Modern Tools: Making Meaning in a Machine Age

Creative work has always been a balancing act—between control and chaos, discipline and discovery. But in today’s AI-powered environment, that balance feels even more precarious. The tools are smarter, faster, and more capable than ever. And yet, the inner work—finding direction, facing doubt, committing to the process—remains just as human as it’s always been.

According to Pressfield, Resistance is the internal force that keeps us from doing the work we know matters.

Recently, I was introduced to The War of Art by Steven Pressfield—a book recommended by someone I follow. It explores three key ideas: Resistance, Professionalism, and what he frames as a higher source of creativity. I prefer to call it Alignment—that moment when your intent, attention, and instinct finally sync.

All three themes feel incredibly relevant right now. As we fold AI into our creative practice, the work gets faster. But the why behind the work—what it means to create—feels more important than ever.

Resistance Still Exists (It’s Just Wearing Better Disguises)

Pressfield describes Resistance as the invisible force that keeps us from doing meaningful work. It’s the procrastination, the self-doubt, the scroll through social media. And in the age of AI, Resistance hasn’t gone away—it’s just gotten better at impersonating progress.

We’ve always faced Resistance—blank pages, second-guessing, over-researching. What’s different now is the illusion that we’re “being productive” simply by engaging with tools. AI, with its endless suggestions and iterations, can feel like momentum. But if we’re not making decisions or taking ownership, we’re just stuck in a higher-resolution loop.

The line between useful exploration and stalling is subtle but real. When you find yourself iterating endlessly, rewording prompts, or testing countess options—that’s not strategy, that’s Resistance in disguise.

The Professional Makes Room for Rabbit Holes

Pressfield argues that the way to overcome Resistance isn’t inspiration—it’s professionalism. Not the kind measured in email etiquette or meeting invites, but in discipline: the decision to show up, do the work, and move the project forward even when it’s hard, unclear, or uncomfortable. Professionals don’t wait for perfect conditions—they create momentum by honoring the process.

But professionalism doesn’t mean everything is linear. Wandering time can be productive. Some of my best insights have come from the space between defined tasks—moments when I allow myself to chase an idea, test an odd angle, or go deep on a seemingly unrelated thread. I’ve learned to build time for that into my process. It’s not wasted effort—it’s part of the work. Making space to explore isn’t a break from professionalism. It’s proof of it.

Some of my recent design research led me deep into the world of restaurant tech. I was part of a group evaluating self-service tablets used for ordering and payment—those compact screens now common on casual dining tables. At first, it felt like a simple UX challenge. But as I let myself explore the broader context—guest psychology, service expectations, and operational goals—the real issue surfaced.

These tablets weren’t built with the guest in mind. They were designed to serve the restaurant: increasing table turnover, nudging tips upward, driving larger checks. And we, as designers, were being asked to wrap that business logic in the language of hospitality. I wrote more about that tension in Why Hybrid Is the Future of Hospitality Tech, where I argue for a more balanced approach to guest experience.

That insight only emerged because I allowed space for the process to unfold. The rabbit hole wasn’t a delay—it was essential. Wandering led to clarity. And clarity led to better design.

Professionalism, to me, isn’t about resisting Resistance entirely. It’s about managing it—giving it structure, observing where it shows up, and making space for the detours that matter.

Creative Alignment: The Work That Works Through You

Pressfield’s third theme centers on the idea that inspiration arrives when we consistently do the work. He talks about it mythologically—as the Muse. I think of it more as creative alignment: that place where focus, curiosity, and intention click into place. It’s flow, clarity, momentum—the work feels less forced, more guided.

It’s like being deep in a design sprint, when the elements suddenly lock into place—not because the grid told you to, but because something feels resolved. You’re not just arranging visuals; you’re making decisions that carry weight. Every move has intention, even if it’s hard to explain why.

That’s the space AI can’t fully enter. It can generate layouts, mimic styles, even suggest next steps. But it doesn’t understand tension, balance, or the quiet click of something working. Creative alignment isn’t mechanical—it’s felt. And that part is, and will always be, human.

The Real Work Isn’t Just Execution—It’s Attention

AI has made it easier to generate, iterate, and polish. But it hasn’t made it easier to decide. The hard part—the real part—is still discernment. It’s knowing when something is done, when it’s true, when it works.

Rabbit holes are part of my process. So are pauses, rethinks, and reboots. What matters is that I don’t stay lost. I emerge with clarity, and I move forward.

That’s the creative tension we all navigate: how to use the tool without being used by it. How to listen to Resistance without letting it lead. How to stay open to inspiration—and still do the work it demands.