Hello Reader,

Dear Friends,

Lately I’ve been hearing a lot of people talk about AI as if it’s about to take over the world. It’s on the news, across social media, and even whispered between golf swings. Fear travels fast, especially when something new shows up at our doorstep.

But fear of the unknown isn’t new. Every generation has faced a moment like this — a moment where the world changes faster than we feel ready for. And when that happens, I like to turn back to the elders, the ancient thinkers who lived long before computers, long before electricity, long before any of this… yet somehow understood us better than we understand ourselves.

Socrates reminded us that “the only true wisdom is knowing you know nothing.” He wasn’t putting people down — he was inviting us to stay curious. Fear shrinks when curiosity grows.

Aristotle taught that “we are what we repeatedly do.” Growth isn’t magic. It’s practice. It’s learning the new tool the same way we learned the old ones — slowly, consistently, one step at a time.

Heraclitus said, “there is nothing permanent except change.” The unknown isn’t a threat. It’s the natural state of life. The world has always been changing; we just notice it more when it changes in our direction.

Democritus believed that fear comes from misunderstanding, and peace comes from understanding. People don’t fear AI because it’s dangerous — they fear it because they haven’t learned it yet.

Lao Tzu told us, “when I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” The unknown is a doorway. Growth requires stepping through it.

Marcus Aurelius reminded us that “the impediment to action advances action.” Every new tool — from the wheel to the calculator to the computer — felt like an obstacle at first. But each one pushed humanity forward.

And Epictetus taught that fear isn’t the thing itself — it’s the story we attach to it. AI isn’t scary. The stories around it are.

And maybe the simplest way to understand AI is to see it the same way we see a finish hammer. Mis‑guide the hammer, and you miss the nail. Over‑swing, and you damage the finish. Get careless, and you hit your thumb. But used with intention, respect, and skill, a hammer builds homes, frames memories, and creates a life. AI is no different. If we see it as a tool — not a threat — we can use it as intended.

And don’t mistake my words — the danger has never been in the tool itself. A hammer can become a weapon, harmful in the hands of evil. The same tool that builds a home can also destroy one. It has always been the hand behind the tool that decides the outcome.

I’ve lived long enough to see tools come and go. My first computer was a Commodoreand a whole world of possibility. I didn’t fear it. I asked it a simple question: What can you do to make my life better? And every tool since then has answered that question in its own way.

AI is just the next tool. Not a replacement for us. Not a threat to our humanity. Just another moment where we’re invited to listen, learn, and wait before we judge — the very heart of my book, Listening, Learning, Waiting.

And that brings me to the line that came out of a conversation this week — a line that feels like it belongs right here:

“What we refuse to learn becomes what we begin to fear.” — Clyde Cordova, in conversation with Copilot

Warmly, Clyde