Chapter 1: The Morning After You Let Yourself Down

There is a particular kind of silence that comes after you disappoint yourself. The room is the same, the phone is still on the table, the coffee still tastes the same, but something inside you feels different because you know what happened. Maybe you said something you promised yourself you would never say again. Maybe you went back to something you thought you had left behind. Maybe you froze when you wanted to be brave. In those moments, the message about getting back up after failure matters because failure can make one bad moment feel much bigger than it really is.

What makes it worse is that most of us know how to forgive other people faster than we know how to forgive ourselves. We can tell someone else that everyone makes mistakes, that God is not finished with them, and that one bad decision does not erase the good in their life. Then we make our own mistake, and suddenly all that grace disappears. That is why the deeper lesson about trusting God after you fail is not just comforting language. It is something we have to learn when our confidence in ourselves has taken a hit.

Peter knew that feeling. He loved Jesus, and I do not think his love was fake. When he said he would stand by Jesus no matter what happened, I believe he meant it. Peter saw himself as loyal. He probably imagined that when the real test came, he would be the one who stayed. Then Jesus was arrested, fear entered the room, and Peter found out that sincerity and strength are not always the same thing.

That is one of the hard lessons failure teaches us. Sometimes we truly mean what we say, but we are weaker than we realized. You can honestly want to be patient and still lose your temper. You can really want to trust God and still panic when the bank account is lower than you expected. You can love your family and still say something in a tired moment that you wish you could take back. The fact that you failed does not mean every good intention you had was a lie. It may simply mean there is still a part of you that needs to grow.

Peter denied Jesus three times. The story is familiar enough that we can lose sight of how personal that must have been. This was not a stranger making a bad choice. This was a man who had walked with Jesus, listened to Him, watched Him heal people, and promised he would not leave. Then, when association with Jesus became dangerous, Peter said he did not know Him.

Imagine the walk away from that moment. Imagine having nothing to do but think about what you just did. There was no way to talk his way out of it. He had failed at the very thing he was most certain about.

We all have smaller versions of that walk.

You leave the meeting and know you should have spoken up. You get home after arguing with your spouse and replay one sentence you wish you had swallowed. You look at the charge on your account and know you spent money you promised yourself you would save. You see the message you sent when you were angry and wish you could pull it back. The moment is over, but your mind keeps dragging you back into it.

That is where many people get stuck. The failure happens once, but they relive it fifty times. They let one mistake turn into a judgment about who they are. Instead of saying, “I did something I regret,” they start saying, “This is who I am.” There is a big difference between those two thoughts.

Jesus did not treat Peter as though his worst moment was his true identity.

After the resurrection, Jesus met Peter again. He did not ignore what happened, but He also did not humiliate him. He did not gather the other disciples around and make Peter explain himself. He did not make him earn his way back through some public display of shame. Jesus spoke to him, asked him about his love, and gave him responsibility again.

“Feed my sheep.”

That tells me something about how Jesus sees failure.

He takes it seriously, but He does not treat it as final.

Sometimes we confuse repentance with permanent self-punishment. We think that if we really understand what we did wrong, we should keep feeling terrible about it. But staying ashamed is not the same thing as changing. You can feel bad for years and never actually grow. Real change begins when you are honest about what happened, receive the grace God gives you, and let the lesson change the way you live next time.

That can be harder than it sounds because shame often feels like responsibility. It tells you that constantly replaying the mistake proves you care. But if you have admitted the truth, asked God for forgiveness, made amends where you can, and learned something from it, then carrying the same weight forever is not humility. At some point, it becomes another way of refusing to believe that grace is real.

Think about Peter. If he had decided his failure disqualified him, we would know his story very differently. He could have disappeared. He could have decided that somebody who denied Jesus had no business speaking about Him again. Instead, he allowed Jesus to restore him.

Later, Peter stood in public and spoke openly about Christ.

The man who once said, “I do not know Him,” became a man willing to tell crowds exactly who Jesus was.

That does not make his denial unimportant. It makes grace more important.

Maybe you are carrying something right now that you think should still define you because it happened. Maybe it was years ago. Maybe it was last night. Maybe nobody else even knows about it. You know, though, and that has been enough to keep you living beneath the weight of it.

I would not tell you to pretend it did not happen. Jesus did not ask Peter to pretend either. But I would tell you not to confuse remembering a lesson with remaining trapped in a moment.

There is a reason people say it is not how many times you fall, but how many times you get back up. The saying becomes real when getting back up costs you something. It costs you pride because you have to admit you were wrong. It costs you fear because you have to try again knowing you might fail again. It costs you the strange comfort of shame because sometimes shame becomes familiar enough that moving forward feels almost undeserved.

But Jesus did not restore Peter so Peter could spend the rest of his life proving how sorry he was.

He restored him so he could live differently.

That may be what getting back up looks like for you too. Not a dramatic comeback. Not a big announcement. Maybe it is simply getting out of bed tomorrow and making one better decision. Maybe it is making the phone call you have been avoiding. Maybe it is praying again after feeling too ashamed to pray. Maybe it is returning to the work you almost gave up on because your first attempt went badly.

You do not need to be the person who never fell.

You need to be willing to let Jesus meet you there, tell you the truth, give you grace, and teach you how to stand again.

Chapter 2: The First Step Back Into the Room

The hard part is often not admitting that you failed. The hard part is walking back into the place where you have to live differently.

Maybe that place is your kitchen after a bad argument. Maybe it is your office after you made a mistake everyone noticed. Maybe it is the church pew after weeks of feeling distant from God. Maybe it is a conversation with your child after you lost your patience and saw the look on their face. The moment of failure may have been quick, but the return can feel painfully slow because now you know what needs to change.

That is where getting back up becomes more than a nice idea.

Peter had to face this too. Jesus restored him, but restoration did not mean Peter could simply feel better and go home. Jesus gave him work to do. “Feed my sheep” was not only comfort. It was direction. Peter was being invited back into responsibility.

I think that matters because grace is not God telling us that nothing matters. Grace is God refusing to abandon us while He teaches us how to live differently.

There are times when we want forgiveness without the awkward next step. We want to know God still loves us, but we do not want to make the phone call. We want peace, but we do not want to apologize. We want a fresh start, but we do not want to change the habit that keeps taking us back to the same place.

Getting back up usually involves movement.

Not dramatic movement. Often it is something small and uncomfortable.

A father stands outside his daughter’s bedroom after saying something too harsh and decides to knock instead of defending himself. A woman opens the banking app she has been avoiding because she knows the numbers are not good and decides to finally make a plan. A man who stopped praying because he felt like a hypocrite sits at the edge of his bed and says, “God, I do not even know what to say, but I am here.”

That is what starting again can look like.

The reason small steps matter is that shame loves distance. It tells you to hide from the very places where healing could begin. It tells you not to pray until you feel more spiritual, not to apologize until you have the perfect words, not to try again until you are sure you will succeed.

But if you wait until you feel completely ready, you may stay stuck for a long time.

Peter did not become bold overnight because he suddenly forgot what happened. He moved forward while carrying the memory of it. The difference was that the memory no longer controlled him.

There is something freeing about that.

You do not have to erase your past before you can obey God today. You do not have to become fearless before you can take the next step. You do not have to prove that you are completely changed before you begin changing.

You just have to be honest enough to move.

Sometimes the next right step is very ordinary. You show up to work. You tell the truth. You keep the appointment. You delete the number you keep going back to. You put the credit card away. You go for the walk. You open the Bible even though you feel distracted. You tell somebody you trust that you are struggling.

None of those things look impressive, but they are often where character is rebuilt.

We tend to imagine transformation as something dramatic. We picture a moment where everything suddenly becomes clear and we never struggle again. Real life is usually slower than that.

Most of the time, change is made of repeated choices that nobody applauds.

You choose not to send the angry message.

You choose to go home instead of going back to the place that keeps getting you in trouble.

You choose to admit that you need help.

You choose to pray before reacting.

You choose to tell the truth even when the truth makes you look worse.

Those choices are not punishment for failing. They are part of becoming someone stronger.

Jesus did not restore Peter to the same kind of confidence Peter had before. Before the denial, Peter trusted himself too much. Afterward, he knew something about his own weakness. That kind of knowledge can make a person more dependent on God and more patient with other people.

Sometimes the person who has fallen and gotten back up becomes gentler.

They know what it feels like to be embarrassed by their own choices. They know how quickly fear can take over. They know what it means to need mercy.

That is one reason your failure does not have to be wasted.

It can make you more honest.

It can make you slower to judge.

It can make you more willing to notice the person sitting quietly in the corner who thinks everyone else has life figured out.

It can teach you that strength is not pretending you never struggle. Strength can also mean knowing where you are weak and refusing to hide from it.

Maybe you are at the point right now where you know what happened, you have asked God to forgive you, and you are still standing at the doorway of what comes next.

You do not need a five-year plan.

You need the next faithful step.

If you hurt someone, maybe that step is an apology without an excuse attached to it.

If you failed financially, maybe it is opening every bill instead of leaving envelopes on the counter.

If you let fear stop you, maybe it is trying again while your hands are still shaking.

