I started building websites on a laptop I bought while I was deployed to Japan in 1997. It wasn’t a grand plan. It wasn’t a startup story. It was curiosity.
The internet was young then—awkward, slow, unfinished. But even in its rough edges, I could feel it. Something fundamental was shifting. Information was no longer static. Systems were no longer fixed. Power was moving—from institutions to individuals, from gatekeepers to builders.
I had a natural affinity for languages and for understanding how things fit together beneath the surface. Code felt less like typing instructions and more like discovering structure. That curiosity led me to learn dozens of programming languages, to experiment relentlessly, and eventually to start a small web shop that grew into Instrument. I didn’t just witness the internet age—I lived through its entire arc: the early optimism, the dot-com bubble, the collapse, the slow and disciplined rebuilding, the explosion of innovation, and finally the commoditization of what was once considered magic.
And I paid attention.
I watched as experimentation turned into micro-innovations, and micro-innovations were stitched together into entirely new business models. Search became an economy. Social networks became infrastructure. Software ate the world. The most valuable companies on earth weren’t built on factories or oil fields, but on code, networks, and data.
That didn’t happen overnight. It took decades. It took failure. It took skepticism. It took enduring two hype cycles—one that collapsed under its own absurdity, and another that finally delivered on the promise.
Today, we are standing at the beginning of that same arc again.
Artificial intelligence feels eerily familiar to anyone who lived through the early internet years. Engineers are experimenting. Builders are shipping imperfect things. Founders are chasing possibility faster than certainty. And, just like before, the noise is deafening.
Every day brings another headline—AI will save us, AI will destroy us, AI is a bubble, AI is sentient, AI is overrated, AI is inevitable. Opinions fly as if technology has ever paused to ask for permission. It hasn’t. It never will.
I remember walking into rooms in the early 2000s where digital was dismissed as a fad. Advertising was the unquestioned king of creative services. Linear storytelling was gospel. The internet was “interesting,” maybe even useful—but not serious. Not durable. Not foundational.
I couldn’t wait to prove them wrong.
Twenty-five years later, no one argues about the power of digital. It is the backbone of our economy, our culture, and our daily lives. And yet, just recently, I read an article from a respected digital leader dismissing AI as a fad.
It sounded familiar.
So let’s say it plainly: AI—and eventually robots powered by AI—will be the largest technological shift in human history. Larger than the internet. Larger than the industrial revolution. Larger than electricity. I believe that deeply.
But belief doesn’t mean naivety.
If history has taught us anything, it’s that this kind of transformation takes time. Years of experimentation. Years of getting it wrong. One, maybe two, speculative bubbles that burn off excess capital, bad ideas, and shallow thinking. What survives won’t be the loudest or the most hyped—it will be the most useful, the most durable, the most human.
Like the internet, AI will create entirely new mechanisms for business. It will redraw labor, creativity, medicine, education, manufacturing—everything in between. It will collapse some industries and give birth to others we don’t yet have language for. It will feel chaotic before it feels normal. It always does.
And like the internet, it will reflect us back to ourselves.
The internet connected the world in extraordinary ways—and it also amplified division, misinformation, addiction, and isolation. Technology is never moral on its own. It inherits the values, incentives, and blind spots of the people who build and deploy it.
AI will do the same.
That’s why I meet this moment with both optimism and trepidation. I am inspired by what is possible and sober about what is at stake. The real question isn’t whether AI is coming—it is. The question is whether we will learn from what we created last time.
Will we build systems that reward truth over engagement? Wisdom over speed? Stewardship over extraction? Will we design AI to augment human judgment rather than replace human responsibility?
This is not a moment for fear, nor for blind enthusiasm. It is a moment for builders. For leaders. For people willing to engage deeply, patiently, and ethically with a technology that will shape generations.
What we are experiencing right now is not the end state—it is the messy, necessary beginning. The natural arc of innovation. The early chapters, full of false starts and inflated expectations.
The real excitement is not what AI can do today.
It’s what will emerge after we’ve experimented enough to understand what actually matters.
And if 1997 taught me anything, it’s this: the people who lean in early—not with certainty, but with curiosity and conviction—are the ones who help shape what comes next.
AI is coming.
The only real choice we have is whether we help make it better.
If this article resonated with you, I hope you’ll take a moment to reflect on where you stand in this moment of change — and whether you’re meeting it with fear, certainty, or curiosity. Every great technological shift asks the same question of us: will we retreat into skepticism, or step forward with responsibility and intent?
If you know someone who’s wrestling with what AI means for their work, their craft, or their future, consider sharing this episode with them. And if you haven’t already, you can subscribe on Substack, Spotify, or Apple Podcasts to stay connected as these conversations continue.
Until next time — stay curious, stay grounded, and help shape what comes next.
