Weekly Newsletter from Grandpa Stick

Hello there, my friend. Pull up that favorite chair of yours because I've got some deeper thoughts to share about this AI business that's got everyone spinning like a weather vane in a tornado.

If you caught this week's journal video, you know I've been thinking about artificial intelligence through the lens of my trusty pencil sharpener. But there's so much more rattling around in this old head that didn't make it into those few minutes. So let me pour a fresh cup of coffee and share the extended version of what's really been keeping me up at night.

When my grandson showed me that AI poetry generator, something else happened that I didn't mention in the video. After it created that fishing poem, he asked me to write one myself - the old-fashioned way, with pencil and paper.

I sat there for twenty minutes, eraser crumbs scattered across my desk, crossing out words and starting over. When I finally finished, my poem was shorter, probably less technically perfect, and definitely took longer to create. But when I read it aloud, my grandson got quiet in a way that the AI version hadn't achieved.

"That sounds like you, Grandpa," he said. "Like, really, you."

The AI had captured fishing. I had captured ME fishing. There's a difference, and it matters more than I initially realized.

Here's what I've been mulling over: my pencil sharpener isn't just a metaphor for slowing down - it's a metaphor for preparation with purpose.

When I sharpen a pencil, I'm not just making it functional. I'm creating a tool that's perfectly suited for the job I have in mind. Sometimes I need a fine point for detailed work, sometimes a slightly duller tip for shading. The sharpener doesn't decide - I do, based on experience, intuition, and what I'm trying to accomplish.

AI feels like having access to every possible pencil sharpness all at once, but without the wisdom to know which one serves your particular purpose. It's simultaneously everything and nothing, depending on what you bring to the interaction.

That AI-generated daily schedule I mentioned? I actually tried following it for three days. Here's what happened:

Day 1: I felt like I was living someone else's life. Efficient? Sure. Satisfying? Not remotely.

Day 2: I started making small rebellions. Extended my coffee time, skipped the "optimized" lunch break to call my brother instead.

Day 3: I threw out the schedule entirely and went back to my natural rhythm of getting up when I felt rested, working when I felt focused, and taking breaks when my brain told me it needed them.

The AI had optimized for productivity. I needed to optimize for humanity. Those are not the same thing.

We've created a world that worships speed. Fast internet, fast food, fast answers. But some things - the important things - require time to develop properly.

Trust takes time. Wisdom takes time. Understanding takes time. Love definitely takes time.

When I watch people get frustrated because an AI takes three seconds instead of one to generate a response, I wonder if we've forgotten that the best answers often come after sleeping on a problem, or discussing it over Sunday dinner, or letting it simmer in the back of your mind while you're doing something completely unrelated.

Every time we ask AI to do something for us, we're making a trade. We gain efficiency, but what are we trading away?

When AI writes our emails, do we lose the practice of organizing our own thoughts?
When it answers our questions, do we lose the skill of figuring things out ourselves?
When it creates our content, do we lose the satisfaction of making something with our own minds and hands?

I'm not saying these trades are always bad - sometimes efficiency is exactly what we need. But I think we should be conscious of what we're exchanging, rather than just assuming faster is always better.

Here's something that's been bothering me: AI can give us unlimited options, but having more choices doesn't necessarily make us happier or more satisfied. Sometimes it makes decision-making harder.

My wife and I have been married 43 years. We've learned that having three good choices is often better than having thirty mediocre ones. The art isn't in generating possibilities - it's in recognizing which ones matter.

I encourage you to sit with these questions - maybe with your own pencil and paper, maybe while walking, maybe over your morning coffee. The goal isn't to find perfect answers, but to think things through for yourself.

Before I hand something over to AI, I've started asking myself:

If the answer to any of these is yes, I keep the task human.

Build deliberate slowness into your day. It doesn't have to be an actual pencil sharpener - maybe it's:

The goal isn't to reject technology, but to maintain spaces where your mind can work at its natural pace.

Instead of seeing AI as replacement or competitor, I'm learning to see it as a thinking partner - but one that needs human supervision.

I'll ask AI to brainstorm ideas, then I choose which ones resonate. I'll have it draft something, then I rewrite it in my own voice. I'll use it to research topics, then I form my own opinions.

It's like having an enthusiastic research assistant who never gets tired but sometimes misses the point entirely.

As I've been thinking about all this, I keep coming back to something my father used to say: "New tools don't change human nature - they just give us new ways to express it."

AI might change how we work, communicate, and create, but it doesn't change our fundamental need for purpose, connection, and meaning. If anything, it might make those things more precious by contrast.

The future probably belongs to people who can dance between both worlds - who can use AI's power when it serves their purposes, but who also maintain their uniquely human capabilities for wisdom, empathy, and authentic creation.

And that future starts with each of us taking time to sharpen our own thoughts, at our own pace, in our own way.

This Week's Question: What's your version of the pencil sharpener? What small ritual helps you slow down and think clearly? Reply and share - I love hearing your perspectives.

As I finish writing this newsletter, I realize I've been unconsciously reaching for my pencil sharpener throughout the process - not because I needed to sharpen anything, but because the small ritual of a few turns helps me organize my thoughts.

That's when it hit me: maybe the real value isn't in the sharp pencil. Maybe it's in having something that reminds us to pause, prepare, and proceed thoughtfully.

In a world that's moving faster every day, that pause might be the most valuable thing we can cultivate.

Keep thinking, keep questioning, and remember - the best technology serves humanity, not the other way around.

-Grandpa Stick

P.S. I asked my AI assistant what it thought of this newsletter. It suggested I "optimize the conclusion for maximum engagement metrics." I'm sticking with "thanks for reading and thinking alongside me." Some things don't need optimizing.

If this resonated with you, feel free to forward it to someone who might appreciate a different perspective on our rapidly changing world. And if someone shared this with you, welcome to our little community of contemplators - you can subscribe at [newsletter link] for weekly doses of old-school wisdom in a new-school world.