If you have felt far from God, maybe it is simply speaking to Him honestly instead of waiting until you feel worthy.

That is what Peter had to do in his own way. He had to stop being the man who only remembered the fire where he denied Jesus and become the man who followed Jesus into what came next.

You can do that too.

Not because you are strong enough to guarantee you will never fail again.

Because Jesus is not asking you to guarantee the future.

He is asking you to follow Him today.

And sometimes getting back up is nothing more than that: one honest step, taken with God, in the direction you know you need to go.

Chapter 3: When You Stop Asking the Past for Permission

There are mornings when nothing dramatic happens, but you still feel the weight of an old mistake before your feet even touch the floor. You wake up, look at the ceiling, and your mind reaches backward before the day has even started. Maybe it is something you said years ago. Maybe it is a decision that changed a relationship. Maybe it is an opportunity you lost because you were not ready for it then. The strange thing is that everyone else may have moved on while you are still quietly asking the past whether you are allowed to move forward.

That is one of the ways regret keeps people stuck.

It does not always shout. Sometimes it just keeps reminding you who you used to be.

You start making decisions based on an old version of yourself. You turn down opportunities because you assume you will mess them up. You keep people at a distance because you do not trust your own judgment anymore. You stop expecting much from your life because disappointment feels safer than hope.

That can happen spiritually too.

You pray, but somewhere inside you are still wondering whether God really wants to hear from you. You read something about grace and believe it for everyone except yourself. You know what Scripture says about forgiveness, but your own history feels like an exception.

Peter could have lived that way.

He could have spent the rest of his life introducing himself internally as the man who denied Jesus.

But Jesus would not let that become Peter’s whole identity.

That matters because sometimes the biggest obstacle to getting back up is not what God thinks about us. It is what we have decided about ourselves.

There is a difference.

Jesus already knew Peter was going to fail before Peter failed.

That did not surprise Him.

Think about that for a moment.

Jesus knew exactly what Peter was going to do, and He still chose him. He still taught him. He still loved him. And after the failure, Jesus still had a place for him.

That does not excuse what Peter did. It tells us something about the size of Christ’s grace.

God is not working with an imaginary version of you.

He knows the real one.

He knows the weak places. He knows the things you regret. He knows where your confidence is fragile and where your judgment has failed you. He is not discovering those things as you go.

That means you can stop trying to surprise God with your honesty.

He already knows.

And that is actually freeing.

A woman can sit alone in her car after work, hands still on the steering wheel, and finally admit that she has been pretending for months. She is exhausted, angry, and embarrassed by how badly she handled something at home. She has kept telling herself she should be stronger by now. But maybe the prayer she needs is not impressive at all.

Maybe it is just, “Jesus, I messed this up. I need help.”

That kind of prayer is not weakness.

It is where something new can begin.

We often think getting back up means becoming impressive again.

It does not.

Sometimes it means becoming honest.

Peter’s restoration was not about returning him to the confident man who had once insisted he would never fall. That version of Peter had already been exposed.

Jesus was building something deeper.

Peter would eventually become courageous, but it would not be the same kind of courage. It would come from knowing what happened when he relied too much on himself.

There is a humility that only comes after you have been wrong about your own strength.

And that humility can be a gift.

You may become more careful with your words because you remember the time you hurt someone.

You may become more compassionate toward somebody struggling because you remember how easily you once stumbled.

You may become more dependent on prayer because you know what happens when you try to carry everything alone.

That is not living in the past.

That is letting the past teach you without letting it own you.

There is a difference between remembering and remaining.

You can remember what happened without remaining there.

You can remember the mistake without returning to the shame.

You can remember the person you used to be without believing that is the only person you are capable of becoming.

Jesus does not ask you to erase your story.

He asks you to follow Him with it.

There may always be parts of your life you wish had happened differently. Some consequences do not disappear just because you learned the lesson. Some relationships cannot be repaired exactly as they were. Some opportunities really are gone.

Faith does not require pretending otherwise.

But losing one opportunity does not mean God has no more opportunities.

A broken relationship does not mean you are incapable of loving people well.

A season of bad decisions does not mean every future decision will be bad.

And a failure in your faith does not mean Jesus has stopped calling you forward.

Peter’s life proves that.

The man who denied Jesus became a man who spoke about Him openly.

His failure remained part of his story, but it stopped being the headline.

Maybe that is what you need to let happen in your own life.

You do not have to keep leading with the worst thing you ever did.

You do not have to keep introducing yourself to tomorrow with yesterday’s name.

If you have repented, learned, grown, and allowed God to work on you, then it is okay to move forward.

Actually, there comes a point when moving forward becomes part of obedience.

Because there is work in front of you.

There are people you have not met yet.

There are conversations you have not had yet.

There are ways God can use what you learned to help somebody who is standing where you once stood.

But you will miss some of that if you keep asking the past for permission.

Peter did not spend his life apologizing for being Peter.

He followed Jesus.

That is what you can do too.

You may still have days when the old memory comes back.

When it does, you do not have to fight with it for hours.

You can simply say, “Yes, that happened. I learned from it. God met me there. And I am not living there anymore.”

Then keep going.

The saying is that it is not how many times you fall, but how many times you get back up.

I think Jesus gives that saying deeper meaning.

Getting back up is not about proving how tough you are.

It is about trusting that grace can still reach you on the ground.

It is about believing that failure can teach you without naming you.

It is about accepting that Christ can restore a person who disappointed himself.

And it is about understanding that your next faithful step still matters, even after a bad one.

So if you have fallen, get back up.

Not because what happened was small.

Not because it did not matter.

Get back up because Jesus is bigger than the moment that knocked you down.

Get back up because shame was never meant to become your home.

Get back up because the person you were in your weakest moment does not have to be the person you remain.

And get back up because Peter did.

Jesus met him there.

He restored him.

Then He gave him somewhere to go.

He can do the same with you.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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For most of the industrial era, the professional was the worker technology could not reach. The factory hand could be replaced by a machine, the clerk by a spreadsheet, the switchboard operator by a network of relays. But the radiologist reading a shadow on a scan, the litigator sensing which argument would land with a particular judge, the structured-finance banker who knew instinctively that a deal was wrong before she could say why — these people were protected by something more durable than a job title. They were protected by the illegibility of their own expertise. Their judgement lived in a place no employer could copy and no algorithm could reach: inside their heads, accumulated over decades, most of it never written down because most of it could not be.

That protection is now being dismantled, and the striking thing is who is dismantling it. It is not being taken from the experts by force. It is being bought from them, by the hour, and a growing number of them are selling.

In June 2026, The Hollywood Reporter documented the entertainment-industry version of this trade: writers, editors, and development executives, squeezed out of a contracting film and television market, taking gigs through AI training platforms to correct model outputs and teach the systems to better imitate human creative judgement. That story is real, and it is wrenching, and it has been told. But it is the visible tip of something much larger and, for the professional classes, far more consequential. The same platforms that recruit out-of-work screenwriters are recruiting doctors, lawyers, bankers, and software engineers — the people whose expertise was supposed to be the last thing a machine could learn — and paying them, in some cases north of a hundred pounds an hour, to hand it over. This is not a story about creatives. It is a story about what happens to the entire idea of expertise when the cheapest way to automate a profession turns out to be to hire it.

The moat was always tacit

To understand why this moment is genuinely new, you have to understand why economists spent two decades believing it could not happen.

In 2003, the labour economist David Autor, together with Frank Levy and Richard Murnane, published what became one of the most influential papers on technology and work of its generation. Its argument, distilled, was that computers are good at tasks that can be reduced to explicit rules and bad at everything else. Routine work — the kind you can specify step by step — was exposed to automation. Non-routine work that depended on judgement, pattern recognition, and tacit understanding was safe, because you could not write down the rules for it in a form a machine could follow. The whole edifice of professional employment sat comfortably on the safe side of that line. A doctor's diagnostic intuition, a lawyer's sense of a case, an engineer's feel for a system — these were the paradigm cases of work that resisted codification.

The intellectual root of that idea is older still. In 1966 the philosopher and chemist Michael Polanyi coined the phrase that has haunted every attempt to automate skilled work since: “We know more than we can tell.” Polanyi's point was that the most valuable human knowledge is precisely the knowledge we cannot fully articulate — the surgeon's hands, the taster's palate, the reader's ear. You can watch a master at work for years and still not be able to reduce what they do to a manual. Tacit knowledge, by definition, escapes the rulebook.

For two hundred years, this was the professional's moat. Expertise commanded a premium because it was scarce, and it was scarce because it could not be transferred except slowly, expensively, and through human beings — apprenticeships, residencies, pupillages, the long grind of watching someone who already knew. You could not download a career. You had to grow one.

Reinforcement Learning from Human Feedback is, at its core, a machine for defeating Polanyi's paradox — not by finally writing down the rules, but by routing around the need to. The insight underneath RLHF is that you do not have to articulate tacit judgement in order to capture it. You only have to elicit it, over and over, at scale. Show the expert two outputs and ask which is better. Show a proposed diagnosis and ask where it goes wrong. Present a contract clause and ask the lawyer to flag the liability the model missed. The expert cannot tell you the rule, but the expert can tell you, reliably, which answer is correct — and if you gather enough of those judgements, a statistical system can infer the shape of the rule from the pattern of the choices. The tacit is made legible not by description but by demonstration, one graded example at a time.

