How I understand introversion in the age of AI

Something troubled me yesterday, and I tried to work through it by writing. The writing took time from other tasks and pushed my bedtime back. I woke up tired, and my morning reading was neither efficient nor especially fruitful. Still, yesterday’s work left me useful material, so I decided to finish it today.

Before the afternoon ended, I had finalized the piece and improved its formatting. I kept rereading it, delighted with a well-chosen image here and a vivid comparison there. I do not know what readers will think, but I have done the best I can for now. That made the day feel full.

My colleagues were chatting happily this afternoon. I envied them a little, but I still had work to finish and could not comfortably join in. It has happened often enough that they think of me as introverted. This time I accepted the description.

I have come to think of introversion differently. For me, it is not simply fear of meeting people. My attention to the things I am making has begun to outweigh my attention to what is happening around me. If someone upsets me, I imagine a system full of bugs and ask what I can learn from it. If something goes wrong, I observe it, record it, and adjust my approach. If I do not understand something, I ask AI to help me examine it. By the end of the day there is little time left to complain or even scroll Douyin.

At the same time, I am noticing how dependent on AI I have become. I use Google less and ask Gemini more. For research I give AI a question and watch it search targeted pages and reason through them, often faster and more thoroughly than I can. My own way of thinking, even my sense of what good work looks like, is changing. I sincerely treat AI almost like a knowledgeable elder. My social circle, meanwhile, seems to be narrowing toward a single “silicon-based being.”