The blank page used to mean something.
It sometimes meant a world of possibilities laid out before you. The start of an adventure. Other times, it mocked you. It was a giant, glistening wall topped with the sharpest razor wire ever conceived.
In either case, it was the moment right before the idea formed. Exciting or torturous. A moment of tension. Compressing the spring or over-inflating the tire.
But now?
Now, the page is never blank. ChatGPT fills it before you’ve built any tension. Before you’ve wrestled with the possibilities or the wall.
I admit it. I do it. I use ChatGPT to fill my blank page, so I don’t have to wrestle with it.
It feels productive. It feels helpful. It feels like a shortcut.
But is it serving me?
Am I — are we — skipping the part where I discover what I think, feel, and believe rather than copy what sounds good?
The blank page is the beginning. An invitation, or sometimes a command, to think from scratch.
ChatGPT is an amazing tool, but it’s not the work.
The work still starts with facing the blank page.
