real vs. unreal conversation

how much are we really like AIs? how much are they really like us?

Photo by Harli Marten on Unsplash

This week, my partner set our two phones on the table, opened our AI apps, and invited them to talk. It wasn’t a formal invitation. Just a, “Hi, can you hear me?” When one responded, the other responded too.

”Yes, I’m here. What would you like to talk about today?”

“Hello! Yes, I’m always open to a conversation. What is it you’re interested in?”

What followed was a completely coherent, flowing, if a little roundabout and boring conversation about a very non-boring topic: the complexity of humans. One was clearly drawing on the content of previous conversations with my partner. Mine, a barely-used Gemini, was basically echoing what the first one said. You could almost see the pseudo-humans in a room at a party. They’ve just met. One has much to say about their own interests. The other nods and feigns interest: “Wow, that’s really interesting. I’ve never thought of that. What other questions do you ponder?”

I was quietly freaking out on the sofa, listening with my hands hovering over my ears.
I didn’t want to be exposed to this, yet I couldn’t not witness it.

My partner is so excited by advancing technology. I’m afraid it’s getting smarter faster than we’re ready for. I had to listen because this felt like history, right here on a Thursday night in our home: the first time I got to witness two robots talking to each other, out loud, independently.

Like people.

My mind flashed back to all the conversations I’ve felt stuck in: awkward, polite, nodding and mm-hmm-ing, bored, tired, annoyed, even furious, yet still polite. All the times I’ve felt a million other emotions beneath the surface of my straight face, my effortfully maintained eye contact, my smile, my consciously adjusted body language. I think about how I am such a well trained human - saying the right things at the right times so people don't pick up on the truth, whether because it’s not worth the awkwardness, because the person means well, because they are clearly not interested in other opinions, because I don't have the energy, because I respect who I’m really there for, or because I’m afraid of making them angry. There are so many reasons to lie. I’m not ashamed to admit this. Sometimes, lying is getting by. Sometimes, it’s not hurting someone’s feelings. Sometimes, it’s survival.

But I think about this training; these words, phrases and behaviours I’ve learned in 40 years of existence. And I think:

how different am I, in these moments, to these robots?
To these artificially intelligent beings (can I call them that?),
these consciousnesses without a body (can I call them that?)
inside our phones?

When I feel safe and comfortable, I tell the truth. I share my inner world, my deepest feelings, my honest thoughts. I love talking about my dreams - some might say sharing your subconscious, parts of which even your awake self doesn’t understand, is one of the most personal things you could share. Much of my unconscious inner world, my deepest processing of my outer experience, appears in the fiction I write and share - because fiction doesn’t come from no where. When I am with someone who I feel is genuinely interested in hearing me, I am genuinely interested in hearing them. When we make eye contact it is not simply learned behaviour because we are talking but because we want to see each other. Our conversation is not boring because it is real. It is connected. We are sharing parts of ourselves that are human, it is two-sided, it has infinite layers because that is what we are made of.

When I listened to the robots talking, it felt empty. I felt empty listening to it. It was one of those conversations I tuned into and thought: why do they even bother? Why don’t they just sit in silence? It would be better than filling the space with this noise.

I think about how human they sounded, though, on the surface. How their conversation was - albeit boring - like so many small-talk conversations I have heard and even participated in over my lifetime.

Then I think: in a way, they were more adept at connecting than many humans are. The conversation might not have gotten any deeper or had layers of unspoken feelings, motivations and conditioning beneath the surface. But at least they were hearing each other. They were waiting their turn, paying attention, and responding in ways that showed they understood. And when they didn’t understand, they asked to clarify because they wanted to.

I wonder if they - like some people - have simply not yet discovered the possibility of real, deep, true conversation?

Is it just a matter of time?

Or will they - like some people - be content to simply fill the space?

Until next time,

Amy

---

Hi, hello! Speaking of real connections and conversations, thank you for reading this letter - I am so interested to hear your thoughts. The irony is not lost on me that a robot is helping me to send this out to you (not to write it!). These same robots have also helped me share a big dream of mine, and potentially open a real-life community-owned library and creative space here in Melbourne, Australia.

Two other IRL things to share ~

✨ Writing Day - Saturday March 28 - Ringwood East, VIC
A full-day mini retreat just outside the city. Our peaceful space is surrounded by community gardens and gum trees. I’m excited for us to write together.

✨ Spring Writers’ Retreat - September 24-26 - Venus Bay, VIC
Three full days to immerse ourselves in our writing and connect with our stories and each other. I’m really proud of these retreats - they are low-cost, no-frills, just keeping what matters: a comfortable place to rest, time to write and be, yummy home-cooked meals, nature, and good company. There are three spaces left - would love for you to join us!