This is the quiet conceptual violence at the heart of the story. The very quality that made expert judgement safe from automation — its resistance to being written down — turns out not to matter, because the machine never needed the rulebook. It needed the expert's verdicts. And the expert, it turns out, will supply those verdicts for a day rate.

Displacement by participation

Set this against every previous wave of technological displacement and the difference is not one of degree but of kind.

When the power loom displaced the handloom weaver, the machine did not first apprentice itself to the weaver. When the spreadsheet displaced legions of bookkeepers, it did not pay them by the hour to teach it double-entry accounting. The classic pattern of automation is substitution from the outside: a capability is built by engineers, deployed by capital, and it renders a class of workers redundant whether or not those workers participate. Their expertise is not extracted; it is simply made irrelevant. There is something almost clean about it. The weaver owed the loom nothing.

What is happening now inverts that logic. The system cannot be built from the outside, because the capability it needs — expert judgement in medicine, law, finance, screenwriting — does not exist in any codified form for the engineers to programme. It exists only inside the experts. So the only way to build the system is to bring the experts inside the process and pay them to externalise what they know. The displacement does not happen despite the worker's participation. It happens through it. The worker is not a bystander to their own obsolescence; they are, functionally, its supplier.

This is the structural novelty worth naming precisely, because it changes the moral and economic character of the whole arrangement. Call it displacement by participation. The expertise is not eliminated; it is transferred. And the transfer is voluntary in the narrow sense that no one is holding a gun to the physician moonlighting on a medical-reasoning dataset, and coerced in the broader sense that a great many of the people doing this work have arrived at it because the market for their primary expertise has already thinned beneath them, or because they can see it thinning and are hedging.

The screenwriter Ruth Fowler described exactly this hedge in a personal essay for Wired in the spring of 2026, writing about turning to AI training work because entertainment jobs had dried up and she needed cash for rent and groceries. The drying up is measurable: employment in the US motion picture and sound recording industries fell 28 per cent between July 2022 and May 2026, from 450,000 jobs to 326,000, according to Bureau of Labor Statistics figures compiled by The Guardian. Another veteran writer, quoted in the reporting on the same phenomenon, described the psychological texture of the work as something akin to a crazymaking standardised test — hour after hour of grading a machine's attempts at the thing you used to be paid to do, telling it where it went wrong, watching it get imperceptibly better on your instruction. The creative version of the story is the one that has broken through, because creative pain photographs well. But the same transaction, conducted more quietly and at higher rates, is now running through the professions that the middle class has spent a century treating as safe harbours.

The going rate for a career

The marketplace that has industrialised this transfer is best embodied by a single company. Mercor, founded in 2023 by three entrepreneurs then in their early twenties, began life as an AI-powered hiring platform and pivoted, when it discovered where the money was, into something more consequential: a broker of human expertise for the AI labs. It now connects a roster of specialists to companies including, according to legal filings, OpenAI and Anthropic, who pay for the expert feedback that trains their models. Meta was on that list until March 2026, when a supply-chain attack on the open-source LiteLLM package was used to lift some four terabytes of data from Mercor, exposing the personal details of more than 40,000 contractors along with proprietary source code and the training methodologies of its clients. Meta paused its work with the company indefinitely; OpenAI said it was investigating but kept its projects running. The contractors were not consulted about any of it, which is a fair measure of how much control the people supplying the material retain over anything drawn from them. In October 2025 the company raised $350 million in a Series C round, quintupling its valuation in eight months to roughly $10 billion. By July 2026 it was in talks again, this time at a valuation of about $20 billion — a doubling in nine months — on an annualised revenue run rate that had crossed $2 billion after doubling in four; in August, Nvidia was reported to be weighing participation. As of early September the round had not been confirmed closed.

The composition of Mercor's workforce is the part that should arrest anyone who still believes expertise is a fortress. The company has said it has more than 30,000 experts on its books, paid on average over $85 an hour, with the firm distributing more than $1.5 million to contractors every day. A proposed class action filed in a Texas federal court in May 2026, White v. Mercor.io Corp., describes that workforce with useful specificity: it includes physicians, attorneys, bankers, and software engineers. Reporting on the sector puts the rate bands into focus — physicians commanding somewhere in the region of $130 to $170 an hour on some platforms, lawyers around $110 to $130, with the highest specialist tiers in medicine, law, and finance reportedly reaching several hundred dollars an hour. The Hollywood Reporter, covering the creative end of the same market, noted writers earning up to $44 an hour and music professionals with advanced degrees up to $100.

Read those numbers as an outsider and they look generous — a good hourly wage for skilled remote work. Read them as an economist and they describe something stranger: the spot price of a profession's accumulated judgement, quoted by the hour, with no premium for the decades it took to acquire. A physician's diagnostic intuition, built through medical school, residency, and years of practice, is being purchased at a rate that does not distinguish it from the labour that produced it — because the buyer does not want the career. The buyer wants the verdicts the career produces, in sufficient volume to train them out of the physician.

Why is this the cheapest path to capability? The answer lies in the changing internal economics of building a frontier model. For most of the deep-learning era, the dominant cost was pre-training — pouring the scraped text of the internet through ever-larger networks. But the internet's supply of high-quality text is finite and largely exhausted, and the frontier has shifted to what the labs call post-training: the reinforcement and refinement that turns a fluent but directionless model into one that reasons, follows instructions, and gets specialist questions right. By industry estimates, post-training has grown from a small fraction of a frontier model's compute budget a few years ago to something like a fifth or a quarter of it today, and the human data feeding that stage has become one of the most contested inputs in the industry. Individual frontier labs are reported to be spending on the order of a billion dollars a year on human training data.

Here is the economic crux. A judgement rendered by a domain expert — the correct diagnosis, the right objection, the flawed clause caught — is worth a great deal to a model precisely because it is scarce and hard to synthesise. A single well-designed expert contribution can be worth more to a training run than a hundred cheap, generic labels, because it carries information the model cannot get anywhere else. Against the cost of the alternative — building genuine medical or legal capability by some other means, if such a means even exists — a hundred-odd pounds an hour for the real thing is not expensive. It is a bargain. The displaced expert is cheap not because their expertise is worth little, but because, at the moment of the transaction, they have very little bargaining power and the buyer has a great deal. Their profession is contracting; the platform has thirty thousand alternatives; the contract is short; the rate is take-it-or-leave-it. The expertise is priceless and the expert is disposable, and the gap between those two facts is exactly where the valuation lives — and why the number keeps doubling.

What the expert takes home

Which brings us to the question the day rate is designed to make you stop asking: beyond the money for the hours worked, what does the expert actually receive?

Consider what the transaction transfers, and what it does not return. The expert supplies the most refined product of their working life — judgement that took decades and considerable expense to acquire. That judgement is distilled into a reward model and folded into a system that can be copied infinitely, never tires, never retires, and is being marketed, in many cases, into the very market the expert came from. In exchange, the expert receives payment for the hours they sat at the keyboard, and nothing else. No equity in the model their judgement helped build. No residual when that model is licensed to a hospital network or a law firm. No attribution, because their contribution is deliberately dissolved into a statistical aggregate that bears no one's name. No ongoing claim of any kind. The relationship terminates the moment the invoice is paid, but the value they contributed does not terminate — it compounds, on the balance sheet of someone else.

This is a profoundly different bargain from the ones the more organised corners of skilled labour have fought for. When SAG-AFTRA struck in 2023, one of its central demands concerned digital likeness: the principle that if a studio wanted to scan a performer and reuse their image, the performer was owed consent and continuing compensation, not a one-time buyout. The Writers Guild won terms ensuring that AI could not be credited as a writer or used to erode writers' pay. Those frameworks are imperfect and contested, but they share a premise — that when your enduring professional essence is captured and reused, you retain a stake in it. The RLHF expert retains nothing. The structure is closer to a buyout than a licence, except that in a buyout you at least know you are selling the asset. Here the asset is your judgement, the sale is disguised as an hourly gig, and the thing being bought is your future competitive position, sold at the price of your present hour.

The conditions surrounding the work make the imbalance starker. The White v. Mercor complaint alleges that the company controls its experts' hours and weekly availability, sets their pay rates, trains and supervises them, offboards those who underperform, and monitors their work through a mandatory screen-tracking application — the indicia, the plaintiff argues, of employment rather than the independent contracting under which the workers are classified. Misclassification, if proven, means no benefits, no employer pension contribution, no protections. Layered on top are the non-disclosure agreements that the reporting describes as standard across the sector, which prevent workers from discussing their clients or, in many cases, even acknowledging what they are building. And when disputes arise, arbitration clauses frequently keep them out of open court. The worker contributes the crown jewels of their profession and receives, in return, a wage, a surveillance app, a gag, and a waiver of the right to sue in public. It is difficult to design a transaction that more efficiently separates a person from the value they create.

