We often talk about the age of machines as if it were a competition. As if every advance in artificial intelligence were a direct challenge to human worth. The debate seems permanently framed around whether humans can still keep up—whether we can think faster, perform better, produce more. But I’ve come to believe that this framing misses the point entirely. The question is not whether humans can compete with machines. The real question is: What kind of life are we building for humans in a world shaped by machines?

We are obsessed with numbers. Productivity scores, engagement rates, follower counts, exam marks, salaries, rankings—our lives have become a landscape of metrics, as if the only things worth valuing are those that can be easily measured. It is a strange irony that in an era when machines are allegedly becoming more “human,” many humans are becoming more machinelike—efficient, optimized, quantified.

Yet the things that matter most do not fit neatly into spreadsheets or dashboards. There is no agreed-upon unit of happiness. No algorithm to quantify warmth. No global index for optimism, friendship, or care. And still, these are the qualities that make life worth living. These are the qualities that make us human.

I worry sometimes that in our race to automate everything, we are automating away the imagination for what human flourishing could look like. We speak breathlessly about technological progress but far less about social progress. We measure the accuracy of a model, the speed of a processor, the scale of a dataset—but rarely do we measure the ease of a conversation, the comfort of companionship, or the quiet relief of feeling understood.

If our technologies are evolving, then surely our conversations about society must evolve too. We have to ask: What kind of world are we passing on to the next generation? A world where success is a number on a screen? Where worth is determined by visibility? Where self-esteem is tethered to engagement metrics designed to keep people online rather than well?

This is not a condemnation of technology. I work in artificial intelligence. I see firsthand its potential to expand human capacity, not shrink it. But precisely because I work with machines, I understand their limits. They can simulate conversation, but not the internal experience of connection. They can generate words, but not meaning. They can recommend content, but they cannot teach the courage it takes to live authentically, or the gentleness required to care for another person.

If we are to talk seriously about mental health, then we must talk seriously about the environment in which our thoughts and emotions are shaped. We have built digital ecosystems where metrics masquerade as meaning. Where “likes” stand in for belonging. Where popularity often overshadows purpose. And yet we wonder why so many people feel inadequate, overwhelmed, unseen.

The reaction shouldn’t be to retreat from technology, but to reclaim the narrative around what matters. We need to remind ourselves—and our children—that the metrics of social media are not the metrics of a life well lived. That being known is more important than being noticed. That being kind is more valuable than being ranked. That warmth, empathy, and optimism—though impossible to quantify—are the true foundations of a healthy society.

In the age of machines, our task is not to compete with them but to elevate the parts of ourselves they cannot replicate. To design a world where human well-being is not an afterthought but the first principle. To cultivate a culture that values presence over performance, connection over comparison, meaning over metrics.

Because the future we are building should not be one where humans act like machines.

It should be one where humans can finally act more like humans.