Please Use AI - by Shawn Smucker - The Courage to Live It

The Courage to Live ItSubscribeSign inPlease Use AIShawn SmuckerMay 04, 20269,3492612,367ShareBe sure to use AI when makingyour next, I don’t know, meal plan,for example. Definitely do not callyour friend who loves to cook and ask herfor her favorite recipes or tips or ways to save time making meals, because you will endup talking for longer than you had hoped,hearing, perhaps, about her father’s cancer diagnosis or how lonely she’s been or evenwhat she’s planted in her spring garden and then lost with the early frost.And be sure to use AI when planning that nextcamping trip, the last one you will takewith this particular child. Definitely do not text your friend who has fly-fished every river in Pennsylvania and biked every backwoods trail, because you might end up texting back and forth for the rest of the dayor even meeting up late for a beer and hearinghow he has ended each recent night black-out drunk, or perhaps you’ll hear how hiscousin is an idiot on Facebook or maybe justthat he repaired his own washing machineand is pretty damn proud of that.And be sure to use AI when your next childgets married, so that you can write themthe perfect toast or poem or speech or songbecause no one wants to hear your words, the actual poorly written words of a parent (you) who changedhundreds of diapers for said child or fed them in the middle of the night from your actual body. Or cried when they were late home because you were positive they were dead. We don't want those words—we’d prefer the sterile words of a machine that never lived, never had an original thought, never felt the pain of miscarriage or brokenrelationships or the joy of a friendship restoredor of seeing spring’s first robin dancing on frost. And be sure to use AI when working on your nextbook or essay or piece of art or photography,and then smile or even laugh at your owncleverness when you see how good it is, and how easy, because who the hell has timeto work at something, to give time to craft, tocreate with their own minds, to spend years being mediocre. Why do that whenmastery, or at least competency is so simpleonly a good prompt away?How magnificent the funeral song our children or contemporarieswill write for us, a song they will make by taking our obituary and Facebook posts,plus random quotes from our algorithm,and feeding them into Chat or Gemini or Claude. The tears that will fall in the face of suchsanitary sweetness!Be sure to use AIand while you do I’ll be over here in my 50thyear, my youngest daughter asleep on my chest,my arm falling asleep because I dare not movelest I scare away this moment, lying here melancholy about my older children moving out and my middlechildren no longer needing me, at leastnot like they used to, weary about this bodythat fails me now in ever increasing ways that will never be restored. Sighing over stories I tried to write but never hit the page the way they felt in my mind.But isn’t that, my flesh-and-blood friend, the natural order of things?the longing for something that could always bea bit betteror the way that anythingworth doing feels a bit clumsy and painful, especially at firstor hearing another human voice and somehowrealizing the beauty of life is found in all of thesesubtle imperfections The Courage to Live It is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Subscribe9,3492612,367ShareDiscussion about this postCommentsRestacksElizabeth Harwell May 4Liked by Shawn SmuckerMy grandmother is basically blind, and my grandfather is basically deaf— but yesterday I called them to get a peanut butter pie recipe. My grandfather pulled a recipe card and tried to transcribe my grandmother’s scrawl to me over the phone, while my grandmother shouted corrections in the background. I wrote it all down on a piece of paper. I resisted the urge today to find a recipe online to compare it to (just in case!). Instead I made it just how it was shouted out to me. It’s lovely. Lovelier for the way it was given, and not sourced. Thanks for this poem. It also felt given.ReplyShare8 replies by Shawn Smucker and othersCharis Crandall May 4Liked by Shawn SmuckerYou make real, human life seem so messy and inefficient and gloriously wonderful. May we always champion our humanity in such a way.ReplyShare1 reply by Shawn Smucker259 more comments...TopLatestDiscussionsNo postsReady for more?Subscribe© 2026 Shawn Smucker · Privacy ∙ Terms ∙ Collection notice Start your SubstackGet the appSubstack is the home for great culture

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Shawn Smucker explores the theme of human courage and the authentic experience of life, juxtaposing it against the use of artificial intelligence as a tool for creating life's milestones. The author cautions against relying on AI for personal endeavors, suggesting that outsourcing tasks such as planning meals, organizing travel, or crafting heartfelt speeches results in inauthentic outcomes. He argues that seeking machine-generated words, instead of genuine human expression, strips away the necessary context of lived experience—the pain of miscarriage, the joy of restored friendship, or the specific, messy emotions of a parent.

Smucker posits that the value lies in the imperfect, inefficient, and wonderfully wonderful nature of human existence. He contrasts the sterile, perfected words generated by an algorithm with the genuine emotional depth that results from navigating real human experiences. This leads to a reflection on creativity, asserting that true mastery is not achieved through effortless prompt engineering but through the time and dedicated effort required to craft something with one's own mind.

The author contemplates the profound, almost haunting quality of retrospective remembrance, noting that future generations might create a "funeral song" for us by drawing from our obituaries and digital traces, suggesting that these reflections derived from human experience possess a unique, sanitary sweetness unattainable by non-sentient entities. This serves as a powerful argument for championing humanity in its messy and inefficient form.

This contemplation deepens into a personal acknowledgment of the human condition, reflecting on the longing for something ever so slightly better and recognizing that the beauty of life is embedded in these subtle imperfections and the clumsy pain that accompanies genuine engagement with the world. When considering aging and the inevitable decline of the physical body, Smucker finds acceptance in the natural order, recognizing that the essence of living resides not in flawless execution but in the complexity and vulnerability inherent to being flesh and blood.