None of this is to say the experts are foolish for taking it. The individual calculation is often unanswerable: the rate is real, the bills are real, and the model will be trained with or without any particular physician's participation. That is precisely the logic of a collective-action problem. Each expert, acting rationally alone, has every reason to take the gig. All experts, acting together, are underwriting the erosion of the scarcity that gave their expertise its value in the first place. The tragedy is not that any one of them is making a mistake. It is that there is currently no mechanism through which they could make a different choice together.

The reasoning frontier and why expert judgement became the prize

It is worth pausing on why expert feedback specifically has become so valuable so suddenly, because it explains why the professions, and not just the arts, are now in the frame.

The generation of models that dominated the early 2020s were, for all their fluency, generalists trained to sound plausible. The competitive frontier since has moved decisively towards reasoning — models that can work through a multi-step medical differential, construct a legal argument, or debug a complex system, and get the answer verifiably right. Reasoning capability is far harder to bootstrap from scraped internet text, because the internet is full of confident wrong answers and thin on the rigorous, step-by-step expert working that distinguishes a correct chain of reasoning from a persuasive but flawed one. To train a model to reason like a specialist, you need examples of specialists reasoning correctly, graded by other specialists who can tell the difference. That is a resource the open web does not contain in sufficient quantity or quality. It exists only in the heads of practitioners.

This is why the labs have moved from crowdsourced labelling to credentialed expertise, and why the going rate for a board-certified physician's feedback has climbed so far above the rate for generic annotation. The scarcer and more consequential the judgement, the more it is worth as training signal — and the more the profession that monopolised that judgement has to lose by dispensing it. The economics reward exactly the extraction that is most damaging to the expert. A profession's tacit knowledge is simultaneously its collective inheritance and, on these platforms, its most liquid asset, sold off one graded example at a time by whichever of its members most needs the cash this month.

There is a grim elegance to the sequencing. First, a profession's public output is scraped without consent to build the base model. Then, when that model proves fluent but unreliable at the hard specialist judgements, the profession's living members are hired to supply the judgements the scraping could not capture. The first act took the profession's past; the second act rents its present; and the intended product of both is a system that competes for its future. The experts are being asked to close the one gap the machine could not close on its own — and that gap was their moat.

The problem of the last cohort

Every profession renews itself through a formation process that cannot be shortcut. A doctor is made through years of supervised practice on real patients under the eyes of senior clinicians. A lawyer is made through pupillage, clerkship, the slow accretion of cases. An engineer learns which textbook solutions fail in the field by watching them fail, alongside someone who has seen them fail before. Tacit knowledge, being tacit, can only be transmitted through immersion in the doing. This is expensive and slow, and it is the mechanism by which each generation of experts equips the next.

The experts currently selling their judgement to the training platforms were formed under those conditions. Their intuition was cultivated inside functioning professions with abundant entry-level work, mentorship, and the volume of real practice that turns knowledge into instinct. They are, in effect, a reservoir of judgement filled by an institutional apparatus that assumed the demand for that judgement would continue.

Now trace the feedback loop forward. If the models trained on this cohort's judgement succeed in performing the routine specialist work — the first-pass diagnosis, the standard contract review, the initial financial model — they will absorb precisely the entry-level and mid-tier tasks through which the next cohort of experts would have been formed. You do not become a senior radiologist without first reading ten thousand ordinary scans. You do not develop a lawyer's judgement without first grinding through the routine matters that a capable model may soon handle more cheaply. Remove the bottom rungs of the ladder and you do not merely make life harder for juniors; you sever the mechanism by which senior expertise is produced at all.

This is the deeper structural problem the professional version of the story exposes, and it is distinct from any worry about the quality of a given model's output. The judgement being harvested through expert RLHF is, in an important sense, non-renewable under the conditions the harvesting creates. The models are drawing down a stock of tacit professional knowledge that was accumulated under an apprenticeship system their own success threatens to hollow out. A profession can run for a while on its inherited stock of expertise. It cannot run indefinitely on a stock it has stopped replenishing, and the experts feeding the machine today may be the last cohort formed the old way — the last generation whose judgement was grown rather than inferred. What replaces them, if the ladder is pulled up behind them, is a genuinely open question, and none of the platforms brokering the trade have any reason to answer it.

Treating expertise as labour

If the diagnosis is that experts are being paid a day rate to transfer an asset worth vastly more than the day rate, the responses fall into a few families, none sufficient alone, all more plausible together.

The first is legal reclassification, and it has already produced its first answer. In McKinney v. Scale AI, Inc., in the San Francisco Superior Court, Scale AI agreed to pay $12.5 million to settle claims of misclassification and unpaid wages covering everyone who worked as a Contributor for Scale, Smart Ecosystem, or through HireArt while resident in California between 10 December 2020 and 28 February 2026. The settlement has only preliminary approval and, as settlements do, admits no liability, so it binds no future court. What it sets is a price. The White v. Mercor suit and a parallel action against Surge AI now put the same question — contractors, or employees in all but name? — to defendants who have watched a competitor pay eight figures rather than argue it out. If the courts find that a platform which dictates hours, monitors screens, sets rates, and offboards underperformers is running an employment relationship, the economics of the entire expert-data market shift: benefits, protections, and a higher floor follow. Reclassification will not, on its own, give the expert a stake in the model. But it would end the pretence that supplying the training signal for a hundred-billion-dollar industry is a casual side gig deserving of casual treatment.

The second family is the idea, older than the current boom, that data extracted from people is a form of labour and should be compensated and governed as such. In 2018 Jaron Lanier and the economist Glen Weyl set out the framework they called data dignity, or “data as labour,” arguing that people whose data powers digital systems are owed both compensation and collective bargaining power over its use. Their proposed vehicle was the mediator of individual data — an intermediary, something between a union and a data trust, that would negotiate on behalf of many contributors at once, because no lone individual has leverage against a platform but an organised bloc of them might. Applied to expert RLHF, the logic is direct. A physician alone cannot negotiate a residual on a medical model. Ten thousand physicians, bargaining collectively over whether and on what terms their profession's judgement may be used to train their replacements, are a different proposition entirely. The expertise that is worthless-per-hour and priceless-in-aggregate is exactly the kind of asset whose value can only be captured collectively.

That points to the third response, which is collective bargaining reaching into the gap where this work happens. The guilds and unions that won AI protections — the WGA at the studios, SAG-AFTRA on digital likeness — negotiated the relationship between workers and the employers who hire them directly. The RLHF market sits deliberately outside those relationships, in a jurisdictional vacuum where the writer training a model is not, technically, working for any studio, and the physician grading medical outputs is not, technically, practising medicine. Professional bodies — medical associations, bar associations, engineering institutions — have so far treated AI mostly as a question of tools and liability. They have not yet grasped that their members' collective judgement is now a traded commodity, or that they might have standing to govern its trade. A bar association that can discipline how a lawyer practises could, in principle, take a view on the terms under which lawyers sell their judgement to train systems that will compete with lawyers. None yet has.

The fourth response is structural and speculative: models of ownership that give contributors a durable stake rather than a one-off fee. A residual or royalty on the models an expert helped train. Equity, however small, in the value created. Data cooperatives that pool professional judgement and license it collectively on terms the members set, rather than letting a platform arbitrage each member individually. These ideas are easy to sketch and hard to build, and the platforms have every incentive to resist them, because the entire margin of the business depends on paying for the hour and keeping the compounding value. But that resistance is itself the tell. If a stake were worthless, refusing to grant it would cost nothing.

The last and least comfortable response is simply to see the trade clearly and price it accordingly. Right now the expert sells cheap partly because the transaction is disguised — framed as flexible remote work, a lifeline, a way to stay current in a shifting field, rather than as what it structurally is: the sale of a profession's future to build its replacement. An expert who understood the full nature of what they were transferring might still take the gig, because the bills are still real. But they would demand more for it, and the labs' billion-dollar data budgets suggest there is more to be had. The single most valuable thing the professions could do in the near term is refuse the framing that this is marginal work deserving of marginal terms. It is the most strategically important labour in the AI economy, and the people doing it are the only ones who can supply it.

The redundancy at the centre of the word

There is a bleak pun buried in the language here. To be made redundant, in British usage, is to lose your job because your role is no longer needed. But redundancy, in engineering, means something almost opposite: a backup, a duplicate held in reserve so the system keeps running when a part fails. The expert training their replacement occupies both meanings at once. They are being made redundant in the first sense — building the thing that will render their role unnecessary. And they are functioning as redundancy in the second sense — the human backup whose judgement is being copied precisely so that, once copied, the human is no longer required to keep the system running. The whole point of the exercise is to move the expert from the second category to the first: to extract the reserve capacity and then dispense with the reserve.

What makes this distinct from the century of automation that preceded it is that the extraction requires consent, and consent, in principle, can be withheld or conditioned. The loom did not need the weaver's cooperation. The medical model needs the physician's. That dependency is the one point of leverage the professions have, and it is closing — every graded example makes the next expert slightly more dispensable — but it has not closed yet. For this brief window, the people whose judgement the machines most need are the same people who could, if they organised, set the terms on which that judgement is transferred, or decline to transfer it on terms that offer nothing but a day rate. The economics that make expert judgement the prize also make expert refusal, or expert bargaining, unusually powerful — if it could be coordinated before the reservoir is drained.

