, praying it will stop and go away, like cowards. At what point do y...
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