AI Is Making You Faster—and Dumber

AI helps me do things faster. Think faster. Win faster. But despite how self-aware I am when using it, something more insidious is happening:

AI is slowly eroding my agency. Not by force, but by seduction.

🚩 Your Agency, Lost

If there's one thing that’s fueled my career, it’s the ability to spot the right strategic imperative early—and craft a compelling narrative that gets everyone on board.

Writing is leverage. If you can't articulate clearly, you won’t convince. You certainly won’t inspire action.

In collaborative settings with humans, there’s space to explore. We wrestle with ambiguity, walk through edge cases, and push each other until the idea sharpens. The eureka moment is shared, the ownership distributed, the insight earned.

When it’s time to present the idea upward, I structure my narrative in threes:

1. 2-min read – “Thanks for being our champion.”

2. 10-min read – “You have questions, we have answers.”

3. 30-min read – “Here’s why this rocket ship leaves with or without you.”

Leaders love this. They appreciate the precision and clarity of this format and appreciate the thoughtfulness of the approach.

But increasingly, that beautiful mess is being bypassed. AI-generated pre-reads now circulate before meetings. Opinions harden. Conversations start with conclusions. I’ve seen stakeholders make calls based on five bullet points of AI-generated filler.

And I’m not immune. Under pressure to move fast, I shortcut my own process. No more sifting through original research, no more marinating. Instead, I prompt. I skim. I synthesize secondhand.

And yet—because I reach 80% in 20% of the time—it feels like progress. But it’s not. I’m trading depth for speed. And I can feel that cost.

😴 The Lazy Genius Trap

AI makes me look productive. I’m shipping more. I’m responding faster. But under the surface? Something’s rusting.

I saw this clearly in a recent meeting. I’d used AI to prep a doc for my boss. He asked a simple, sharp question—and I froze. Not outwardly, but inside, I knew I was improvising. On a good day, I anticipate every rebuttal. That day, I hadn’t. I hadn’t thought it through. I hadn’t earned the insight.

That moment wasn’t embarrassing. It was clarifying. I was getting lazy.

🧪 The Science of Shallow Thinking

MIT ran a study tracking students' brain activity while writing essays:

• Group 1 used only their brains.

• Group 2 used Google.

• Group 3 used ChatGPT.

Guess who had the weakest brain engagement? ChatGPT users. They weren’t thinking—they were pasting.

🧠 EEG results showed poor fronto-parietal and temporal activity—markers of shallow semantic processing.

📝 Essays were formulaic and unoriginal. Over time, users increasingly copy-pasted instead of synthesizing.

🧵 Memory eroded. When ChatGPT users switched to Brain-only, they struggled to recall their own writing.

Meanwhile, Brain-only users who later used AI? They showed stronger neural patterns. When used to amplify thinking—not replace it—AI actually helped.

That’s the line I’ve crossed. From amplification to substitution.

⚙️ The Productivity Illusion

Another study found that AI users felt more productive—but less fulfilled. We’re not just delegating work; we’re surrendering joy.

This erosion is happening in parallel with the “infinite workday.” Microsoft reports that 48% of employees and 52% of leaders say their days are fragmented and chaotic. Email at 6am. Teams till 10pm. No time to think, only to respond.

AI writes the work. AI reads the work. What are we doing again?

We’ve built a loop where thought is optional, and output is everything.

💡 From Distilled to Diluted

There’s a difference between distilled insight and diluted content. And I’ve traded the former for the latter.

I used to chase insight through argument, tension, and analysis. Now I sift AI sludge looking for a sentence worth keeping. I used to uncover patterns. Now they’re handed to me before I’ve even asked the right question.

AI gives me the outline before I’ve earned it. It wraps the story before I’ve even felt the friction.

The mess—that uncomfortable stretch where clarity is forged—is disappearing.

And that’s where the good stuff lives.

🔄 What I’m Changing

1. AI doesn’t get the first word. I start with pen, paper, or whiteboard. Until I’ve framed the idea myself, AI stays silent.
   
   

2. I rewrite from scratch. If I can’t reconstruct the core idea without help, I haven’t internalized it. Only then do I check AI’s framing.
   
   

3. Every bullet needs tension. No fluff. No filler. If it doesn’t provoke or challenge, it doesn’t belong.
   
   

4. I speak the story aloud. If I can’t sell it in a room without slides, it’s not ready. Human delivery matters. Narrative is muscle memory.
   
   

5. I use AI for friction, not direction. It’s a critic, not a composer. I write first. Then I let AI punch holes in it.
   
   

This isn’t about using AI. It’s about when—and why—you choose to use it.

Agency isn’t lost all at once. It’s chipped away. One AI chat at a time.