A few weeks ago, I came across an article by Blake Montgomery in The Guardian entitled, Divide between Silicon Valley and ordinary people grows ever larger, that prompted a deeper thought. It speaks of a widening divide between Silicon Valley and everyday life. There is a growing distance between those building the future and those living within the present.

The article centres on the rapid rise of artificial intelligence, particularly the development of AI “agents”, These are systems designed to carry out tasks on our behalf. At a recent conference, Nvidia’s CEO spoke of extraordinary growth ahead, predicting revenues that reach into the trillions, driven by the expansion of AI infrastructure. At the same time, major technology companies are reshaping themselves around this vision.

Meta, for example, is redirecting enormous resources toward artificial intelligence, investing in vast data centres while reducing its workforce and scaling back earlier ambitions such as the metaverse. The scale of this shift is striking. Billions of dollars moving away from human teams and toward machines, systems, and computational power. And yet, alongside this acceleration, the article offers a quieter counterpoint.

A significant number of people are not using AI at all in their daily work. Many remain uncertain, even skeptical. And public concern appears to be growing rather than diminishing. As I read, I found myself thinking not only about technology, but about distance. Not distance in miles, but in experience. There is a difference between forecasting trillion-dollar futures and living an ordinary day with care. There is a difference between building systems that act for us and choosing to act for ourselves.

The article draws on a line from William Gibson: “The future is already here. It’s just not evenly distributed.” And yet, as I sit with this, I find myself wondering if distribution is only part of the story. Perhaps the deeper question is not who has access to this future, but whether it reflects the lives people are actually living, or wish to live. There is something else unfolding, quietly, alongside this technological expansion. A different kind of movement. Not toward scale, but toward attention. In small gestures such a line written in a notebook, a moment noticed without urgency and a thought allowed to take its time

These are not acts of resistance. They are acts of presence. The reading rooms of the past were places where ideas were given time to breathe. They were not driven by speed or outcome, but by a shared understanding that thought unfolds slowly. Perhaps that is what I am seeking here. Not to turn away from the world, but to meet it differently. To read what is being written about our future and then to sit with it, quietly, long enough to ask: What does this mean for the way we live?

As I continue to reflect, I find myself standing just slightly to the side of this acceleration. Close enough to see it. Far enough to consider it. And perhaps, in this moment, that is where I am meant to be.

Until the next page turns…