Real is fast becoming obsolete. Rare. Some might say irrelevant.
I was speaking with a young teenage lad I mentor this morning about the relevance of real. Of what it is to be authentic in an AI world. He hand-draws the most amazing animal pictures - just blue biro, white paper, and his soul poured out in ten thousand strokes.
The mundane turned to absolute beauty before his eyes.
It takes him hours. And it gives him deep joy and fulfillment. And then I heard another young fella walking past say, “Hey, that’s amazing - can I get a photocopy of that?”. And it made me think about how little we appreciate beauty and authenticity for what it's actually worth.
A photocopy of a piece of art instead of honouring the artist and his/her heart and soul and time.
A photograph of a sunset while we are sitting in front of said sunset, posted on Instagram to prove we saw something beautiful, instead of simply basking in its glory in real time, and absorbing the very moment as it feeds our eyes, our souls, our minds.
We forget there is true, immeasurable beauty just in that. Immeasurable. Cannot, and should not, be measured, quantified, evaluated.
Is anything real anymore? I mean, do we even know how to love real beauty in real time just for the sheer joy of it? Do we identify authenticity and give it the time, honour and value it deserves?
As AI takes over many of the tasks of our busy lives, and even absorbs the creative ones - storytelling, poetry, love letters, photography, design - are we rapidly abdicating our responsibility to authenticity? And do we even have a responsibility to honour and cherish what is real?
Some might call it progress. Some might say we have no choice - it's here, and the world is changing - nothing you can do about it. It seems being real is fast becoming irrelevant. Almost laboursome.
I would argue that there has never been a more critical time to honour real.
An actual birthday card in your own handwriting, spelling errors and all, to the person you love the most.
Because it’s genuine. And that makes it beautiful.
Real art, drawn, painted, sculpted by a real person with real ideas and dreams and vulnerabilities. Because it’s genuine. And that makes it beautiful.
Poorly written songs.
Imperfect love letters,
One single photo of you and your best mate. No edits. No redos. Because it’s genuine. And that makes it beautiful.
There has never been a more important time to honour authenticity.
Hold space for it. Too much is coming to steal the joy of real.
May we be strong enough to say no to progress, pace and perfection if it means we lose our soul in its pursuit.
(Written without the help of AI - just for the record...)
