Journalist Karen Hao began covering OpenAI in 2019. OpenAI was one of the early companies trying to build AI. 

Hao, a graduate of MIT and a reporter for their Technology Review at the time, understood the science and was impressed by OpenAI’s original mission as a non-profit. The company would operate for the good of humanity. It would focus on safety and benevolence.

Hao saw things change. With success and with competition, the company increasingly wanted more. More energy, land, water, mineral resources, computational resources, money, talent, cheap overseas labor, and more data. More political influence. More computer chips. The non-profit phase ended and sometimes it seemed that the ever-present public enthusiasm was as much an attempt to dazzle, to avoid scrutiny, as it was genuine.

And overall, in the race with other companies, it never seemed clear to anyone, to any company, what the end goal was to be. What was AI supposed to do?

Fortunately, Karen Hao is an example of what is changing outside the race. She is one of many journalists who are committed to telling the truth about AI. Communities are waking up as well. Citizens are asking for moratoriums on data center construction. Schools are developing guidelines for the responsible use of AI. Parents are asking questions about the use of screens in general.

As a believer in the disruptions of climate change, I have long been appalled by the massive energy needs of AI. Along with cryptocurrency, it is an energy consumer unlike anything the world has ever seen.

I don’t need AI, so I have never intentionally used it. There may be uses that benefit mankind, and I don’t want to be shortsighted about that, but the debate, thank goodness, is on.

Of prime interest to me is the way individuals respond to the pull of technology. How is a person to retain or recover a sense of peace when so much asks for our attention?

To that end, I love the new book “The Small Stuff” (Simon & Schuster, 2026, 221 pp). Author Ian Bogost talks a little about AI, but is more concerned with our overall disconnect from the physical world. He doesn’t believe this is good for us. Don’t worry; he’s not pushing abstinence or some program. He wants us to carry on with whatever we were doing, while also noticing and taking pleasure in the small things. “It’s a cliché to urge you to stop and smell the roses, but you don’t even have to stop. Their scent is already in the air …”

The noticing of small things gives us moments “of control and connection … Add up all those little moments and they start to make a big difference.” They might not get us the new job or the new adventure, but they make everyday life more enjoyable.

Naturally, Bogost points out that modern life, with its “increased emphasis on automation and efficiency,” is a major cause of this disconnect with the physical world. No matter, he says. The physical world is still here and can bring us immediate delight. Even the soft clack of computer keys can be a source of delight. This is not work, he says. It’s “giving yourself permission to fully experience the sensory life that is always happening to you anyway.” He calls this “the sensory enchantment of everyday life.” I love that poetic phrase. The sensory enchantment of everyday life.

The proposal is so simple. Notice things. Surprisingly, however, as Bogost reports, the application can seem hard. How could that be, he asks? “Feeling, hearing, seeing things …” How could that be hard? “Because we are so used to being stuck in our heads.” We are used to thinking about goals and disappointments. Writer Oliver Burkeman, interviewed in the book, writes and speaks about living life one week at a time. He refers often to the mistake we make when we focus too much on the future, and advises we turn our attention to “sights, sounds, touch, smell,” but was candid with Bogost. “Just to be clear, I find being in this mindset really difficult.” 

New to me was a person like Tera, who, among other things, takes 20 minutes to fold three towels on her YouTube channel. She talks to the viewer, quietly, while folding. People watch her videos to dispel anxiety. She might pack a suitcase or use a lint roller. Yes, it can seem hard to get out of our heads, to stop thinking, and most of us need some help to do so. Bogost calls upon a Tibetan Buddhist monk to simplify the situation. Don’t think about it, says the monk, just do it. Practice. Notice what is right around you.

This is a most pleasant book, in large part because Bogost is such a good-natured person. He wants us to grasp his ideas, but he is not intense in any way. This speaks as much for the value of his ideas as any of the tales he tells.

Since I began the reading, I have noticed the small things more often. The sunlight glinting off a watch on my dresser. The wonderful surprise of a tiny breeze coming in through an open window. The unique smell of mint, the sound of cicadas. If I want to settle, I might reach out and touch something — a cup, the table, a piece of paper — just for a moment.

I took this book slowly, because an easy pace felt satisfying, and satisfaction is the deal here. Thank you, Ian Bogost. I appreciate your work.

(Anne Bevilacqua is a Haywood County resident and a lover of books. abev1@yahoo.com.)