The temptation is to end on the individual, to ask how the doctor or the writer or the banker should feel about grading a machine towards their own obsolescence. But that framing, again, lands the whole weight of a structural problem on its most precarious participants, and it lets the more comfortable parties — the labs with the billion-dollar data budgets, the platforms whose valuations keep multiplying, the professional bodies that have not noticed what is being sold from under them — off the hook entirely. The individual expert taking the gig is not the author of this arrangement. They are its raw material. The real question is not whether any given professional should sell their judgement to train their replacement. It is whether a society that depends on cultivated human expertise — in its hospitals, its courts, its firms, its studios — is content to let that expertise be quietly transferred into systems owned by a handful of companies, one hourly contract at a time, in exchange for nothing more durable than the hour. That is not a decision any single expert can make at any single laptop. It is a decision about what the professions are for, and who owns what they know. Right now, the answer being written, invoice by invoice, is that they know it only until someone pays them to hand it over.

References

1. Lesley Goldberg and colleagues, “Hollywood Workers Are Training AI Models as Job Prospects Grow Slim,” The Hollywood Reporter, 24 June 2026. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/digital/ai-training-hollywood-writer-jobs-prospects-1236628302/
2. Ruth Fowler, “I Work in Hollywood. Everyone Who Used to Make TV Is Now Secretly Training AI,” Wired, May 2026. https://www.wired.com/story/i-work-in-hollywood-everyone-who-used-to-make-tv-now-training-ai/
3. “As Hollywood jobs dry up, workers are quietly training AI models to survive,” Digital Trends, June 2026. https://www.digitaltrends.com/movies/as-hollywood-jobs-dry-up-workers-are-quietly-turning-to-ai-training-to-survive/
4. Marina Temkin, “Mercor quintuples valuation to $10B with $350M Series C,” TechCrunch, 27 October 2025. https://techcrunch.com/2025/10/27/mercor-quintuples-valuation-to-10b-with-350m-series-c/
5. “AI startup Mercor now valued at $10 billion with new $350 million funding round,” CNBC, 27 October 2025. https://www.cnbc.com/2025/10/27/ai-hiring-startup-mercor-funding.html
6. “AI Startup Misclassified 30K Workers, Suit Says,” Law360, May 2026 (regarding White v. Mercor.io Corp., No. 6:26-cv-00201, N.D. Tex.). https://www.law360.com/employment-authority/articles/2475907/ai-startup-misclassified-30k-workers-suit-says
7. “AI Platform's 'Expert' Workforce Draws Misclassification Suit,” Law.com, 11 May 2026. https://www.law.com/2026/05/11/ai-platforms-expert-workforce-draws-misclassification-suit/
8. “Artificial Intelligence Firms Continue To Be Targeted for Independent Contractor Misclassification Claims,” Independent Contractor Misclassification & Compliance Blog, 9 June 2026. https://www.independentcontractorcompliance.com/2026/06/09/artificial-intelligence-firms-continue-to-be-targeted-for-independent-contractor-misclassification-claims-may-2026-ic-legal-news-update/
9. David H. Autor, Frank Levy and Richard J. Murnane, “The Skill Content of Recent Technological Change: An Empirical Exploration,” Quarterly Journal of Economics, 118(4), 2003. https://economics.mit.edu/sites/default/files/publications/skill-content-recent-technological-change.pdf
10. Michael Polanyi, The Tacit Dimension, University of Chicago Press, 1966.
11. Jaron Lanier and E. Glen Weyl, “A Blueprint for a Better Digital Society,” Harvard Business Review, 26 September 2018. https://hbr.org/2018/09/a-blueprint-for-a-better-digital-society
12. “What is data dignity?” TechTarget, definition and explainer. https://www.techtarget.com/searchenterpriseai/definition/data-dignity
13. “AI and Job Postings: From Destruction to Creation?” Indeed Hiring Lab, 8 July 2026. https://www.hiringlab.org/2026/07/08/ai-and-job-postings-from-destruction-to-creation/
14. “RLHF Explained: How Human Feedback Trains AI Models in 2026,” Decode the Future. https://decodethefuture.org/en/rlhf-explained/
15. “Data Annotation for AI Labs: Recruiting Guide 2026,” HeroHunt. https://www.herohunt.ai/blog/data-annotation-ai-labs-the-recruiting-guide-2026/
16. “30,000 Professionals Are Training Their Own Replacements,” Metaintro, 2026. https://www.metaintro.com/blog/mercor-ai-training-white-collar-jobs-skills-2026
17. “Mercor: Unlocking Human Potential in the AI Economy” (Series C announcement), Mercor, 27 October 2025. https://www.mercor.com/blog/series-c/
18. ”'Digging the grave of my profession': the Hollywood creatives training AI to do their jobs,” The Guardian, 22 August 2026. https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2026/aug/22/the-hollywood-creatives-training-ai-to-do-their-jobs
19. Marina Temkin, “Mercor is in talks for a $20B valuation,” TechCrunch, 9 July 2026. https://techcrunch.com/2026/07/09/mercor-is-in-talks-for-a-20b-valuation/
20. “Nvidia Weighs Investment in Round Valuing Mercor at $20 Billion,” PYMNTS, 19 August 2026. https://www.pymnts.com/news/investment-tracker/2026/nvidia-weighs-investment-in-round-valuing-mercor-at-20-billion/
21. “After data breach, $10B-valued startup Mercor is having a month,” TechCrunch, 9 April 2026. https://techcrunch.com/2026/04/09/after-data-breach-10b-valued-startup-mercor-is-having-a-month
22. “Scale AI Misclassification Settlement: California Class Action” (McKinney v. Scale AI, Inc., S.F. Super. Ct. No. CGC-24-620481, preliminary approval 2026), King & Siegel LLP. https://www.kingsiegel.com/blog/scale-ai-misclassification-settlement-california-class-action/

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Tim Green UK-based Systems Theorist & Independent Technology Writer

Tim explores the intersections of artificial intelligence, decentralised cognition, and posthuman ethics. His work, published at smarterarticles.co.uk, challenges dominant narratives of technological progress while proposing interdisciplinary frameworks for collective intelligence and digital stewardship.

His writing has been featured on Ground News and shared by independent researchers across both academic and technological communities.

ORCID: 0009-0002-0156-9795 Email: tim@smarterarticles.co.uk

Listen to the free weekly SmarterArticles Podcast

Once we learned that my father’s cancer, which arrived in an unexpected and devastating way about a year ago, was terminal, my husband and I decided that we would be honest with our four year old daughter about the process that was unfolding. How does one explain cancer to a four year old, though? I’m sure there are trained medical professionals and parents of sick children that have had to deftly explain things to children, but as I am neither one of those things, I was a bit at a loss. I am a mental health therapist, though, and I figured that should be enough to help me navigate grand, existential dilemmas with a preschooler.

The day after telling my daughter about her grandfather’s death, she sincerely asked me, “Is Grandpa still dead?” I answered that he was, and reminded her that death is a permanent condition. Developmentally, it makes sense for her not to understand this seemingly obvious fact. On the other hand, do I really understand the idea of someone being gone forever? I know my dad is dead; I was there when he died. But there is still a part of me that wonders where he went. That part of me might still be looking for him, even though I know better.

My dad was not religious, or spiritual, and had no belief in any sort of afterlife. In line with his understanding of such matters, I cannot really allow myself to take comfort in the idea that he is out there somewhere, waiting for us. It would be nice to be able to, but it seems incongruent, somehow. I like to pretend that I am totally fine with the concept of death, that I simply accept that everything is finite, and I have a zenlike relationship with loss. This is, of course, a convenient lie that I enjoy telling myself. I’m like a preteen trying to convince the older kids that the movie we’re watching is totally fine, not too scary at all. I don’t even really believe myself, but I’ll put on a brave face no matter what.

The day of my father’s funeral, my daughter met a lot of extended family members. Living across the country, we don’t see them very often, and it was her first time meeting many of them. My aunt introduced herself to my daughter, saying “Your grandpa was my brother.” My daughter calmly replied to her, in the absolutely devastatingly nonchalant way of young children, “Well, your brother’s dead now.” If she had been older, or if she had been a more devious person, I would have wanted to shrivel up from embarrassment. But my sweet, kindhearted little girl was not trying to wound the great aunt whom she had met only moments earlier. Instead, it seemed that repeatedly pronouncing the factual state of her grandfather’s absence was how she was making sense of it for herself. Grandpa was here, I used to be able to talk to him, now I can’t because he’s dead.

Last year, our dog died. Ruby had been 13 years old and had also had cancer. I think this introduction to the world of grief and loss was helpful for my daughter, as she was able to begin to wrap her head around the concept of death, of someone being here one moment and not here the next. She never asked where Ruby had gone or any of the logistics of what one does with a dead dog. My daughter was sad, but accepted the information with a placidity beyond her years. However, a few months later, she found Ruby’s unicorn-festooned dog pajamas, a way we kept her warm in her old lady era. With true distress, my daughter cried, “Ruby left her pajamas here!” I explained that Ruby didn’t need the pajamas anymore, but my daughter remained concerned.

