26 Oct 2024
I’m writing this as a record for myself. I don’t want to fall asleep before I get this out of my mind. I have to.
A week ago, a friend sent me a link and a few words in a message. I was happy to hear from my dear friend, so I clicked that link.
You know that moment when you click something, and it’s like pulling down the safety bar on a roller coaster? You’re locked in, and there is no turning back. That’s where I found myself for two days.
The link was to an event in London: Global Summit on Open Problems for AI.
A great excuse to see my friend and maybe rub elbows with the future. So, I bought tickets for the two-day affair and stared blankly into my closet, wondering what one would wear to meet the future.
Fast forward to the day. I catch an early train to London, and by 8 a.m., I’m standing across from Euston Station, staring at a venue that promises to unlock [for me] the secrets of artificial intelligence.
Twenty minutes into the first keynote, the roller coaster starts its slow climb. Except there’s no view—just clouds. A nagging feeling settles in my gut. You know that moment when you question every life choice that led you here? Yeah, that.
The keynote wraps, and the first question from the audience is muffled by a faulty mic. When it finally comes through, the speaker responds, “That’s an interesting question…” and pauses to think.
That pause hit me in the solar plex.
I didn’t understand the question, let alone the answer. It was like they were speaking in tongues: ...Markov Blanket can be used... Quantum this, algorithmic that.
I was on the wrong ride.
Determined not to be a spectator in my own nightmare, I forced myself out of the chair during a break and approached one of the speakers. I mustered the courage to ask, “Is it possible to architect something like a limbic system for machines to replace the current reinforcement learning process?” What I was really asking was if we could architect a system that would make machines "addicted" to learning and doing good.
The professor was gracious enough not to laugh me out of the room. Ten seconds into his explanation, I was lost at sea without a life vest.
By the end of the day, I was 100% certain: I was not just on the wrong ride but in the wrong park.
On the train home, my mind was still climbing that endless hill, stuck in a loop of self-doubt. On the train, around me, people were scrolling through other people’s lives, crushing candies, stale smells, and a frightened dog looking at the rest of us.
Back home, the silence was deafening. Dinner was a pre-packaged meal that tasted as uninspiring as my grasp of the day’s events.
Twelve hours prior, I was optimistic, convinced that AI was a beacon of hope and I was part of the future. By the time I swallowed the last tasteless cus-cus, I felt the roller coaster stalled at the peak, lights out, engines dead.
I tried articulating my thoughts and even recorded a voice memo, but it was all gibberish.
I fell asleep on the couch to an episode of “The Big Bang Theory.” Oh, the irony...
Morning came.
Showered, brushed my teeth, convinced myself that this was all part of the growth process. Back on the fast train to London, surrounded by passengers numbing themselves with Netflix, scrolling through Instagram, Threads, and Candy Crush.
Yeah, it is still a thing.
Day two. Same venue, same coffee-infused air. My friend was running late. Five minutes into the keynote, I’m back on that stalled roller coaster. The speakers might as well have been aliens sharing their intergalactic travel tips. I was barely wintessing.
Then, something shifted. A project on research in biodiversity from Basecamp Research. A great team of [young] scientists teaching the machines about the world in ways we haven’t seen before.
Wait, this makes sense. The fog started to clear, and my mental roller coaster began its descent. It was not the thrilling drop I was hoping for, but at least gravity was doing something.
Another keynote on AI applied in politics and negotiations in conflict zones like South Sudan. The tall, handsome speaker spoke English, but my brain refused to process it.
Panels, Q&As—the momentum was building. I cornered another speaker during a break and asked better questions this time [or so I like to think].
The ride was gaining speed, but now it was exhilarating.
By the end of day two, applause filled the room. For everyone else, the ride was over. For me, it was just picking up speed, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get off anymore.
There was a reception afterwards. I was floating, and my head was full of nonsense and noise. For 15 minutes, I listened to someone from Harvard or MIT talk about computer vision with a bottle of beer in his hand, and I blacked out for the rest.
My friend and I left, both with different worries. We said goodbye near the station and promised to talk soon.
Back on the train, tired faces, a young lady shouting at her son, a man blowing his nose in a blue handkerchief.
I got off and walked home, hoping my mind would slow down.
Over the next couple of days, I grappled with a harsh reality. As excited as I am about technology [especially AI], it feels like most of us are standing on the platform watching a rocket ship being built, getting ready to take off.
A rocket fueled by venture capital and piloted by a select few who speak a language most of us don’t even understand. Data, knowledge, insights in quantities and qualities humanity has never seen before.
What stuck with me? There’s not enough room on that rocket for all of us.
It’s not designed that way.
Throughout history, knowledge has always been a differentiator, but this time, it is different. The gap is widening at a pace that’s both exciting and terrifying. When you scale this globally, it’s not just a gap; it’s a chasm, something I hope I never have to write about.
I want to end this on a hopeful note; I really do. It inspires me to see young minds eager to dive into complex equations and algorithms. They’re the ones reading white papers filled with mathematical hieroglyphics and feeling at home at events like this.
But I can’t shake the feeling that the future is being built by a few, for a few. The rest of us might get some crumbs.
I feel like some of us will be left holding an £18/month ChatGPT subscription, an AI-powered app to do our taxes, but the majority will be spectators, or not even spectators, because they don’t know that this movie is on.
Maybe I’m still strapped into that roller coaster; maybe the ride never ends. But one thing’s clear to me: the world is accelerating at breakneck speed, and not all of us are buckled in.
