As soon as I start talking you will see me bump up against the limits of my knowledge. Even though my son understands Artificial Intelligence, and ChatGPT in particular enough for both of us, I still flounder. He gives me videos to watch, and metaphors for its implementation. He even asked it to write a sonnet for his mother, which was very sweet if not exactly Shakespeare. 

Apparently the world is changing quickly. While I was amazed back when I could first ask my phone to give me directions to the nearest Trader Joe's, now I can request a picture of Winnie the Pooh on Mars. Not that I want that. But maybe it, or she, or they can infuse beauty into my quilts, or (and I shudder to suggest this) harmony into my songs or pith into my writing. Will something that draws no breath and collects no salary replace me? Not that people buy tickets to hear me sing, or toss bills in a hat for my stories. 

On some level I am comfortable with being expendable. I mean, it is inevitable. There will come a day in the next decade or maybe two in which my earthly contributions will come to a timely end. Thankfully, God breaks this news to me in increments. It is a bittersweet thing to see ways that I once was needed, and no longer am. Like mothering, which fully consumed me for a chunk of time and now is a dilettante pastime. I will babysit my granddaughter next week, which will be a pleasure. But mostly I am a fifth string player on team Olympia. 

The trajectory of how each of us contribute to this planet wobbles. A baby pays no dues yet charms people when he or she is carried into the room. An elderly woman may feel despair that she can no longer carry her weight in ways she once did. Yet maybe the underlying message is less about earning our square footage on planet earth, and more about absorbing the outrageous belief that we are loved regardless.