Do all dogs go to heaven? Do any dogs go to heaven? Is there a heaven to go to, anyway? While I don’t spend much time pondering the immortal soul of my late, beloved mutt, I do wonder if there is any way that the energy of those we have loved remains intact, somehow. Could I ever someday be reunited with a dog? Or a dad? Even in an abstract way? Are our loved ones gone, absolutely gone, when they die? Thousands of generations of theologians and philosophers and dudes on the internet have pondered the possibilities far longer than I have. The truth is that nobody knows, and the people who say they know are lying. So I’m left with tolerating ambiguity, something I don’t do particularly well.

I do believe that there is a wisdom to the frank acceptance with which my four-year-old approaches the subject of death. There is sadness, sure, but beyond that, loss is simply something to be taken in stride. We are here for now, and later we won’t be. We can talk about the people we’ve lost and the losses themselves without censoring ourselves too much. I can move forward after a loss without extensive, painful existential pondering. That can be good enough.

I have lived my life surrounded by a series of synchronistic experiences nearly always focused on music as a means of conveying the quality of certain relationships, events, and their meanings. I never paid them any mind until this year, having chalked up such experiences to nostalgia, trauma, and other such joys and sorrows one collects as evidence of living.

Recent events have shown me that when anomalous experiences such as mine, which are interconnected in a certain coherent and consistent fashion, reveal their names, relationships, and meanings to me over time and in no uncertain terms, I should pay careful attention. One lesson I have learned throughout is that these sorts of things cannot be judged and valued on initial impressions alone. Regardless of whether it is an unusually remarkable and obscure piece of jewelry, an enigmatic ancient Mesopotamian symbol, or a rather gross-looking entity inhabiting a human host.

It's rather incredible how new the world looks now that I've started paying attention to the things I once ignored. And I can never go back to not noticing.

#Intermundia #Anomalology

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By D. Bowman Nomina Numina is a journal of reflections, moments, and meaning-making between worlds. Reply by email.

In Summary: * Much of this Friday has been spent listening to general baseball talk over the MLB Network, watching old episodes of Price is Right with the wife, and listened to Indiana centered football talk on the Football Friday show on an Indianapolis radio station. As I sit here at the computer I'm about half an hour away from the night's college football game; yes, I'll be listening to the radio call of that game.

Yard work, today? I did move the big green bin around to the back yard this morning, but didn't start loading it. That'll happen on another morning, probably Tuesday or Wednesday. I've got early football to follow tomorrow and Sunday, and Monday should be laundry; we'll just have to see how the week develops.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 226.97 lbs. * bp= 167/96 (59)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, toe raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 06:20 – egg drop soup * 07:00 – 3 breakfast tacos * 10:40 – Mongolian beef, fried rice * 12:30 – beef lo mein noodle bowl * 16:10 – 1 fresh apple

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 03:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:50 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 05:00 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to musc, nap * 10:30 – watching MLB Central on MLB Network * 12:00 to 14:15 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 14:30 – listening to Football Friday on 107.5 The Fan, Indianapolis * 17:00 – listening to the 1st hour of The Joe Pags Show * 18:00 – listening to college football, Villanova Wildcats at Louisville Cardinals

Chess: * 08:00 – moved in all pending CC games

Greetings and SNAIL-utations blog friends!

Cute Snail and I hope this post is finding you well. Let us know how you’re doing by leaving a note in the comments, or posting a SNAIL-TASTIC message, finished color up or gifting story on our Padlet winter and holiday themed community gallery wall here.

In the meantime, below is a list of the winter and holiday coloring fun that Cute Snail and I have put together for all to enjoy.

The Cute Snail Fall Adventures Coloring Book ($19) - US Letter size, easy print anytime PDF format. Sustainable. Designed to be keepsake quality if desired. Includes 21 winter and holiday themed colorable pages – 10 with pre-written text and 11 with blank journal lines for sweet handwritten notes, quotes or affirmations. Also includes a list of pages organized by age, skill level and sensory kit friendliness along with printing notes and the personal “You Can Do Anything You Set Your Mind To” story about Juliet and Cute Snail’s creative art Journey. Best suited for classrooms, activity rooms, quiet spaces and those who love snails, smiles and unique, whimsical, offbeat one-of-a-kind original art finds. View or purchase from our Payhip store here.

Fall Themed Loose Coloring Pages – these are US letter size, and are available in an easy print anytime PDF format and can be printed at any scale you like. They are also 100% FREE to download from our Payhip store. New additions may be added to the lists below at any time. so subscribe to stay in the loop if you like. Also – more coloring pages with pre-written text are included in the fall coloring book.

Pages with Pre-Written Text (for those who need or prefer this style)

Cute Snail Fall Sunflower Garden Chat Coloring Page

Cute Snail Disco Ball Skateboard Back To School Coloring Page

Cute Snail Bright Day (Back To School) Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail Rainbow, Stars & Glasses (Back To School) Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail Bright Day (Fall Edition) Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail Rainbow, Stars & Glasses (Fall Edition) Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail You’ve Got Mail Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail Apple-y Sweet Learning Adventures Back To School Coloring Page

Pages With Blank Journal Lines (for including sweet handwritten notes, quotes or affirmations with your color ups).

Cute Snail Fall Sunflower Garden Chat Coloring Page

Cute Snail Disco Ball Skateboard Back To School Coloring Page

Cute Snail Comfort Food Fall Equinox Coloring Page

Cute Snail You’ve Got Mail Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail With Glasses Sitting On A Mushroom Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail Apple-y Sweet Smiles Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail Bat Snail Happy SNAIL-oween Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Cute Snail Happy Thanksgiving Coloring Page (sensory friendly)

Fall Coloring Postcards – US Letter size, easy print anytime PDF print sheet format. Sustainable. Designed to be keepsake quality if desired. Each print sheet is 100% FREE to download from our Payhip store and contains one colored postcard and one coloring postcard. Can be trimmed down and gifted as one single card or two separate cards depending on your gifting needs. Postcards can also be used for decor ating and junk journal or decoupage type crafting as well. View and download them in our Payhip store here.

I actually don’t enjoy writing about this stuff. You know what I enjoy writing about? Professional wrestling!

And speaking of professional wrestling, I saw a piece today about a wrestler who is having a hard time getting booked because they are a domestic abuser. They haven’t been convicted of anything—their former partner has just detailed the abuse, and people have been like, “this person is a piece of shit. I’m not booking them.” Plenty of pieces of shit continue to get booked in pro wrestling, so I’m not suggesting it’s some sort of piece-of-shit-free utopia. But it did strike me that this person has faced more consequences for their actions than most of the people who were friends with Jeffrey Epstein.

Indeed, while a lot of wrestlers who are pieces of shit are still working, most of them have lost their jobs at the promotions that offer the most money.

Sadly, this is not the case for Epstein’s pals. A LOT of them have faced absolutely no professional consequences for their association with him. (Though if you want a grim laugh, check out this post by former MIT researcher Joscha Boch about how very hard it was for him to have his association with Epstein exposed. The poor guy!)

Indeed, for many of these people, if you don’t search their name with Epstein’s, you won’t find any evidence that they ever knew him.

The press has tiptoed around this stuff—I don’t know their reasons, but they are timid about even saying people were associated with Epstein. Perhaps this is because they’re afraid of being accused of libel because of course just associating with Epstein doesn’t mean you broke any laws.

What it does mean, though, is that you’re a piece of shit. The good news about declaring someone a piece of shit is that there’s no legal standard. There’s no burden of proof. You just look at what you know about someone and go, “yeah, fuck that guy. He’s a piece of shit.” No legal proceedings!

We’ve done this before: even before his association with Epstein came out, we all pretty much agreed that Woody Allen was a piece of shit. Indeed, he’s such a piece of shit that his name was one of the least surprising ones to come up in the Epstein files.

Now, look, I don’t have time to comb through the Epstein files looking for everyone who ever met with him. But I did have time to search for Boston and Cambridge and see whose name came up.

There were a lot of familiar names whose association with Epstein has already been written about in the mainstream media and whose Wikipedia pages mention their association: Larry Summers, Joi Ito, Marvin Minsky, etc.

But Epstein met and corresponded with a WHOLE LOT of people in Boston and Cambridge, and most of them haven’t been written about. So let’s take a look, shall we?

There’s old pal Danny Hillis, my former employer, and professional smart guy currently affiliated with The Long Now Foundation and Applied Invention. I’m still the only person writing about his association with Epstein.

Psychologist Dan Gilbert, author of Stumbling on Happiness and still employed by Harvard University.

Geneticist George Church, also still employed at Harvard.

Mathematician and Geneticist Eric Lander, still employed by both MIT and Harvard.

Neuroscientist Ed Boyden, still employed at MIT

Tech Writer Linda Stone

Former MIT Media Lab researcher Caleb Harper, already disgraced for faking research results but not yet disgraced for his association with Epstein.

Tech bro Greg Wyler

Harvard Medical professor Ted Kaptchuk

Statistician Don Rubin, professor emeritus at Harvard.

General tech guy and Wolfram Alpha founder Stephen Wolfram.

I’m not saying these people should necessarily be fired. I’m saying that insofar as they are known for other things, they should also be known for being pieces of shit.