To be continued...
A week ago, a friend sent me a link and a few words in a message. I was happy to hear from my dear friend, so I clicked that link.
You know that moment when you click something, and it’s like pulling down the safety bar on a roller coaster? You’re locked in, and there is no turning back. That’s where I found myself for two days.
The link was to an event in London: Global Summit on Open Problems for AI.
A great excuse to see my friend and maybe rub elbows with the future. So, I bought tickets for the two-day affair and stared blankly into my closet, wondering what one would wear to meet the future.
Fast forward to the day. I catch an early train to London, and by 8 a.m., I’m standing across from Euston Station, staring at a venue that promises to unlock [for me] the secrets of artificial intelligence.
Twenty minutes into the first keynote, the roller coaster starts its slow climb. Except there’s no view—just clouds. A nagging feeling settles in my gut. You know that moment when you question every life choice that led you here? Yeah, that.
The keynote wraps, and the first question from the audience is muffled by a faulty mic. When it finally comes through, the speaker responds, “That’s an interesting question…” and pauses to think.
That pause hit me in the solar plex.
I didn’t understand the question, let alone the answer. It was like they were speaking in tongues: ...Markov Blanket can be used... Quantum this, algorithmic that.
I was on the wrong ride.
Determined not to be a spectator in my own nightmare, I forced myself out of the chair during a break and approached one of the speakers. I mustered the courage to ask, “Is it possible to architect something like a limbic system for machines to replace the current reinforcement learning process?” What I was really asking was if we could architect a system that would make machines "addicted" to learning and doing good.
The professor was gracious enough not to laugh me out of the room. Ten seconds into his explanation, I was lost at sea without a life vest.
By the end of the day, I was 100% certain: I was not just on the wrong ride but in the wrong park.
On the train home, my mind was still climbing that endless hill, stuck in a loop of self-doubt. On the train, around me, people were scrolling through other people’s lives, crushing candies, stale smells, and a frightened dog looking at the rest of us.
Back home, the silence was deafening. Dinner was a pre-packaged meal that tasted as uninspiring as my grasp of the day’s events.
Twelve hours prior, I was optimistic, convinced that AI was a beacon of hope and I was part of the future. By the time I swallowed the last tasteless cus-cus, I felt the roller coaster stalled at the peak, lights out, engines dead.
I tried articulating my thoughts and even recorded a voice memo, but it was all gibberish.
I fell asleep on the couch to an episode of “The Big Bang Theory.” Oh, the irony...
Morning came.
Showered, brushed my teeth, convinced myself that this was all part of the growth process. Back on the fast train to London, surrounded by passengers numbing themselves with Netflix, scrolling through Instagram, Threads, and Candy Crush.
Yeah, it is still a thing.
Day two. Same venue, same coffee-infused air. My friend was running late. Five minutes into the keynote, I’m back on that stalled roller coaster. The speakers might as well have been aliens sharing their intergalactic travel tips. I was barely wintessing.
Then, something shifted. A project on research in biodiversity from Basecamp Research. A great team of [young] scientists teaching the machines about the world in ways we haven’t seen before.
Wait, this makes sense. The fog started to clear, and my mental roller coaster began its descent. It was not the thrilling drop I was hoping for, but at least gravity was doing something.
Another keynote on AI applied in politics and negotiations in conflict zones like South Sudan. The tall, handsome speaker spoke English, but my brain refused to process it.
Panels, Q&As—the momentum was building. I cornered another speaker during a break and asked better questions this time [or so I like to think].
The ride was gaining speed, but now it was exhilarating.
By the end of day two, applause filled the room. For everyone else, the ride was over. For me, it was just picking up speed, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get off anymore.
There was a reception afterwards. I was floating, and my head was full of nonsense and noise. For 15 minutes, I listened to someone from Harvard or MIT talk about computer vision with a bottle of beer in his hand, and I blacked out for the rest.
My friend and I left, both with different worries. We said goodbye near the station and promised to talk soon.
Back on the train, tired faces, a young lady shouting at her son, a man blowing his nose in a blue handkerchief.
I got off and walked home, hoping my mind would slow down.
Over the next couple of days, I grappled with a harsh reality. As excited as I am about technology [especially AI], it feels like most of us are standing on the platform watching a rocket ship being built, getting ready to take off.
A rocket fueled by venture capital and piloted by a select few who speak a language most of us don’t even understand. Data, knowledge, insights in quantities and qualities humanity has never seen before.
What stuck with me? There’s not enough room on that rocket for all of us.
It’s not designed that way.
Throughout history, knowledge has always been a differentiator, but this time, it is different. The gap is widening at a pace that’s both exciting and terrifying. When you scale this globally, it’s not just a gap; it’s a chasm, something I hope I never have to write about.
I want to end this on a hopeful note; I really do. It inspires me to see young minds eager to dive into complex equations and algorithms. They’re the ones reading white papers filled with mathematical hieroglyphics and feeling at home at events like this.
But I can’t shake the feeling that the future is being built by a few, for a few. The rest of us might get some crumbs.
I feel like some of us will be left holding an £18/month ChatGPT subscription, an AI-powered app to do our taxes, but the majority will be spectators, or not even spectators, because they don’t know that this movie is on.
Maybe I’m still strapped into that roller coaster; maybe the ride never ends. But one thing’s clear to me: the world is accelerating at breakneck speed, and not all of us are buckled in.
To be continued...
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