If you’ve been following me on LinkedIn lately, you’ve probably noticed I’ve become a little fascinated with artificial intelligence.

That probably surprises some people.

A year ago, AI wasn’t something I spent much time thinking about. During my final year at USAID, we had a handful of webinars introducing tools like ChatGPT and exploring how AI might support our work. There was curiosity, but not exactly enthusiasm. Getting a license was complicated, data security concerns were real, and many of us wondered whether the federal government would eventually build its own secure version.

Like many large institutions, we were interested—but cautious.

Then everything changed.

After being caught up in the reduction in force, I suddenly found myself doing something I hadn’t done in nearly two decades: searching for a job.

My resume was outdated. I was writing cover letter after cover letter, trying to translate years of humanitarian and food security experience into language that made sense in today’s job market.

AI quickly became one of the most useful tools I had.

It helped me modernize my resume, tailor applications, brainstorm interview responses, organize ideas, and even imagine entirely new career paths. It didn’t do the work for me, but it made me dramatically more productive.

Like many people, I went from cautiously observing AI to relying on it almost every day.

Then I noticed something else.

Former colleagues from the international development world had started picking up AI training work—reviewing responses, ranking outputs, and helping teach AI models how humans think and communicate. Flexible, remote, and surprisingly accessible.

The idea lingered until one day I asked myself:

Why not me?

As a single mom spending my daughter’s first year at home, the flexibility was appealing. Even a modest amount of additional income could help.

So I applied to an AI training platform.

Almost immediately, another thought crept in.

Am I helping train AI to replace people with backgrounds like mine?

It feels like an odd paradox.

The very skills I spent years developing—writing, analyzing information, synthesizing complex issues, communicating clearly, exercising judgment—are exactly the kinds of skills AI is becoming increasingly good at.

By helping improve these systems, am I making my own professional experience less valuable?

Or…

Am I doing what every generation has had to do when technology shifts?

History is full of these moments.

Accountants learned spreadsheets. Designers learned Photoshop. Researchers learned Google. Writers learned search engines.

None of those technologies eliminated every job. They changed the jobs.

Maybe AI will be different. Maybe it won’t.

The truth is, I don’t know.

But ignoring it doesn’t feel like a strategy.

If AI is going to reshape the workplace, I’d rather understand it than fear it from a distance. Maybe working on AI training gives me a clearer sense of how these systems succeed, where they fail, and where human judgment still matters. Maybe it makes me more employable rather than less.

Or maybe it’s simply another example of adapting when life takes an unexpected turn.

Ironically, my biggest lesson this year hasn’t been about artificial intelligence.

It’s been about human intelligence.

The willingness to learn something new. The humility to start over. The courage to admit you don’t have all the answers.

And the recognition that careers are no longer built by mastering one set of skills for thirty years—they’re built by continually learning the next one.

I still don’t know whether taking on AI training work is the right decision.

Maybe I’m helping build the future. Maybe I’m helping build my replacement. Or maybe those aren’t mutually exclusive.

For now, I’m choosing curiosity over fear.

We’ll see where that leads.