This is my 451st blog post, which feels both
satisfying and deflating at the same time.
On one hand, 450 posts is a real accomplishment for a
writer. That’s years of thinking, drafting, rewriting, second-guessing,
publishing, and occasionally discovering a typo five minutes after hitting
“post.”
More importantly, it’s consistency. These posts became a
kind of public workshop for me … not some frozen “best of” portfolio, but ongoing proof that I still write, still think, still care about the
craft. And, If I do say so myself, a lot of them are pretty damn good.
But it’s impossible to ignore the weirdness of hitting a writing quantity milestone in the age of AI. Because 450 blog posts used to sound like an enormous amount of work. Now it sounds like a few decent prompts and an afternoon.
Does that diminish the accomplishment? Not really.
These weren’t generated. They were lived through. They’re
450 examples of me paying attention, wrestling with ideas, trying to offer something
of value in a world increasingly optimized for speed over thought.
Still, AI changes the emotional math a little.
We live in a culture that worships output. Faster
content. More posts. Infinite takes. Quantity has become a substitute for
judgment because numbers are easier than taste.
Meanwhile, the real question: “Was it worth reading?” barely
gets invited into the conversation.
So yeah, I’m proud of the 450. Not because it took a long
time. Not because AI can’t do it faster. But because they represent me.
And I have a feeling (OK, maybe a hope) that that’s about to
matter more than ever.
Here are 1/2 dozen posts ... a representative sample of the
450:
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