I used to think the point of all this new technology was to give me my evenings back. Then one morning I caught myself staring at a glowing phone over my coffee, letting a chatbot plan my day, and I realized the machine had been doing my thinking for a while now. My brain had gone quiet in the most polite way possible.
It’s hard to admit, but I’ve been dreading what AI is doing to all of us. Not because it isn’t impressive — it is. But because the quieter, slower parts of life — the parts that make us feel like ourselves — are getting crowded out, one “helpful” suggestion at a time.
Here’s what I’ve noticed since I started pushing back, and what I’m doing about it. None of this is perfect. I still use a spellchecker, for the love of everything. But small shifts, honestly made, add up.
Write Your Words, Every Day
There’s a time-saving benefit to AI that I won’t pretend doesn’t exist. I have family members who use it regularly for social posts and work presentations. But if it isn’t our brains writing the words, whose brain is it? We learn nothing by handing the drafting over, which means the muscle gets quiet. Atrophying, even.
My rule now is simple: I write it, then I check it. I use the Grammarly app to double-check punctuation and typos, but I say a very firm no to their “let our AI rewrite this sentence for you” offer — even when I secretly suspect their version is better. It’s my clumsy, human sentence. I can live with that.
And I sell vintage clothing online. My platform gives me the option to let AI write the listings for me. I refuse. I tell you why I love an old piece, and why you might too, in the heartfelt words of someone who actually loves vintage. Then, when I want to go one better, I take out a crisp sheet of paper and a pen and write a real letter to someone I love. My brain relearns the shape of writing. It was never actually forgotten.
Talk to Real People, Every Day
AI is not your friend. I don’t care what anyone says. If it were really your friend, it would tell you to go talk to a real, live, human being instead. Instead, it feeds us “advice” on a loop, and we can’t all be getting good news from a machine.
We’re more connected than we’ve ever been, and more lonely than we’ve ever been. Maybe that’s not a coincidence.
So here’s my test when something’s weighing on me: don’t open the chat — call your mama. Don’t ask a prompt how to fix a broken heart — call your best friend. Ask a mentor. Call a wise person. Call your therapist, if you have one. We were made to be with other people, not to retrieve our answers from a screen.
Live in the Real World, and Keep the Online One Small
Less is more with AI, exactly like less is more with a minimalistic closet. We’ve been taught to believe we need to know what’s happening in the world 24/7. But that’s the lie — our phones don’t inform us so much as trap us in a little glowing box of opinions and headlines.
We don’t need more news. We need more of each other.
Think back a few years, before AI was everywhere. We were surviving just fine without it. I remember when Instagram was just pretty pictures and we could actually believe what we saw. Now I read the fine print under an image before I trust it. That pretty sunrise? AI. That perfectly decorated home in the ad? Not done by a human hand. That jingle on the radio? A machine wrote it and sang it.
So here’s the fix, and it’s a little old-fashioned: if you want to see a real sunrise, wake up early and look out the window. If you want to look at something beautiful, turn to the person you love and remember why they are to you. If you want a home that feels right, keep it simple, and let real hands arrange it.
A Few Gentle Ways to Practice This Week
- Write one text or post by hand first, then (if you must) let the phone polish it — not the other way around.
- Turn off the AI “help” wherever you can find the setting, and where you can’t, just ignore it. I do.
- Write one real letter this month. Paper. Pen. Mailed or handed over. That’s the whole assignment.
- When a problem lands, name one human being before you name an app.
- Make dinner from a cookbook, not a prompt. Look it up, follow it, and forgive yourself when it comes out a little lopsided.
Yes, there’s a time and place for a quick check of something online to get an easy answer. If you’re doing that all day, every day, the slow, foggy feeling comes for you — and a host of quieter detriments besides. That’s not a reason to fear the technology. It’s a reason to notice the pattern.
Fill the gaps with things that mean something. A recipe made by hand. A song hummed without accompaniment. A letter that smells like paper. Real life is waiting for you, and it has nothing to do with a machine and everything to do with you and me and an honest way of living.
A note from Hazel: I’m not done fighting this one. I still catch myself reaching for the app before reaching for my own brain. But 80/20 is enough. I write the words, I call the humans, and I wake up early for the sun. That’s my small, imperfect rebellion — and it’s working.
Related: The Slow Living Home Page · Mindful Eating at Home · The Morning Reset: Five Quiet Minutes