Hi,

It’s been a strange couple of days (or years, really?). Once again, we’re standing at a split in the timeline, moving forward into a distinctly different future. I can’t help but imagine the parallel universe where the American election results turned out differently—what would it feel like to be living in that version of the world right now?

Currently, I’m in Paris for meetings ahead of France’s AI Action Summit this February. Technology is moving so fast that I don’t think any of us are truly prepared. Human beings are incremental creatures, shaped by slow evolutionary processes. Our systems—physical, emotional, societal—have been in place for tens of thousands of years. We weren’t designed to navigate life at exponential speed, and yet that’s exactly what’s being demanded of us.

At this moment, I want to make the case for Slow Knowledge. Just because information is coming at us faster than ever doesn’t mean it’s accurate, meaningful, or even true. We’ve become obsessed with speed—instant everything, 24/7 breaking news cycles—but we’re forgetting one of the basic truths about how our brains work: information might move quickly, but learning takes time.

I’ve made an intentional shift away from speculative stories and “breaking” news that feels designed to squander my attention. I’m no longer interested in engaging with information that isn’t final. This slow, deliberate approach feels essential, especially as it applies to technological developments. I refuse to be rushed into accepting or adopting new technologies without taking the time to truly understand them.

For example, at CES this year, Nvidia CEO Jensen Huang introduced COSMOS, described as the “world’s first world foundation model.” This AI model is designed to help robots and autonomous vehicles navigate the physical world faster and more effectively. Training AI-powered products—whether they’re robots, cars, or vacuum cleaners—typically requires expensive, labor-intensive datasets that must be meticulously organized and labeled. COSMOS aims to streamline this process by using advanced neural networks to generate physics-aware videos that accelerate training.

On the surface, this sounds impressive. But it raises serious questions: What about security? Bias? Risk mitigation? What happens when these technologies inevitably make mistakes, as all new innovations do? What protocols are in place to address these challenges?

Does anyone remember this episode from Season 2 of Love, Death and Robots? It's the one where the vacuum cleaner turns into a killing machine. Just saying.

​

As technological change accelerates, it’s critical that we don’t let the speed of innovation dictate the pace of our thinking. We need to be thoughtful, deliberate, and intentional—not just in how we consume information, but in how we engage with the tools and systems shaping our future.

Slowing down doesn’t mean resisting progress. It means making space for clarity, discernment, and ultimately, better decisions. And maybe, in this moment of upheaval and uncertainty, that’s exactly what we need most.

​

Despair by Design: The Case for Hope

In an earlier dispatch, I wrote about economic velocity—about the quiet power we hold as consumers to shape the world we live in. At the time, I’d committed to being more deliberate with my spending: supporting local businesses, exercising my financial power to align my values with my choices.

That commitment feels even more urgent now. When Mark Zuckerberg announced Meta’s updated content moderation policies—including a baffling decision to permit language referring to women as objects (“it”)—I felt a familiar anger bubble up. It’s not just about this one policy; it’s about the broader, relentless tide of violence—political, physical, emotional—against women. Some of it is overt, like the horrifying Telegram group where 70,000 men exchanged ideas for assaulting the women in their lives. Some of it is quieter but no less insidious, like the rollback of DEI initiatives across industries. Together, these moments reinforce the feeling that the world is becoming increasingly hostile to women.

But anger, while justified, isn’t where I want to stay. I’ve been thinking a lot about despair—how it works, what it does to us. Despair convinces us that nothing we do matters, that we’re powerless. It’s a tool of oppression, designed to keep us stuck, overwhelmed, and inert. Hope, on the other hand, requires courage. To imagine a better future—and believe it’s possible—is a radical act of defiance.

