A reflection in three parts

This reflection began after reading Sam Altman’s recent essay, “The Gentle Singularity”. He wrote of event horizons, takeoff, and superintelligence. I found myself drawn not only to the future he described, but to the present we are leaving behind — a world that already feels like history in slow motion. This is my translation: not in equations or predictions, but in the textures of everyday life, and the nostalgia of watching the familiar quietly slip away.

Part I: The Last Slow Days

Let’s take one more honest look at the world as it is — not because it’s perfect, but because we won’t live in it for much longer.

We still wait for test results. We still fill out forms. We still book appointments and write emails just to explain ourselves. We still chase approvals, stand in lines, and wonder what happened behind the scenes. That’s the rhythm we call normal.

Under the surface, something quieter has begun. Intelligence is becoming infrastructure — as ordinary and invisible as electricity, as taken-for-granted as the phone in your pocket. It doesn’t look like magic. It looks like everything working… better. And faster.

Soon, asking becomes building. Wanting becomes making. Thinking becomes doing — in a breath, in a sentence, in a tap. We leave the age of process and step into the age of intent.

This imperfect, beautiful, slow world will become the story we tell our grandchildren — how long things took, how much effort it required just to start, how waiting shaped our days. They’ll tilt their heads the way we do when we hear about life before power or the first call through a wire.

Today is already turning into history.

Part II: The Break

Let’s pause — before it all speeds up.

If everything becomes easy, what will achievement mean? If the mountain moves for us, will getting to the top still matter? When the email writes itself, the company launches overnight, and code helps discover the cure — where will satisfaction live when friction is gone?

We used to measure ourselves by what we could overcome: how long it took, what we sacrificed, the drafts in the bin. Effort was proof.

In a world of instant execution, the old measures fade. So we ask: Will there still be room for ideas? Not just output, but impact. Not just speed, but meaning.

There will be room — just not for everything. When anyone can build anything, the rare thing is no longer capability. The rare thing is care.

The new bottleneck is taste, intention, responsibility. In a world where you can do everything, you’ll be defined by what you choose to do. 

Part III: What We Carry Forward

Ideas will matter more, not less, because they can be built faster than they can be dismissed. The question shifts from “Can we make it?” to “Should we?” and “Does it make us more human?”

Our measure changes. Not hours, not drafts, not hurdles cleared. Instead we measure the effect: did this reveal something true?, did this bring people. together?, did this reduce suffering?, did this make the future feel a little more human?

Discernment becomes the new genius. Intention becomes the new achievement. Those who can feel clearly, quickly, and deeply will lead.

So we don’t rush past this moment. We let it register. We finish feeling the present (whenever I wrote this, whenever you or I read this), because this is the goodbye party — for the tools we swore by, for the pace that formed us, for the systems we thought were permanent.

Yes, we are about to live faster. But let’s not forget how it felt to live slow.