The first time I spent an entire afternoon working with AI, I closed my laptop with that strangely satisfying feeling of having done hard intellectual work. My brain felt cooked. I had compared models, refined prompts, rewritten outputs, tested workflows, chased better phrasing, discarded entire approaches. It felt intense. Dense. Productive.
There’s a certain kind of story the internet instantly falls for. You know the format: someone with just enough status to sound unquestionable, simplicity, a symbolic detail like a black coffee, a minimalist detail like a black coffee, and one sharp sentence delivered with enough detachment to pass for life philosophy: »I stopped adding sugar to things that were bitter.«
»Dump the first espresso of the day.« That was the advice, I saw in a reel the other day. A guy standing in a spotless kitchen, speaking with quiet authority. No drama, no irony. Just a clean instruction. Even if you single dose. Even if you weigh your beans to the tenth of a gram. The coffee sitting in the dead space of the grinder overnight will have oxidized. It will dull the shot. It is not worth drinking.
There’s a kind of tiredness that has nothing to do with sleep. You wake up with it already installed. It feels less like exhaustion and more like static. Too many tabs open in the mind. Too many unfinished gestures. Too many tiny negotiations with the day before it has even started. For a while I thought this was just adulthood. Or work. Or the news cycle. Pick your villain.
The trails in Switzerland don’t rush you. They invite you — past cowbells, into fir shade, up where the air turns glassy. Somewhere between a ridgeline and a mountain hut, a small yellow sign rewired how I think about work.