My son loves to code and build video games. He does everything—logic, interaction, artwork. It’s incredible to watch. He just turned 18 and is now feeling the pressure to get a job. I’ve told him he doesn’t have to—not yet, not while he’s preparing for college—but it’s hard for him to feel satisfied with that.
He sees his cousins and friends getting jobs and feels like he’s somehow behind. Like he’s failing. Like he doesn’t count until he starts producing something someone else will pay for. And that? That’s the kind of sadness our society has created by making work the most important achievement.
And it’s not just him.
A study in the Industrial Relations Journal found that working in jobs highly susceptible to automation is associated with a 3 percentage point increase in the likelihood of experiencing mental health disorders—primarily due to job insecurity and fear of displacement. Researchers are also tracking the rise of what’s being called “technostress”, a form of stress and anxiety brought on by the rapid pace of tech implementation and fear of becoming obsolete.
These aren’t abstract worries. They’re lived realities. And the number of people experiencing this is increasing daily.
Here’s the thing about humans: we’re not great at doing the same thing 500 times a day (nor were we meant to). But we are great at:
- Spotting patterns
- Making ethical decisions
- Comforting each other
- Being funny
- Seeing connections that data can’t
- Caring
These are things machines can mimic, but not truly understand. Not with any depth. Not with lived experience.
And they matter. They’re not soft skills. They’re survival skills in a world where the hard skills are becoming automated.
People aren’t machines. You don’t insert a dollar and get back 10. We have to redefine human value around contribution, care, creativity, and community—not just capital.
Because if we don’t? The machines won’t enslave us. We’ll do it to ourselves. Not because of some grand collapse, but because someone saw a market opportunity afforded by AI—and jumped.
We’re staring down the barrel of an AI race we never even signed up for.
There is a very real comparison to this race that’s been happening to millions of people all around the world ever since the inception of an assymbly line (the original automation). These workers in sweatshops—mostly women—labor for hours in unsafe, underpaid conditions just to survive. They’re not choosing between jobs. They’re choosing between hardship and hunger. They are litteral slaves because they have no other option. When robotic automation enters their industries, it won’t liberate them. It will force them into something much, much worse to make ends meet.
This is the future for all of us if we don’t start acting now.
Once we employ robots (or automation)—the outcome will not be liberating unless we plan for more than just replacement.
We must build something with dignity at its core—or technology will just become another way to deepen the divide. Tools—no matter how advanced—should serve human values, not replace them.
What If We Designed for Dignity?
Imagine if we didn’t build systems that punish people for not producing. Imagine if we built systems that:
- Paid caregivers for their work
- Celebrated rest as a part of wholeness
- Offered education as a lifelong right, not a front-loaded privilege
- Let people contribute in non-economic ways without shame
Robots could be the best thing that ever happened to us.
If we use them to relieve the pressure—not increase it.
If we shift our thinking from “How do we stay useful?” to “How do we stay whole?”
The future doesn’t have to be a fight for relevance.
It could be a chance to rebuild what it means to be human.
We just have to stop (seemingly) letting the machines define the game. They’re not making decisions on their own. Humans are still the ones writing the code, funding the systems, and shaping the incentives. But when leadership starts pushing for us to build our lives around what machines can do best—speed, scale, optimization—we will start to treat their strengths as our values. And that’s the real danger: not that robots replace us, but that we begin to replace ourselves with robotic expectations.
It’s not the tools that are broken. It’s how we’ve let them shape our beliefs about what matters.
We forget that the machines don’t set the rules.
We do.
Let’s say we lean into that 1950s promise of life being great because robots are doing everything for us. They’re here to do the jobs we don’t want. They’re here to free us up, make life easier, help us thrive. Great.
But what if we don’t know how to thrive anymore?
What if we’ve built entire societies around struggle, hustle, and scarcity—and we’ve forgotten how to do anything else?
We didn’t get here by accident. Behold the Influencer Era, when the definition of success became narrower, shinier, and less forgiving. We stopped measuring health, happiness, or wholeness and started measuring clicks, cash, and compliance.
And, it’s worked. For some. But it’s also left a lot of people behind. And a lot of us are exhausted, even if we are “winning.”
We’ve built an economy on desire—not just for survival, but for stuff. Endless stuff. Fancy blenders we use twice, decorative pillows we karate chop, streaming subscriptions we forget to cancel. Mountains of cardboard boxes that make us feel productive just for opening them. Power tools for unfinished projects. And don’t forget construction-grade optimism—we’re always just one renovation away from fulfillment.
We made convenience a virtue. We made excess a lifestyle. We told ourselves that more was better—and that if we just had the right things, we’d finally feel satisfied.
But guess what… stuff can’t give us meaning. And many of us are now facing the fallout of that illusion. We’re anxious, burnt out, and buried in things that were supposed to make life easier but somehow made it heavier.
So what happens when we can’t buy meaning anymore?
Maybe we stop trying. Maybe we create something better than “more.”
The truth is, being human isn’t about how much we own.
My father-in-law is a hoarder. Not the kind you see on reality shows buried in trash—but driven by a similar impulse. Now retired, he spends his time moving from one outbuilding to another on his property, each one erected to house his ever-growing collection. He organizes and re-organizes shelves of objects no one else will likely ever see, let alone use.
Last week, he proudly showed me a photo of one of the few warehouse walls that wasn’t lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves. He’d just returned from a garage sale, where he bought five oversized mirrors in different styles—for the price of one. He was thrilled with the bargain. “Look how great they look,” he said, pointing to where they now hang in a locked building that no one visits.
It might sound absurd. But then again—when was the last time you used a coupon to buy something you didn’t need?
What if we stopped treating life like a performance review… stopped tying our worth to our output…stopped judging ourselves—and each other—by what we earn, produce, or collect.
We don’t need to prove we deserve rest. We don’t need to justify joy. We don’t need to earn connection.
We need systems that reflect that truth. Right now we have a shot to rebuild. But we must do it with intention.
What We Can Do Right Now
Imagine if our best systems—healthcare, education, government, even tech—were rebuilt around the idea that humans are not inputs or outputs, but participants in a shared world.
Imagine if success was measured in:
- How many people felt seen
- How many families had enough to eat
- How well we showed up for each other
- How much joy we make room for
It sounds soft. But it’s not. It’s infrastructure. Emotional, social, and cultural infrastructure. And without it, we can’t hold anything else together.
You need intention to make this future real.
- Work like people matter—because ultimately, that’s who all this is for
- Ask who’s being left out
- Celebrate care
- Make space for slowing down
- Advocate for policies that value people, not just profits
None of this is about abandoning technology. It’s about realigning it. Bringing it back into balance.
Because in a real sense, we risk spiraling into chaos—riots, unrest, a society grappling with identity as AI takes over everything we once called work.
That’s why the best thing we can do isn’t to try and outpace the machines—it’s to remember that we, and the people around us, are not machines.
We’re wired for belonging. For wonder. For kindness. For creativity.
The future doesn’t need more productivity.
It needs more humanity.
References
- Dekker, R., & van der Veen, R. (2021). Technological change and mental health: The effect of automation on psychological well-being. Industrial Relations Journal, 52(5), 422–439. https://doi.org/10.1111/irel.12356
- Molino, M., Cortese, C. G., Ghislieri, C., & Colombo, L. (2020). Technostress and the World of Work: A Systematic Literature Review. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 17(23), 8792. https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph17238792