And I am standing on the shore
Rose Peck
2026-04-05
There is a wave on the horizon.
I saw it start to form a few years ago. They told me that attention was all you needed. They told me about breakthroughs that were coming, about changes that were coming. They told me about risks, and about opportunities.
I was excited. I was fascinated. I saw so many futures that could branch out from what they found.
I didn't understand how big it was going to grow.
I don't think any of us did.
There is a wave on the horizon.
Some of the other people, here on the shoreline, tell me that it will peter out before it reaches the shore.
That it is an illusion, a mirage. That it is, and always was, sustained by hucksters, trying to cash in on a current that can only be found on the maps they are selling. That harm can only come from feeding it. From believing that it is real.
I used to agree with them.
I used to think that the people in the news were making it out to be so, so much bigger than it actually was. I used to think that, perhaps, we would see something here on land, but that the water would recede, like it always had. That, there would be changes, but most of us would not be swept away.
Maybe I am wrong. I hope to God that I am wrong. Oh, how badly I want to be wrong...
There is a wave on the horizon.
It terrifies me.
Because I can see the harm that it does.
I see the livelihoods that will be destroyed. The art that will be lost. The safety and security that will be gone.
I see thousands upon thousands of people being crushed under its currents. Gasping for air, desperately grabbing at something to hold onto. I see homes and businesses and schools being ripped apart under an enormous wall of water.
I see myself pulled under its currents.
Drowning.
There is a wave on the horizon.
Some of the other people, here on the shoreline, want to stop it.
They tell me that we need to fight it. That that is the only way to survive. That we must halt its advance before it touches the land.
I don't think any of us can stop it now.
Perhaps, once, when it was smaller, enough people working together could push the currents. Humans can make their own whirlpools by swimming in circles. It's been done.
But it is too late now.
The wave is too large, the currents are too deep to be fought.
Go ahead, stab at the water. I hope it works.
There is a wave on the horizon.
Some of the other people, here on the shoreline, love it.
They rejoice at the people it will drown. They talk about how those who will soon be drowned just need a stronger work ethic. They talk of how they will surf the wave at the crest, and gain untold riches from it. They don't care how many people are crushed, so long as they are not one of them.
These people sicken me.
But punching them in the face will not stop the wave from drowning me.
There is a wave on the horizon.
Some of the other people, here on the shoreline, are terrified.
They can see what I can see.
And they are building rafts. They are learning to swim. They are learning to surf.
Some of them tell me that, by riding the waves, they can create things that neither could create on their own.
They tell me that we have time to prepare. That we might be able to build a society that benefits from this, and minimizes its harms.
They tell me that they are trying to figure out how to save as many people as possible from drowning.
I like these people.
There is a wave on the horizon.
It terrifies me.
But I am trying to prepare.
I am learning how to surf, and the people with their heads in the sand tell me that I am only making things worse.
I am learning how to swim, and the people stabbing the water decry me for helping the enemy.
I am building a raft, and the people with surfboards smugly roll their eyes at me.
I don't want to die.
I pray to God that this will be enough.
