I, Dinosaur

Over the past year, I’ve come to a quiet, unavoidable conclusion: my profession is over. Not struggling, not fading - over. Finished.

And here I am – not exactly young anymore, not that old either – standing in the middle of a pretty serious crisis. Everything I know how to do, everything I’ve done for most of my adult life, has just… vanished.

I’m a programmer. That’s what I’ve been since I was a kid. It’s what I studied. It’s what I taught. There are three things I love doing, and I’m good at all of them: programming, teaching, and playing music. And now two of them - programming and teaching – being shown the door.

It’s not a big mystery why. The reasons are obvious for anyone who have been paying attention lately. Artificial intelligence didn’t just improve the field, it wiped it clean. I know I’m not alone in this. There are millions like me. But a person lives inside his own story, and this one is mine.

AI does what I used to do, only better, faster. more reliably. With no hesitation, no second thoughts. It just delivers.

My father taught me how to program when I was about thirteen, maybe fourteen. From the start, I loved it. I was a textbook computer nerd. I loved the challenge - the logic, the problem-solving, the feeling that I was building something from nothing with my hands. Well, not exactly with my hands, but you know what I mean.

I was never that good with my hands. My father, the same one who taught me programming, can weld, build furniture, fix anything. He tried to teach me that too. Didn’t stick. I guess I got only half the package.

So no, I can’t build a chair. But I can build software.

And somewhere along the way, I realized I was also really good at teaching it. I can take something complicated and make it make sense. Make people understand, actually understand - not just nod along. Apparently, that’s not as common as people think.

So I taught. And I coded. For twenty-five years, that was my rhythm. Students used to compete for the front row in my lectures. I was good at it. People liked listening to me. Hey, I even made a living. A decent one.

And I still believe I’m good, That’s not the problem. The problem is that no one needs it anymore.

Now hold on, before you get the wrong idea, file me as some anti-technology weirdo and run away. Don’t expect a speech about how unfair this is or how we should fight AI and preserve the good old days. That’s not me. I don’t believe in resisting this kind of change.

When I see professional groups trying to block new technology, I mostly feel bad for them. It’s just like fighting with the tide or arguing with gravity. They don’t understand how the world works. I do. Technology moves forward. It always has. And it always leaves people behind.

There used to be lamplighters. Men whose job was to walk the streets every evening and light the lamps, return back in the morning to extinguish them. Electricity didn’t negotiate with them. It just took over. End of story.

Typesetters. Telegraph operators. Skilled people, respected people, who woke up one day to discover their expertise had no place anymore.

I always knew that. I even felt sorry for them.

Picture a telegraph technician around 1900. Back then, he was the future. It was a high-tech job. Skilled people. Good salaries. Respect. Parents wanted their kids to become one, girls wanted to marry one.

And then the work starts shrinking. Slowly at first. Then all at once.

The radio shows up. Suddenly you can just talk - real words, real voice, across long distances. No need for him anymore. And here’s the thing - he doesn’t just lose his job. He can’t find another decent one. Because no one needs what he knows how to do. He can be a guard somewhere. Maybe sweep streets. Whatever the equivalent was back then.

That’s exactly how I feel. A skilled person. A capable person. And in a blink, my skills are worth nothing. Who needs me? What else do I even know how to do?

I always knew this could happen. But with some arrogance, I never thought it would happen to me. I mean - computers aren’t going anywhere, right? Programming isn’t going anywhere.

Well… yes and no.

We still need software. But not the way I learned to build it. I’ve become irrelevant. Left on the side of the road, watching everything move forward without me.

My skill set is worth less than pocket change. Any kid who’s never written code in his life can now build things that would have taken me months. It’s not a fair fight.

Sometimes it reminds me of those poor Polish cavalry units in World War II - charging forward, swords drawn, straight into German tanks. They weren’t bad soldiers. Not at all. They were brave, disciplined, trained men. But it just wasn’t a fair fight. They were out of time.

If I were twenty years younger, I’d probably jump into this. Reinvent myself. Learn the new world.

But I’m not. I’m older. More fixed. More used to things the way they were.

And at some point, changing everything about yourself becomes… hard.

So here I am.

I haven’t written code in over a year, not seriously. What’s the point? I can describe what I want in two sentences, and AI gives it to me - faster, better, cleaner.

The challenge is gone. And that’s not a small thing.

I used to be proud of how I think. My ability to solve complex problems. But who cares if it takes me two days to solve something? AI does it in a second.

I still teach. For now. To whoever still shows up. To people who maybe haven’t realized yet that it’s becoming useless.

And honestly? Sometimes I feel like a fraud. Like someone showing people how to develop film in a darkroom - while they all have phones in their pockets that do it instantly, and better.

I don’t know how long this will last.

Sometimes I wonder what will come first. Complete unemployment and begging on the street, a job at a supermarket or the grave.

It feels like a race against time.

So I save money. Try to build something for my kids. Grab whatever I can while there’s still something to grab. Before it all runs out.

So… nice to meet you.

I’m the dinosaur.