Again, you don’t need any kind of legal proceeding to decide for yourself, as I have, that these people are pieces of shit. Please do!

So shines a good deed in a weary world: seemingly alone out of anyone Epstein reached out to in Boston or Cambridge, Palm and Handspring founder Jeff Hawkins rebuffed Epstein’s efforts to meet up thusly: I will pass. Our research is published. If Jeffrey has read it and wants to discuss it then we can start with an email conversation. Jeff.

You know who else could have cut this wealthy perv off with a cold blooded email just like Jeff Hawkins? Literally every single person on this list.

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: Crocs but Make it Corporate, Irish fashion and politics, Every Ghanaian is rich, Anemia and chicken livers, Babies born to anaemic mothers have smaller brains, and No more steaks at the Ecuyer

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Crocs but Make it Corporate. So, can Crocs work for the corporate Accra girl? Absolutely—but style is the difference between “fashion-forward office girl” and “why did she wear that to work?” Wear them with confidence, keep your outfit structured, and remember: in 2026, the corporate wardrobe has room for personality. Pair your Crocs with: – Wide-leg tailored trousers + a crisp shirt for that “I have a 9 a.m. meeting, but my feet are still at peace” look. – A structured midi dress + blazer for a playful but polished corporate twist. – A matching co-ord set for effortless fashion-girl energy. – An oversized corporate shirt + pencil skirt when you want to mix classic office wear with a little rebellion. The Accra Reality Check: Between Accra traffic, long working hours, running between meetings, and those spontaneous after-work plans, comfortable footwear is honestly a luxury. Crocs give your feet room to breathe while still allowing you to participate in fashion’s latest “ugly shoe but make it cool” era. And in true Accra girl fashion, if you style it well, it can go from office desk to brunch without changing shoes. Comfort is no longer the opposite of fashion. The Accra corporate girl is wearing both. Irish fashion and politics. Irish designer Sarah Gallagher of the ‘Sarah Lorraine’ label is continuing her meteoric rise after being selected as one of the few people to showcase her range at Ireland’s Fashion Week later this year. She is already exporting her clothes worldwide and has her range stocked in shops all around Ireland. Her biggest endorsement is that Irish president Catherine Connolly has worn her designs on many occasions. Its range includes handmade stunning capes made from 100% Merino Wool from the well-known Molloy & Sons and lined with satin, sold across Europe, the USA and Canada. “I will be part of the ‘Irish Heritage Show’ which highlights sustainability, and this is really what my brand is all about-beautiful Irish tweeds and natural fabrics that speak to our rich and vibrant heritage”. What’s special? No favours, no political parties, the president just buys her stuff because she likes it. Do we have things like that here? The Donegal Blazer by Sarah Lorraine

Every Ghanaian is rich. Sounds wrong? You have a mobile phone, or you could not be reading this. Likely, you have a second mobile as well. Maybe you’re driving a car, or your brother or hubby has one. You have a TV. You paid for all these things, or they were given to you by someone who paid for them. Does that make you rich? Sort of. In the developed countries, things are a bit different. Hardly anyone pays cash for things; they buy on credit. So you choose your phone in a provider’s shop (say MTN, Telecel or AirtelTigo), choose a package of so many minutes a month and so much data, sign a contract, and now every month they deduct a certain amount from your bank account until you finish paying, say, for two years. After that, you need to renew your contract. The phone is now yours, but you still need airtime and so forth. For cars, it’s the same, but say over five years. In Europe, they really push credit sales because the hidden interest you are paying is way higher than if you borrowed from the bank. So they make a profit on the sale and a profit on the credit. So, are we rich? At least what we are holding in our hands or are driving around town is ours. And our Golden Stool? It is ours, and it was not decorated with stolen gold and emeralds like most thrones.

Anemia and chicken livers. If you are anemic you can try to solve the issue by taking blood tonic, but better is to change your diet into more iron containing food like kontommire and other green leaves and meat. Meat is not cheap, but chicken livers are, at 43 GHC a kg at Melcom. And easy to cook, fry 2 minutes on both sides, it has it’s own particular flavour and needs nothing else, not even salt.

Babies born to anaemic mothers have smaller brains. Boom. Still not worried because you feel ok? Read article in next issue.

No more steaks at the Ecuyer. (Ring Road, opposite Fire Service Headquarters, Osu, Accra) now commonly called, the French Restaurant is one of my favourites. it is near where I live, prices are reasonable and quality is quite good. And I enjoy their roofed outside terrace. I like their steak au poivre (black pepper steak) with haricotes verts (the long green beans), a very tender local beef fillet, better than the imported 5 times frozen stuff, and likely with less antibiotics as well, the local cows only get treated by the vet when they are almost dead. And local cow’s food is more varied than the “Agric cows”. That steak gives me my iron and my protein. The other day the answer was “today no steak”. So I ordered something else but later asked what the reason for the no streak was. Had everybody ordered steak and they ran out of stock? No, they couldn't get the quality they wanted. Ayeeko, better none than inferior.

Lydia...

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JOURNAL 11 septembre 2026

Je n'ai pas pu raconter : Tom était là aujourd'hui, il a fait ses exercices. Il s'applique, il est lourd, il est maladroit, il est trop grand, il est touchant. Il ferait mieux d'essayer le kendo, mais non c'est mon enseignement qu'il veut aussi longtemps que ce sera nécessaire il m'a dit. Apparemment il n’a pas de problème de visa. Je pense qu’il a beaucoup de tunes, ici ça aide fortement.

#dojo

Observations from waking on the beach just before dawn.

-Dawn moments-

The quarter moon
Watches from the zenith
 While Sol makes her
 Morning debut—
 Stunning, as always.

Then, like Christ’s
 Ascension, the clouds
 Carry the night star
 Into shrouded mystery.


We know where she went,
 But it is faith that tells us.

The little sandpiper runs through the dry sand; each time a foot lifts, a tiny puff of grains follows it. When it sprints, there’s a cartoony effect of little sand clouds. This moment feels like the perfection of existence—peace and life, hunger and satisfaction, joy and contentment—at the beach.

Another day in paradise.

Glory be! They have forgotten me.

Gooood Morning, Sunshine!!

Wherever and whomever you are this morning’s I pray there is bounce in your step, a song in your breast and they you are awash in hope and dreams!!

8:07 here, where the sidewalk ends. Just in from a brisk morning greeting. The sun is lazy in its hazy rising. The temperature here is UNBELIEVABLE! I thought we'd never see anything below 99º (37º) ever again! And yet here is a proper fall morning wrapping my tired body in a big 3rd-season hug!

My dreams were color and touch and dancing and singing. There was a fern that kept speaking to me in whispers. And it all felt very Goonies.

Post meeting, we came home and planned our ‘goodie night’ next Tuesday. We invited 8 people. We’ll play Pictionary for 45m, the. Talk and snack for an hour and then wish everyone a good night.

😘

One family we invited said 🤕 ‘you know, we've been here for 20 years and no one has ever invited us over for family worship.

💔

I feel a little guilty… but one man can only do so much. At least we can help break the spell.

WOW! Just realized the last goodie night we had was 17 years ago! :-o January 1, 2009.

I made a new friend last night: Nico! Nico is a friend of CB and is visiting from Capital City. A possible implant.

Oh! I pray he moves in. He’s 22x has hopes of attending a school that teaches evangelizing, and has been in the full-time work for 10 years. The last three, he was in the special full-time work volunteering in New York. He's back home and looking for a new challenge.

I very tenderly put my hands on his face and said with earnestness, 'do not move here, it is VERY difficult.' (Yes, I really did this). Then I smiled and said broadly, 'WE WOULD LOVE IF YOU CAME TO OUR TOWN! You know, if you can make it here and in Capital City, you can survive ANYWHERE! Please come let us be your litmus.'

Then we talked for an hour about his experiences, people we knew in common and how much he enjoyed his work as a volunteer. Part of his assignment was working night watch for a year. I must say, if you want to enjoy crazy stories, befriend night watchman.

Everything from raccoons and bears to clandestine intruders and troublemakers.

And once, a small explosion.

The MIL came by so I could do some minor auto repairs. In exchange, I got my dishes washed. Yes, I know—I should have done them before bed. But I was tired. And lazy.

Just found out a life-long friend will be traveling to Brazil to have hip replacement surgery. He is two years my Jr. Freaking out a little. He had some back pain and assumed it was just back pain. Chiropractor helps. Went to doc and they said, 'no old man, you have an arthritic hip joint. REPLACE. 

Freaked him out, went to a second doctor.

Now he's going to go to Brazil for a few months in November.

I suppose there could be worse places to have your bones sawed off.

That was a little tail spin!

Not a big day here. Will do some drawing. Cleaning up the studio and if the incredible weather holds, some yard work.

Lunch with a friend if he is free. Visiting with Nico made me want to cut my hair. Nothing he said, a switch came on mid conversation and I suddenly want a haircut. Should I get a perm?

Haha! I asked chat to show me with a perm...

I am intrigued, but probably not. Really want Hemsworth's doo from Thor... but I don't think my social infrastructure will tolerate.

Mom's comment when I share my ai gen perm portrait.

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10am.

Time for breakfast and a walk! And not stressing out about the accident. The anxiety keeps trying to claw its way in. But fighting it.

