The Comfort Crisis

Over the past six months, I’ve been posting book reviews on this blog with the help of artificial intelligence. No, saying “with the help of” is just a way of clinging to denial. In reality, I had a prompt template ready to go. I’d input the book title, author, publisher’s blurb, and existing content about the book, sprinkle in some of my own opinions like seasoning, and hit enter. With a few tweaks, the auto-generated text would be uploaded as if I had written it myself.

There was some logic behind this. After finishing one book, I’d often want to move on to the next, but I couldn’t because I hadn’t finished writing a review yet. At some point, I started wishing I could just get the reviews over with. So, I began summarizing the key takeaways or impressions from the books and feeding them into AI to generate reviews. That way, I could avoid delays in starting the next book.

But over time, a hollow feeling began to grow. I started asking myself: What meaning does it hold to stockpile reviews I didn’t even write myself? This went against the very reason I began writing reviews in the first place—to articulate my own thoughts. It also contradicted my life principle of focusing on what only I can do in this world.

Still, I couldn’t go back. Once I had experienced the convenience of AI writing, I couldn’t bring myself to return to the old way—drafting and typing every word by hand. Logically, I’d say, “This time, I’ll write it myself,” but as soon as I picked a book to review, I’d think, “Just this once, I’ll use AI.” That dangerous phrase—“just this once”—which traps so many addicts, had quietly taken root in my mind.

Then, I snapped out of it. Being addicted to something is a blow to one’s pride. It means letting your body and mind be held hostage by something others created. I realized I needed a radical solution—I had to burn the bridge behind me. So I deleted around 50 AI-generated reviews. And now, I’m confessing all of this publicly. Having made this declaration, with readers now watching, I won’t allow myself to fall back into writing easy reviews with AI.

With that resolve, I looked over the next books I wanted to read. I hoped for something that could help me reflect on my recent experiences. That’s when the title The Comfort Crisis caught my eye. The comfort it speaks of felt eerily similar to the inertia I had fallen into with AI-generated writing.

In the book, author Michael Easter embarks on a 33-day caribou hunting trip in Alaska with two companions. Throughout the journey, he rediscovers things modern society has lost in its pursuit of convenience. For example, eating uncomfortably in the wilderness prompts reflection on our excessive modern appetite, and carrying caribou meat underscores how the ability to transport burdens is a fundamental human trait. The book’s mix of vivid storytelling and deep philosophical insights struck me as clever and original. As a journalist, Easter clearly shows his professional edge.

What left the deepest impression on me, however, was the discussion of death. After finally pulling the trigger on a caribou in the Alaskan wilderness, the author transitions to a story about his visit to Bhutan—often dubbed the happiest country in the world. He meets people from ministers to religious leaders, exploring how Bhutanese live happy lives despite not being wealthy. The answer, in a word, is “awareness of death.”

I, too, think a lot about death. Every time I remember that life will inevitably end someday, things like status, fame, and wealth seem meaningless. That awareness may well be the greatest force sustaining my life. Reading someone else articulate these thoughts in their own words made my own beliefs clearer. I felt a pure sense of resonance between my thoughts and the author’s throughout the book.

The book doesn’t directly address the existential crisis brought on by AI—my original motivation for picking it up. And that makes sense. The English edition of The Comfort Crisis was published in May 2021, before the generative AI boom led by ChatGPT. If it had been released just three years later, the author would no doubt have given significant attention to the topic. Still, the book offers more than enough insights to guide me on my path forward.

From now on, I won’t outsource my reviews to AI. I won’t succumb to the comfort promised by AI-generated writing. I’ll keep thinking deeply and writing with my own hands. Because the struggle of articulating my thoughts is what makes me human—and what helps me grow. Even if my writing is clumsy, with weak vocabulary and unclear messages, the fact that I wrote it is what matters. Everything else is just a side note.

Steve Jobs once said, “The journey is the reward.” The process of wrestling with words to create something that didn’t exist before—this is something AI’s convenience can never replicate. This blog will now be filled with words that are truly my own. And I’m grateful to this book for helping me recommit to the craft of writing.