Recently, I stumbled upon a small wellspring of hope: Violette and Co., a feminist, lesbian, LGBTQIA+ café and bookstore in the 11th arrondissement, just a short walk from my home. I went in for a coffee, and in the spirit of supporting them, I picked up some of Audre Lorde’s writing. And there, on the page, was exactly what I needed to read:

That quote has stayed with me. Facing reality, Lorde reminds us, isn’t an invitation to give up. It’s an opportunity to act. But to act, we have to remember that we have power. We all do. Who we give our time, money, energy, and attention to—that’s power. What we choose to build, support, or reject—that’s power, too. Fixing the world’s problems won’t come from one sweeping solution; it will come from millions of small, deliberate choices made by millions of people.

For me, this shift feels personal. I’ve been asking myself: How do I move from climate despair to climate action? How do I focus my energy on solutions instead of spiraling into hopelessness?

I have to choose hope. And then amplify it.

For example, At CES this year, I found Flint, a Singaporean startup developing batteries. These batteries biodegrade within six weeks—you can compost them to feed your plants. They’re a stark contrast to lithium-ion batteries, hich rely on child labor in dangerous mines and contribute massively to environmental degradation. Flint’s innovation feels like a small but significant step toward the future we need.

This future doesn’t have to be dystopian. As my friend Baratunde and I discussed on his Life with Machines podcast, we need to popularize hopeful futures—visions of what could be, if we make the right choices. “Solar punk!” we shouted at each other, laughing but also deeply serious. This is the kind of world I want to see: sustainable, imaginative, abundant.

​

​

Lately, I’ve been redirecting my energy away from trying to change minds through debate (as my friend Adam Grant’s Think Again has shown that this is ineffective) and toward building spaces for people who already share this vision. A world that’s sustainable, ethical, fair, and equal doesn’t emerge from convincing the unwilling—it emerges from the collective efforts of those already aligned, already hopeful, already ready to act.

We can choose a better future. We can imagine it, build it, live it. But first, we have to believe it’s possible.

​

A New Type of Resolution (It's Weird, I Know).

Given everything we’ve talked about so far, I thought I’d share a very weird (but surprisingly effective) method I’ve been using to navigate this period of chaos. It all started during my time as a member of the UN’s High-Level Advisory Body on AI. (You can read our final report here, if you’re curious.) As part of that work, I found myself poring over countless UN resolutions. And while they’re not exactly page-turners, I found myself oddly drawn to the format.

If you’ve never seen a UN resolution, they’re fairly straightforward. They’re divided into two sections: the preamble, which outlines the background or motive behind the resolution, and the operative section, which states the actions or opinions to be taken.

The next time I found myself spiraling into uncertainty—overwhelmed by vague but deeply unsettling fears about the future—I don’t know what possessed me, but I opened a blank document and started drafting a personal resolution. A policy for myself, by myself. And to my surprise…it worked.

I think this process works for me for a few reasons.

First, as a chronic over-thinker, I have a tendency to get stuck in mental loops—revisiting the same points over and over without gaining any new clarity. Drafting a resolution forces me to step out of that cycle and focus on structure, on laying out the facts and determining actionable next steps.

Second, as someone who’s benefited tremendously from Internal Family Systems therapy (Richard Schwartz’s No Bad Parts is a top recommendation if you’re looking for more internal peace), this format allows me to give voice to the contradictions within myself. There are always parts of me that disagree with each other—one part anxious, another pragmatic, yet another defiant. Drafting a resolution becomes a kind of negotiation, where every part gets to be heard.

Finally, these resolutions serve as an anchor. When everything feels fluid, uncertain, or overwhelming, having a clear policy—however temporary—helps me ground myself. It’s not about solving the big, unsolvable problems; it’s about deciding how I want to proceed in this moment, with the information I have.

For example, last July during the French elections, there was a very real fear that the far-right Rassemblement National party might win and launch an aggressive anti-immigrant campaign. I found myself oscillating between paralysis and a panicked urge to leave France altogether. So, I drafted this resolution:

​

RESOLUTION ON UPCOMING FRENCH ELECTIONS:

Preamble:​
​

• Recalling that the current political context in France is fraught, and noting that the RN is not currently in power.
• Acknowledging the heightened tensions and anxieties within immigrant and minority communities, stemming from the growing influence of far-right ideologies across Europe.
• Recognizing the broader historical patterns of far-right political movements leveraging fear and division during times of economic or social instability.
• Affirming the importance of remaining informed and vigilant without succumbing to speculative narratives that may exacerbate feelings of helplessness or overwhelm.
• Understanding the value of community connections and political engagement as tools to counteract fear and create meaningful, localized change.