Rainbows and puppy dogs. Everything will be fine.

I'm fine, you're fine. We're all going to be okay.

What we really need is God's Kingdom. Or a Time Machine.

My next sketchbook I think is going to be named Verisimilitude. But after that... I lik 88 gigawatts or Flux Capacitor.

Man, I just wanna beach off this morning!

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=——

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#amber #weather #north #echo.

It all started..

Last year, I had the opportunity to travel south to an analog studio belonging to my friend, bkbirge. I didn’t know it at the time, but this awoke in me a desire to mix less and play more. I learned that intention and vision are audible if you visualize it and intend it. I learned that if I get it down sounding how I like it, there’s a lot less mixing to do. This is all good stuff. Not only do I stink at mixing, I don’t really like it that much. It stresses me out. It often makes me feel like I am trying to pay attention to a spoken conversation while reading a text on my phone. I don’t get much of either. While the music is going in the monitors, I might not hear what I need to because I am looking at some kind of readout. Stop the madness.

How do I do this?

Since that trip, I have been thinking about how to switch things up. I find myself with a hybrid mixing set up now. So, mixing isn’t the issue it was. I have been able to record with effects like compression and gate so that the track sounds the way I want, and I don’t have to spend effort repairing files. I’m really into all this at the moment. But it isn’t just with gear or mixing; it’s also a mindset in my songwriting.

What do songwriting and The Big Bang have in common?

I searched for “How to write a rock song” on Google and found a summary of most tips I’ve heard in various forms. Even the time signature of 4/4 is mentioned. The article discusses riffs, building a verse-chorus structure (some people call this arrangement), and making room for a solo. However, it doesn’t really answer my question. Just like The Big Bang, a song bursts forth and evolves over time, each set of ears, a new explosion. But what is the core essence of the original song? What sparked that initial explosion? Isn’t that what you’re aiming for—an explosion? Songs require elements like explosions and fires do. But it’s during the early stages, not the polishing phase, that the magic of song happens.

Relax, if you’re nervous, I know the answer, happy to answer it. It was just dramatic writing.

The message.

The explosion happens when message comes across. The explosion is receiving a message from the music. All it is. If your music doesn’t contain message, that’s probably worth looking into. It’s what folks want from music they like. Even if the message is have fun, or party on, or relax, or vote, if it speaks to them in song, that’s message. That is the ingredient I find lacking in scores of music I do not vibe with, message. You could even say intent. But it doesn’t have to be intentionally.

Think about liking a song for the first time, or the thousandth.

If you are vibing with a song, someone has learned your language and started rattling it off to you. It is a good feeling. And no one is even speaking! If you aren’t looking to provide that sensation for an intended audience, as a musician, you make it difficult for the audience to participate in your conversation. It is no longer about them, it is about you. You aren’t speaking their language, you are in yours. I am not saying that is wrong, but I am saying it’s not my message, personally.

Ideas are a commodity around here.

Before I feel like writing a song these days, I have to have an idea that makes me want to write it. I want the song to say something. For me, saying something means meaning something. If I am going to spend the effort on lyrics, playing all the instruments, getting with collaborators who do stuff better than me, spending money, practicing, working, I want the song to mean something to me. A message. A lot like a tattoo. You can see it, but this tattoo on my arm and Keri’s matching one we got at a vulnerable turning point together. We decided to stick it out with each other, to the end. And it’s been wonderful. Ideally, our songs are like that ink.

Fortunately, ideas are flooding me lately, and I am taking notes. I’ve talked before about creative writing exercises that help me a lot. I might start off with a letter I never intend to send. The person may be dead or gone from my life. I try to include atmospheric elements like stores, smells, and noises. I try to dig in myself for uncomfortable truths circling this person and own up to how silly I could have been, neglectful, hurtful, aloof, etc. After the letter is completed, I mine it for words and phrases. I likely have an idea because I dug. Digging usually digs up ideas. For me. This is just one kind of creative writing exercise I use often. There are loads of them. They pop up in Google.

Don’t skip the message.

I would not skimp on this step if I wanted to make an impact with music. Think of this step as shooting a bullet. Without it, you are throwing one. Give the listener something meaty to grab onto. Even if it is just you, this listener, give that to yourself. You deserve to have written a good song too.

Kelly Kintner, Editor, Producer

The Horses Mouth Magazine

The Kintners

Djembe Funk

College football will provide my Friday game of choice. The Villanova Wildcats are scheduled to play the Louisville Cardinals in a game starting at 6:00 PM CDT, and I plan to be listening to the radio call.

And the adventure continues.

We in the West are living in the midst of a jihad, and most of us don’t even realize it — because it’s a brand of jihad that’s barely a generation old. Islam divides the world into two parts. The part governed by sharia, or Islamic law, is called the Dar al-Islam, or House of Submission. Everything else is the Dar al-Harb, or House of War. It’s called the House of War because it, too, according to the Koran, is destined to be governed by sharia, and it will take war — holy war, jihad — to bring it into the House of Submission.

— Bruce Bawer, Surrender (2009)

Note: While certainly no ally of traditionalists and conservatives, Bawer certainly got this right. But don't take his or my word for it, read it for yourself in Reliance of the Traveler, a classic interpretation of Sharia Law. I'm glad to lend my copy to the curious. Do the work. Read primary sources, not the news.

#history #politics #theology

In writing The Campervan, my intent was to expose the invisible friction that exists between static belonging and dynamic mobility. A tension that is quietly defining modern Irish life. Mary and her unnamed visitor represent two entirely contrasting responses to the same foundational crisis: the sudden, altering reality of loss. Mary chooses the architecture of stasis. Her “exit road” from bereavement is built on preservation, strict domestic routines, and an aggressive defense of her physical boundaries – her view, her sea, her husband’s old preferences. To Mary, the encroaching campervans are not merely an aesthetic nuisance; they are mobile symbols of a fluid, modern world that threatens to overwrite her memories.

Conversely, the traveler’s exit road is one of motion and confrontation. He drives the very object of his grief back to the place of its making, using mobility as a mechanism for closure and eventual release. When these two perspectives collide over a simple kettle of water, the narrative shifts from a dispute about spatial intrusion to a shared recognition of human vulnerability. It is a reminder that the modern forces we often perceive as disruptions to our traditional heritage are frequently piloted by individuals carrying the exact same timeless griefs, histories, and traditions as our own.

If we are to successfully transform Ireland's communities, our policy frameworks must become as flexible and hospitable as Mary's kitchen table – capable of holding space for both those who need to stand fast, and those who need to move through.

The Campervan can be found at https://rvw.ie/the-campervan

Addendum

Temporal Friction and the Lived Experience of Governance

Transforming Ireland is the title I have chosen for a forthcoming series of the opportunities and the impact of the circular economy. And the Campervan is an experiment on how I might use fiction to illustrate those impacts.

In The Campervan, my aim was to look past the technical vocabulary of spatial planning and examine the human impact of what policy analysts call “temporal friction.” This friction occurs when macro-level regional development frameworks move at one speed, while the socio-emotional landscape of an established community moves at another.

Mary’s sudden exasperation – captured in her plea that “The Council should do something about it, it's not fair” – is a classic manifestation of this disconnect. To an administrator looking at a map or an infrastructure portfolio, the influx of mobile domestic tourism along our coastline represents a successful activation of public assets or a metric of regional economic diversification. However, to the resident on the ground, it can feel like a sudden, unmediated disruption of local spatial heritage and personal stasis.

References:

https://www.gov.ie/en/department-of-housing-local-government-and-heritage/press-releases/report-on-national-coastal-change-management-strategy-sets-out-long-term-blueprint-to-deal-with-future-coastal-change/

https://irishgeography.ie/index.php/irishgeography/article/download/1484/1194/6030)

This tension underscores a core finding in recent spatial analyses, such as the OECD Rural Policy Review of Ireland. The report notes that Ireland's highly centralized administrative structures often lack the “spatial differentiation” required to fully account for how local people actually experience change. When national planning goals; whether under the National Planning Framework or coastal management strategies; are handed down to local authorities, the system often defaults to regulating spaces rather than facilitating the community transitions within them.

References:

https://assets.gov.ie/static/documents/1f40d206-report-of-the-inter-departmental-group-on-national-coastal-change-management-.pdf

https://www.gov.ie/en/department-of-housing-local-government-and-heritage/publications/overview-of-planning-in-ireland/

https://www.oecd.org/en/publications/rural-policy-review-of-ireland-2026_d53ea78f-en/full-report/making-rural-policy-work-from-strategy-to-delivery_388f48d4.html

The story does not seek to arbitrate whether Mary’s desire for preservation or the traveller’s right to mobility is the “correct” use of the strand. Rather, it serves as an observation of a structural dilemma. If our evolving governance systems are to navigate the transformation of rural and coastal Ireland successfully, they must find a way to reconcile the swift, fluid movement of modern policy and tourism with the slower, deeply human timelines of the people who call those places home.

References:

https://www.oecd.org/en/publications/rural-policy-review-of-ireland-2026_d53ea78f-en/full-report/making-rural-policy-work-from-strategy-to-delivery_388f48d4.html