My dad always had a knack for whipping together his famous kimchi stew at just right the moments. A tough day at school. A rainy afternoon. A trip back home.
I'd ask him every so often about how to make his kimchi stew, but he would just smile and tell me to eat up. I had looked up all of the recipes and tutorials online, but they never hit the mark. You just can't find 손맛 (son mat) online.
What did dad do to make that stew?
Perhaps it's time to just ask him. The thing is, it has been a few years since dad passed away.
Should I boot him up?
A lot of ink has been spilled to describe why one should write.
We've all heard that you should write to think. Thoughts and opinions are a lot messier than we'd like to admit and exist in a quantum state until we wrangle them down.
My friend, David Sasaki, describes his newsletter as a time capsule to remember what it was like to live in the 2020s. He offers a more reflective take and writes:
I’m doing this to prompt meaningful conversations. To foster community. To stay curious.
Henrik Karlsson writes:
A blog post is a search query. You write to find your tribe; you write so they will know what kind of fascinating things they should route to your inbox.
Winnie Lim writes:
This website is essentially a repository of my memories, lessons I’ve learnt, insights I’ve discovered, a changelog of my previous selves. Most people build a map of things they have learnt, I am building a map of how I have come to be, in case I may get lost again.
I agree with David, Henrik, and Winnie: writing is like building a time capsule, finding community, and building a map.
I've been thinking about another reason to write.
What if writing is a way to create a dataset to train a future model of yourself?
In the not so distant future, will your kids be disappointed that you didn't create a dataset that they could use to boot up an AI represenation of yourself? I know that I cherish old voicemails that exist so ephemerally on my phone because I can listen to a loved one's voice. Will people want to do something similar, but with different technology?
As they say, follow the goat paths.
If talking to an AI-version of your parents and friends becomes normalized, how will those models be trained1?
How will this affect our ability to process and grow? Will we be able to learn and grow from the past if we can always go back to it? Will this lead to the closure we've been looking for or will this just result in a doom loop2?
What will be the new norms and taboos? Will this be more like a seance or a moving photograph from Harry Potter?
It's one thing to talk to an AI-version of Albert Einstein. It's another to talk to an AI-version of your dad. Will there be controls on who has access to these characters (people? golems? representations? simulacra?)?
One way or another, we are entering an Overton window of weirdness. Get ready for the weird and sublime.
Note: the passage about my dad is fictional and speculative. His kimchi stew is ok.