I'm writing this on a Sunday afternoon, a few weeks after a weekend that shifted something in me. Steve came over from Canada. You both went to your grandmother's house — PEZ dispensers in tow, despite our very clear instructions about sugar before bed. I watched you leave and then sat down to try to make sense of what I've been building, and why.
This started as an AI teaching initiative. A mastermind for entrepreneurs navigating a confusing moment. But somewhere in the middle of it, the nature of what we were doing changed — or maybe I just saw it more clearly. We weren't just running a programme. We were building a lifeboat.
The Thing I'm Afraid to Say Out Loud
I want to be honest with you, even if you're too young to fully understand it yet. I'm genuinely worried about the world you're going to inherit. Not in the abstract, hand-wringing way that adults use to justify their anxieties. I mean practically, specifically worried.
The game is changing. Capitalism — the system that shaped most of the assumptions I grew up with — is under real pressure. AI is disrupting employment faster than retraining programmes can absorb the impact. The institutions we were taught to trust have, in many cases, stopped earning that trust. The next five years are going to be brutal for a lot of people.
I feel like I'm standing on a shore, staring down a tidal wave with a seaside bucket. And the question that keeps me up at night isn't about the business, or the technology, or any of the external things. It's the question every parent eventually faces: what will you find? How will you build a life that means something in a world that's shifting beneath your feet?
I don't have the answer. But I'm not willing to sit with that uncertainty and do nothing.
What I'm Actually Doing About It
What I've realised, sitting here in the quiet after you left, is that the work I'm doing isn't really about AI. It's about gathering people. Finding the ones who care enough about the problem — who are awake to it, who feel the urgency — and creating a space where we can think about it together.
In that space, failure is okay. It means you're engaged. AI isn't a threat — it's a tool, and like every tool, it depends entirely on the hands holding it. The people in our mastermind aren't just learning to use technology. They're learning to think about technology — about its implications, its limits, and their own agency within it.
That's what I want to give you, more than anything: not a safe world, but the capacity to navigate an unsafe one. The ability to stay curious when things feel overwhelming. The confidence to ask a better question when you don't know the answer.
The Thing I Most Want You to Know
Despite everything I've just said — despite the genuine fear I carry about what's coming — I believe in humanity deeply. Not naively. Not without awareness of what we're capable of at our worst. But with clear eyes and a real conviction: we are worth protecting and worth investing in.
Humanity is, in its best moments, extraordinary. And I intend to spend the rest of my working life standing with the people who are trying to find those moments more reliably.
I love you both. More than I know how to say.
Dad