Operative Section:

• The Angry Part​
  Decides to channel anger into productive action by staying informed about policies and legislation that could harm marginalized communities. Commits to using this anger as fuel to support organizations and initiatives that counteract harmful rhetoric and policies. Agrees to avoid unproductive outlets for anger, such as engaging in hostile debates online.
• The Fearful Part​
  Decides to monitor developments closely but to limit doomscrolling and speculative news that amplifies fear unnecessarily. Acknowledges the legitimacy of fear while committing to actionable steps, such as creating contingency plans for financial stability, housing, and potential relocation. Agrees to ground fear by focusing on what can be controlled in the present moment.
• The Anxious Part​
  Decides to practice mindfulness and calming rituals when feelings of anxiety become overwhelming, recognizing that anxiety can cloud judgment. Commits to creating a structured plan for staying informed without becoming consumed. Agrees to reach out to trusted friends or mentors for support when anxiety feels isolating.
• The Grieving Part​
  Acknowledges the grief that comes with witnessing hostility and regression in policies that impact immigrants, minorities, and marginalized groups. Recognizes that grief is a valid response to injustice and commits to allowing space to process those emotions without guilt or shame. Agrees to honor this grief by doubling down on efforts to foster inclusive, supportive community connections.
• The Resistant Part​
  Decides to resist resignation and hopelessness by taking incremental steps toward local engagement and advocacy. Commits to staying rooted in the belief that collective action, no matter how small, is a powerful counter to oppressive forces. Agrees to protect boundaries, avoiding burnout by focusing on areas of personal influence and capacity.
• The Hopeful Part​
  Decides to invest time and energy in building relationships and supporting political and social movements aligned with a fairer, more inclusive future. Commits to amplifying voices and efforts that inspire hope and showcase positive change. Agrees to remind other parts that even in moments of despair, hope is a necessary and radical act of resistance.

​

Specific Action Items:

• Stay Informed:
  • Subscribe to reputable news sources focused on policy changes and avoid speculative or alarmist outlets.
  • Set daily or weekly limits on news consumption to prevent overwhelm.
• Engage Locally:
  • Attend local community meetings, events, or political forums to build connections and stay informed about local initiatives.
  • Volunteer with organizations supporting immigrants, minorities, or marginalized communities.
• Prepare for Uncertainty:
  • Review and organize finances to ensure flexibility for potential future changes.
  • Research housing or relocation options as a contingency plan.
  • Keep important documents (e.g., passports, residence permits) updated and easily accessible.
• Foster Community Connections:
  • Reach out to neighbors, friends, or colleagues to create stronger support networks.
  • Join or start local groups aligned with shared values and goals.
• Protect Mental and Emotional Well-being:
  • Practice mindfulness, journaling, or therapy to process fear, anxiety, and grief.
  • Limit social media consumption, especially in moments of heightened stress.
  • Schedule breaks or moments of joy and rest to recharge.
• Amplify Positive Efforts:
  • Highlight and share stories of progress or hope within your networks.
  • Support businesses and initiatives aligned with your values through financial or social means.
• Contribute to Advocacy:
  • Write to local representatives about policies you support or oppose.
  • Donate to or collaborate with advocacy groups working to counter harmful policies.

Since then, I’ve written dozens of resolutions—on everything from climate change to personal relationships to professional uncertainty. They’ve become a way for me to take control of my thoughts and feelings in a world that often feels uncontrollable.

If this resonates with you, hit reply and let me know—I’d be happy to share more examples or tips for drafting your own personal resolutions. After all, we could all use a little structure in these chaotic times.

As always, thank you for being here and for sharing this little space with me.