The Computer Works for Us

Not long ago, someone on one of my teams said something I haven’t been able to shake.

They felt like we were removing humans from the most meaningful parts of the work. The judgment calls. The planning. The design. If agents do the planning, write the code, and review the code, what’s left for the person? Maybe reviewing what the machine produced. Maybe not even that.

They weren’t really worried about losing their job. They were worried about losing the parts of the job they love. They could see those things disappearing, one capability at a time.

In my day job, I lead engineering teams that build software. We use AI constantly, and it’s getting better every month. But that conversation reminded me that the biggest story of this shift isn’t technical. It’s human. People are feeling lost, isolated, and quietly unsure where they fit anymore. Most of them aren’t saying it out loud.

So I want to say it out loud. This is the first in a series about the human side of the AI shift.

I feel it too

I’m not writing this from above it.

I’m producing more code than I ever have. And I’ll be honest: I’m a little jealous that it codes better than I do on the first try. That’s a strange thing to admit after years of building this skill.

I also feel more isolated from people. When you can get an answer in seconds from a machine, you stop leaning over to ask the person next to you. When agents write the code, there are fewer long afternoons working a problem through with someone else. More gets done, and the room gets quieter.

If you’ve felt that, you’re not imagining it.

What I told my teammate

Two things.

First, don’t check out of the conversation. None of this is settled. Not how we use these tools, not which work we hand off, not what a good day on the job looks like a year from now. The people who stay in the room and keep talking are the ones who get to shape it. The ones who go quiet get it decided for them.

Second, the computer works for us. We still control the machine. The point of a tool is to take the tedious and mundane off our plate so we can spend more of our time on the work we love. If it’s doing the opposite, taking the parts we love and leaving us the leftovers, then we’re using it wrong, and we should say so.

The most important things aren’t efficient

Here’s what I think sits under the fear.

We’ve been told, for a long time, that efficiency and productivity are the highest goals. AI is the most efficient thing most of us have ever worked with. So if efficiency is the point, the logic says: let the machine do everything, and let the humans check its work.

But we’re not machines. We’re humans. We enjoy solving problems, and we especially enjoy solving them together.

A long design meeting where people argue over an idea. Someone pushing back on you, and you pushing back on them. Hearing the tone of someone’s voice and knowing they’re not convinced yet. Seeing a face light up when the idea finally clicks. None of that is efficient. All of it matters.

The fear isn’t really “Will I have a job?” It’s “Will I spend my working life talking to a machine alone?” That doesn’t sound like much of a future to me either. I don’t want to talk anyone out of that fear. I want to affirm it. It’s a healthy instinct.

The inefficiency of human interaction is the very thing we crave.

Two ways through

I’ve seen two healthy ways to navigate this so far.

One is the way I’ve chosen. I’ve moved more of my time into the human parts of the job: people, planning, ideas, decisions. Then I trust that whatever the humans come up with, the agents can build quickly. I direct more and execute less. That fits my personality, and it’s been good for me.

But not everyone is wired that way. Some of the best developers I know love the building itself. They love the flow of working a hard problem in code. They’d rather do that than sit in another meeting.

If that’s you, keep doing it. The machine doesn’t have to do it instead of you. It can do it as well as you. Think of yourself as a player-coach on a small team. You can direct a handful of agents, enjoy what they produce together, and still dig into the deep problems yourself. You get to play both roles.

You don’t have to let go of the thing you love. Ever. Again: the computer works for us.

Where your value comes from

I’m a Christian, and this is where my faith actually holds me steady.

I believe I am who I am because the great I AM tells me who I am. The Bible says I am “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14). I believe God gave human beings a special value in creation, and he gave us work to do.

He’s a Creator, and he made us to create. When we make things, it’s the work of our hands, and we can be proud of it. That includes the good work we do with these tools.

But the work we produce isn’t what gives us value. The One who produced us does.

You don’t have to share my faith to feel the weight of that. A lot of us quietly built our sense of worth on being good at something. When a machine gets good at the same thing, it can feel like the floor gives way. If your worth comes from something deeper than your output, the floor holds.

What to do this week

Talk to someone about it. There’s a line in the Bible that says no temptation has overtaken you “except what is common to man” (1 Corinthians 10:13). Whatever you’re feeling about this, whether it’s uncertainty, fear, or even excitement, others around you are feeling it too. Don’t be ashamed of it. Say it to a person. That’s far better than working it out with a chatbot, which tends to be an echo chamber of your own thoughts.

If your workday runs through a screen, make your evenings human. This might be the most practical advice in this whole series. The more of your working life happens through screens and AI, the more your life outside work should be full of people. Introverts can do this too. It doesn’t have to be a party.

If you spend eight hours a day producing good work with AI, be proud of that work. Then go do something with real humans. Even online gaming counts if you’re hearing real voices. Better yet, pick something physical, tangible, and in person: a meal, a workbench, a trail, a team, a table.

We need the inefficiency of humanity to stay human.

What’s coming

Over the next several articles, I want to go further into what this shift feels like from the inside. I’ll cover feeling stupid at work, wondering whether you’re now working for the machine, the loneliness of the AI-assisted workday, what happens to craft and quality, and the big question underneath it all: if a machine can do my job, who am I?

If any of this has been on your mind, I’d love to hear about it. And then go tell a human, too.