Field Note #3 — Exciting, but Bumpy

Working Draft V3.0 | October 12, 2026

Where did we start?

A friend asked ChatGPT if I was a good guy to know. The reply was interesting in that he got the affirmation he was looking for, but I suddenly wanted to improve my online presence. I wanted to update social media, build a better website that represented the range of work I had done and told a story, and I wanted the new generation to better understand the direction I wanted to go professionally. I had decades of experience in live events, photographs, stories, and a solid black book network, but had very few ideas about how to incorporate AI into my day to day.

The technology was fascinating. I could describe something I wanted to create, via text, and my new assistant could help me explore the possibilities. We could discuss ideas, try different approaches, and find ways to communicate things I had previously struggled to put into words.

But eventually, we had to decide where to begin improving my online presence. A website seemed like a reasonable place since I had populated a Flash template before, and that seemed like it would be easy. A cool website that could showcase my story and be interactive enough for other people to enjoy.

That part was exciting.

It’s not where we started

I wanted to keep notes as we went, not because I anticipated writing about artificial intelligence someday, but because there was a lot to learn, and I didn't want to keep learning the same things twice. There were conversations, instructions, screenshots, links, and explanations. Sometimes we made enough progress that I wanted to preserve it before moving on. I learned to use Apple Notes, saved PDFs, and started collecting documents on several devices.

However, even the process of saving a screenshot was new and not natural. I had snipped in Windows but did not know how to save a screenshot on a Mac. Some of those notes were simple thoughts. Others were about learning how to work with the assistant itself. I was trying to remember what we'd done yesterday so we could accomplish something today. Looking back through those early notes, I can see the pieces accumulating.

We tried to replicate simple workflows that I had used for years, but with new tools. I remember building shortcuts and attempting to automate my day. The technology was new and exciting, but communicating through some of those first steps proved surprisingly difficult. My assistant would tell me to find a control, select a block, or change a setting. Except sometimes the control wasn't where the instructions said it would be. Sometimes it wasn't visible at all.

That's not on my screen

More than once, I wished my new assistant could simply look over my shoulder and see my screen.

What could it see? What was it assuming? Did it understand the interface I was using, or was it describing another version? What did I need to show it before its instructions would become useful? How could it know every detail of a new piece of software when there was no manual yet to read? I did not know what a prompt was or how to code. It was an interesting time learning what a sidebar was and how much information could be hidden behind three little dots.

A change that appeared to apply to one element might affect something larger. The help files, user guides, and the interface in front of me didn't always agree with the instructions I was being given. My assistant could explain things, but it didn't always understand what was happening, and my assistant could sound very certain about a screen it couldn't actually see.

I could understand the desired result and still be unable to find the next step. I knew what we wanted to accomplish, but I was learning how to operate new tools, and just keeping current versions of software became a daily task.

My experience in live events was becoming more visible. My background had taught me that producing ideas and putting them into practice were two very different efforts. I've spent much of my working life learning systems, tracing signal paths, and helping other people operate unfamiliar equipment. Here I was, struggling to make a simple visual change on a computer screen.

And there was another part to learn, too. How to speak the same language as my assistant.

Learning to communicate

We got going with the idea of Online Presence continuing as our north star, but sometimes the navigation required different approaches. Sometimes a different browser, sometimes a different model of AI. We kept at it, next thing next. I would post screenshots and save Notes often. We built saved summaries and guides as PDFs. We maintained the conversation throughout the process, and the things we were trying to build were quickly evaluated and then either kept or discarded. We did not stop. We had to learn a balance between pausing and running full speed.

Sometimes we found the right control. Sometimes we changed the design to fit what we could make work. Sometimes we accepted a version that was good enough for that day. We often compromised more than I expected or wanted to, but toe by toe, the elephant got smaller. The wording could be right while the layout was wrong. The image could work while the button didn't. We could have a complete plan in the conversation and still have an incomplete page on the screen. Questions emerged through the process. We didn’t always start in agreement.

The conversations weren't just producing questions anymore. They were becoming part of the process of getting things done. I was learning when to ask a question, when to share a screenshot, when to challenge an instruction, and when to stop trying to solve something through conversation alone. There were still misunderstandings, repeated steps, and things that didn't work the way we expected.

Not perfectly, but we were making real progress.

On November 14, I saved a reflection about finding traction: moving onto the Mac mini, syncing cleanly, refining the post, and feeling the system—and the process—begin to align.

A few days later, we were still getting tangled in website controls, but we were communicating about them.

Something tangible… a website?

Eventually, some of the smaller accomplishments began to matter as much as the larger ones. In live events, I've always understood the importance of an opening. Before anyone says much, the room has already communicated something. A website had to do that too.

So we started with a Hero section.

We tried headlines, paragraphs, photographs, and different ways of describing what I do. I corrected language that made my experience sound narrower than it was. My assistant offered alternatives. I chose, adjusted, and tried again. More context often changed the mutual perspective.

We built a footer. Made the Home and Contact links work. Learned that a button could behave differently outside edit mode. Those were practical discoveries and felt like progress. They gave me something I could test instead of another explanation to follow. The Coachella stage image became part of the opening. We worked on its crop, cleaned up distractions, and adjusted the text around it.

I also stepped back to pen and paper.

I knew how to sketch movement, structure, and what should happen next. Bringing that familiar method into the process helped me find my bearings. The new tools were becoming part of my workflow. I was still working out which task was best served by which tool, and which version of the tool was best. Much like when moving from analog to digital, my workflow was established, and we found the right combinations.

Learning while building

Looking back, I can see that we were building two things at once. A website and a way of working together. As we improved the context, communications became easier. At the time, I was mostly trying to get the next thing done. I wanted help expressing my experience, and I wanted to learn new tools without spending the whole day fighting them. I wanted my assistant's guidance to connect with what was in front of me. There were also times when I wanted my assistant to just do the work, but frequently learned something unexpected by collaborating.

That connection took work from both sides of the conversation. I had to provide context, question assumptions, and say when something didn't make sense. The guidance had to change when the screen contradicted it. I began to feel the difference between just getting an answer to a prompt and finding solutions together. We still have a lot to do on the website.

It is exciting.

It is bumpy.