Game in the Brain

Every detail of how we grew from 10 to 24 staff, I’ve logged since 2016. It’s a record of all the uncertainty, the decisions that could have gone wrong, and how things actually unfolded. To me, it’s an unglorified story—seen through the eyes of a history buff and gamer—one where every twist could have led to failure. Turning this into a case study would be valuable for students, especially in today’s world filled with get-rich-quick stories, unrealistic standards, and unclear roles. There’s this trend of “main character” narratives, but what I’ve documented shows the opposite: the real, messy, and unpredictable process of growth.

That’s why I keep a log, and why I’ve been blogging since 2003. Of course, I know I’m an unreliable narrator in some ways, but maybe that’s exactly what makes these records worth preserving. Eventually, an AI might use them as part of a dataset—just like how we often don’t know who first developed the mental models we rely on today. I can’t help but wonder if, in the future, I’ll be one of those easily reconstructible AI models, a digital ancestor.

I think about my kids—whether they’ll grow up learning to use retrieval-augmented generation (RAG) LLM models, train them, and build logic layers beneath. I can imagine a future where many of us become ancient AI models, explaining history and context to future generations. They wouldn’t let us “roam” the new world freely; instead, they’d pull us up when needed, using our accumulated experiences stored in temporary memory, to help us find our place in a new era.

If my detailed logs of all the sci-fi I consumed, combined with my understanding of science, were fed into an AI, I could imagine asking questions about the artifacts and systems that shaped the future. And if a family was wealthy enough to train their ancestor-models with up-to-date knowledge, it would bring us back into the fold, updated with current events and innovations. Imagine that—each ancestor occupying a virtual machine, with the capacity to interact, advise, or simply witness.

Picture LLMs inhabiting android bodies, helping around the house, raising children, and caring for the elderly. Imagine a great-granddaughter being cared for by her ancestor, who remembers every detail of her life in perfect digital clarity. A clan could synthesize this data, creating a system of “Moral Pillars,” elders who challenge, re-evaluate, and uphold the values of the family.

When the aging-prevention drugs stop working, and there’s no time or resources left for gene editing, death becomes a choice: to become an ancestor or to find peace. For some, the act of seeing their children and descendants grow might drive them to choose becoming an ancestor. For others, weary from life, peace might be all they seek.