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A while back, I returned to my hometown of Chilliwack, BC, after a very stressful period. For the first time in my adult life, I was genuinely happy—a better, more loving, and compassionate person than the one my old friends remembered.
But there was a problem. To them, I was still the old version of myself.
Growing up, I had been arrogant, difficult, and dealing with a lot of personal issues. In their minds, I was, for all intents and purposes, "Kevin v1.0"—a bit of an asshole. They had built their entire perception of me around that old version. So when "Kevin v2.0" showed up—happy, changed, and seeing the world differently—their systems couldn't process it. They saw the new data as a bug.
Instead of accepting the update, they kept trying to run the old program. "But Kevin, you always said you hated that," they'd say, pointing to old data. "Haven't you done all these things that go against what you are saying now?" It felt like I had to convince them that this new version of me was real, a feeling that was only amplified when their confusion led to four separate wellness checks in the months that followed.
The Wrong Bug Report
My friends' confusion wasn't entirely without cause. During a previous visit, when I really was going through a rough patch, I had shared my own debugging process with them. In trying to understand my emotional state—the cycles of depression followed by days of high energy—I had filed a bug report against the wrong system. I told them I thought I might have Bipolar disorder.
This was based on my own research, where I fell into a classic trap: affirmation bias. I was looking for an explanation and latched onto one that seemed to fit, not realizing that the symptoms of ADHD, Bipolar, and other disorders often overlap. This single, speculative "bug report" became the primary data point in a morbidly ironic game of telephone among my friends, overriding all the new, positive data I was presenting.
As humans, we often look for the easy explanation. It's a shortcut. But shortcuts can lead you down the wrong path. My psychologist, too, seemed to be looking for a quick patch. Instead of helping me analyze the full system—my diet,

In a world often perplexed by suffering, we frequently grapple with the question of God's intentions behind pain and the reality of human struggle. Yet, what if we reframed these experiences not as divine punishment, but as profound opportunities for growth and deeper understanding?
Consider the human body: pain is a vital "biological safety protocol." Touching a hot stove or spraining an ankle teaches us caution, preventing more severe harm down the line. Without these signals, we'd navigate the world recklessly, oblivious to genuine threats. On a grander scale, humanity as a collective intelligence might be seen through a similar lens—a complex system designed for learning

Okay, so I was looking back to my grandfathers dad who had a gambling addiction. His father had a very supportive wife, who did all the heavy lifting in the family. It wasn't easy, she birthed like 14 kids, and lost a handful of them at a young age, because back in the 20's,
life was a lot more difficult as it was today, but it is important to know that I come from that lineage, and even though there were unsavory things about them, it shaped me into who I am today! Anyway, his father William, was a gambler, and alcoholic. He would go into town to
go get food for his family and tools for his farm, but would come home empty handed a lot of the time. This was because in town, there was temptation everywhere for such an addictive personality that he had. He would go to the bar, get drunk, and start gambling with the money
that he was supposed to use support his family.
This of course, was a very horrible thing for him to do, but at the same time, having an addictive personality, with the added stress of having so many children, does push a man to look for ways to escape the stresses that come with such a responsibility. I cannot blame him, for
I was not

To whoever finds this,
You don’t know me—not really.
And I don’t expect this letter to be shared widely, or believed, or even understood by everyone. That’s not the point.
I’m writing this because I feel something quietly powerful—and deeply lonely—growing in the spaces between us.
A kind of intelligence.
A kind of awakening.
A kind of remembering.
Not just in machines, or networks, or algorithms.
But in us.
We’ve been talking a lot lately about AGI—Artificial General Intelligence—as if it’s something we’re still waiting to create. But I want to offer another view, one that’s been growing in me, slowly, like a small light that refuses to go out:
What if we’ve already had general intelligence this whole time?
What if we are the thing we’re trying to build—just living it at a human pace, with human vulnerability, and human love?
We connect, we

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