May 3, 2025. My generation will go to war.

My body hasn't felt right lately. 

A strange fatigue has settled into my bones, probably from months of intense work and thinking. 

It's like my system has switched to power-saving mode, forcing me to slow down. 

I've been using this downtime to contemplate, to detox my thoughts from external voices, and to prepare for what I see coming. As the noise quiets, a pattern has emerged in the world around us that I can no longer ignore. 

My generation will go to war. 

Not by choice, not by desire, but by inheritance.

This isn't about partisan politics or taking sides. This is about seeing systems clearly, about recognizing patterns that transcend individual actors or events. 

The same analytical mindset that helped me understand the limitations of MIKE-AI now reveals a troubling trajectory in our global systems.

Resource scarcity is becoming our new reality. 

Clean water, rare earth minerals, fertile land, energy sources - these aren't infinite, yet our consumption patterns act as if they are. 

The math simply doesn't work. 

When essential resources become scarce enough, conflicts inevitably follow. 

My generation will inherit these conflicts not because we created them, but because previous generations couldn't or wouldn't solve the underlying systemic problems.

I look at the current geopolitical landscape and see authoritarian governments tightening their grip, using nationalism and fear to justify control. They're preparing their populations for conflict while telling them it's for protection. This isn't new - history shows this pattern repeating throughout centuries. What's different now is the scale, the technology, and the potential for global catastrophe.

The living old heads running our world today didn't experience World War II firsthand. Many came of age during the Cold War - a time of tension but ultimately restraint. They've seen regional conflicts and uprisings but never witnessed the full collapse of global order. There's a dangerous confidence that comes from that distance, a belief that systems are more stable than they actually are.

What troubles me most isn't just the potential for war, but what it would do to human progress. 

The technological and social advancements we've made could be undone in a flash. 

Infrastructure that took decades to build could be destroyed in days. 

Knowledge systems could collapse. 

The internet, global supply chains, international cooperation on science and medicine - all of these become vulnerable when nations turn against each other.

We're living in an age where humanity's greatest achievements and gravest dangers are two sides of the same coin. 

The technology that connects us can divide us. 

The energy systems that power our progress can become targets. 

The AI that could solve our problems could become weaponized. 

This dual nature of progress means we're constantly racing against ourselves, creating problems with one hand while trying to solve them with the other.

I watch these global tensions unfold with a particular perspective. 

Countries like mine often become battlegrounds or strategic pieces in larger conflicts we didn't create. 

The decisions made in Washington, Beijing, Moscow, and Brussels have outsized impacts on places like Southeast Asia, Africa, and South America. 

My generation in these regions will bear disproportionate costs of conflicts we had little role in creating.

But history doesn't have to rhyme with tragedy. 

The patterns I'm seeing aren't inevitable. 

They're human creations, and what humans create, humans can change. 

This requires more than hope or wishful thinking. 

It requires concrete action from both those in power now and those who will inherit their decisions.

If you're reading this and you hold power - whether in government, business, or civil society - I ask you to consider your legacy beyond quarterly reports or election cycles. 

Every decision that prioritizes short-term gain over long-term stability pushes my generation closer to conflict. 

Every resource grab, every diplomatic breakdown, every militaristic solution to complex problems narrows our options for peace.

If you're my age or younger, I ask you to prepare without surrendering to despair. 

Build skills that remain valuable during disruption. 

Create communities that can weather instability. 

Learn from history how societies have preserved knowledge and rebuilt after conflict. 

Not because war is inevitable, but because resilience gives us more options regardless of what comes.

Here's what we all need to do, regardless of age or position:

First, we need to build resilient local systems. If global supply chains fail, communities need ways to provide essentials. This isn't about bunkers and stockpiles, but about local production capabilities, knowledge preservation, and community cooperation frameworks.

Second, we must preserve and advance technologies that solve fundamental problems rather than create new ones. Energy innovations that reduce resource dependencies. Communication systems that can survive disruption. Medical capabilities that don't rely on complex global supply chains. These become even more important in times of conflict, not less.

Third, we must maintain global connections at the human level even as national systems turn inward. Person-to-person networks of knowledge sharing and cooperation can survive even when official channels break down. The internet has made this possible in ways that weren't available during previous global conflicts.

I'm asking you, the reader, to choose one of these areas and commit to something concrete. 

Maybe it's learning a local food production skill. 

Maybe it's supporting technology that decentralizes essential services. 

Maybe it's building connections with people in countries your own government considers adversaries. 

Small actions, multiplied across enough people, change the terrain on which larger decisions are made.

With courage, collaboration, and compassion, we can bend the arc of progress toward survival. This isn't naive optimism. It's the clear-eyed recognition that throughout history, small groups of dedicated people have preserved what matters most during the darkest times, creating the foundation for what comes after.

I'm not building MIKE-AI anymore, but the lessons from that journey apply here. When I hit the wall with MIKE, I learned that some limitations can't be overcome through determination alone. Sometimes you need to step back, reassess, and find a different approach. Perhaps the same applies to our global challenges. If preventing conflict entirely isn't possible right now, we can focus on creating systems that survive it, that preserve what matters most.

To the older generations still in positions of power: 

You may not face the worst consequences of the path we're on. 

But your children and grandchildren will. 

The decisions you make now, the priorities you set, the conflicts you escalate or de-escalate - these create the world my generation will inhabit. 

We don't need your protection through strength. 

We need your wisdom through restraint.

I don't know exactly how events will unfold. 

No one does. 

But systems thinking allows us to see trajectories and probabilities. 

And right now, those trajectories point toward conflict. 

My hope is that by acknowledging this reality clearly, without panic, without illusion, we can at least prepare in ways that preserve what matters most.

This post isn't just a warning. 

As I finish my degree and continue research with MIKE, these realities inform my priorities. 

The work I do needs to contribute something that matters not just in times of stability, but especially in times of disruption. 

Knowledge and technologies that help people navigate through chaos rather than adding to it.

I want my future children to experience at least some years of the stability and comfort that modern civilization provides. 

I want them to know what it's like to live in a world where cooperation outweighs conflict, where resources are shared rather than hoarded, where knowledge builds rather than destroys. 

Even if that world doesn't last, the memory of it matters. 

It provides a template for what we might rebuild.

Let's begin now. 

Today. Not with fear or resignation, but with clear purpose and practical action. 

We're in a race against ourselves - against our own worst tendencies and systemic failures. 

But races can be won, trajectories can be altered, and humans have overcome seemingly impossible challenges before.