I Almost Let Claude Write This Newsletter...
On AI, sacred habits, the slow erosion of the things that make us human and a 5:30am wake-up call about what we're quietly handing away
This morning, I almost let Claude write this newsletter.
Opened the prompt. Started typing. Laid out my themes, my tone, and the structure.
Then I stopped.
What am I doing?
The point of this newsletter, this writing, this practice is for me.
My writing skills. My output. My consistency.
Having Claude put something polished together based on my core themes seemed like a good solution at 5:30am on a Thursday, with the work commute not far off.
But it isn’t.
So I paused, mulled it over and then closed Claude to begin typing what you are reading at this moment.
The last couple of weeks have been fast-paced, incorporating lots of new experiences and big changes. Everything is happening all at once, and my time management left a bit to be desired.
My instinct as I stared at my empty laptop screen was to take the easy route.
Don’t get me wrong, I use AI all the time—every day across every facet of my life:
Research
Solving problems
Transcribing audio
Answering questions
Grammar and writing checks
Building apps and tools for myself
Turning newsletters into short-form content
But today didn’t feel right.
I already offload so many menial tasks to AI—surely I wasn’t about to offload the only thing that makes me feel like I have some purpose as well. My own ideas, my own brain, the ability to write and create from my own experiences—that’s the only difference between me and an AI.
It can do everything else so well (and I let it), but this is me. This is sacred.
And I almost felt the constraints of life take that away.
There is a big lesson in this.
Something we aren’t all fully aware of just yet, but something that is going to be more and more important the deeper we collectively go down this rabbit hole.
I’ll give you a couple of examples to illustrate my point.
Example 1: Directions
For the entirety of human history, we relied on our own ability to know where we are and where we are going.
Our ancestors knew where North was at all times.
They could read the stars, the moon and the sun; they understood the wind and the sea’s undulations. They relied on the land and natural occurrences to know where they were and where they were going.
Then printing was invented.
Maps were created to help people remember, and the skill of placing yourself in the world began to wane.
The invention of computers led to smartphones and the creation of Google Maps.
Now humans do not need to remember where they are.
They are told so by their devices.
The skill of knowing where you are and how to get home is disappearing.
My generation is probably the last one that has some natural sense of direction.
I still remember my Dad with a book full of maps, traversing the QLD outback and finding places that, in a way, made my brothers and me feel like he was a magician. Occasionally, we would get lost, but that was part of the fun.
Now there is no fun, no exploration, no guessing.
Just a little device that has removed the thinking, fun and problem-solving, and replaced it with a clean one-shot answer of exactly what you need to know.
Example 2: Handwriting
Over the last 18 months (since entering a corporate space), I have heard so many people laugh off the fact that they have forgotten how to write.
Handwriting, note-taking, and journaling are beautiful skills that have been gently phased out from our desired skills as human beings.
No one cares how good your handwriting is, as long as you’re proficient on a keypad.
I still attempt to write on a page a few times a week because that feeling is essential for me as a creator and a human.
That feeling of a pen in the hand…
Pressing the pen onto a blank page and turning a raw thought into something real is a freeing and empowering feeling.
Whether the words are seen by many or none does not affect the process.
It is a sacred act that reminds me of who I am.
The skill of gripping a pen and writing from your own mind is special and too-readily overlooked for the quicker and more efficient alternative.
It makes sense, of course—writing digitally allows for:
Cloud storage
Quick look-up and sharing
Easy amendments with AI-powered writing tools
But there’s something kinda special about handwriting.
Marcus Aurelius wrote Meditations by hand as a journal he kept entirely for himself. And knowing you are doing something that the greatest minds of all time did is comforting and empowering. These blokes all did it:
Albert Einstein — Kept constant handwritten journals. Analysts who studied his notes linked his fast, connected handwriting to his ability to make quick leaps of logic.
Leonardo da Vinci — Filled thousands of pages with notes and mirror-script sketches, covering everything from anatomy to early machines.
Charles Darwin — Carried pocket notebooks to capture observations on the go. Those notes became the foundation of his theory of evolution.
Ernest Hemingway — Disciplined logger. Tracked his thoughts, story ideas and daily progress by hand.
Handwriting is a physical act that generates connections between the words on the page and the neural pathways in your brain, which doesn’t seem to be as present with computer work.
Slowly, we are losing touch with our own thoughts and memory.
Final Thoughts
Ask yourself…
When was the last time you wrote by hand?
When was the last time you attempted to find your way and just… got lost?
When was the last time you had fun with your creations instead of sterilising them through AI?
AI isn’t going anywhere. I’m not saying ditch it.
I’m saying—notice what you’re handing over.
Because one day you might look up and realise the only things still genuinely yours are the things you never let it touch.
Automate what you can. Offload the heavy lifting. Find answers to problems you never thought you could solve.
Just don’t give away everything. Not yet.
I almost gave this one away this morning.
Glad I didn’t.
Making something faster doesn’t generate discipline. The act of showing up does.
Today I showed up and used my brain.
And for that, I can be satisfied with my effort.
That’s it from me this week, gang.
With gratitude,
SAV
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I write here every week about showing up, being human, and creating even when it would be easier not to do so. Please consider subscribing below to read my weekly thoughts: