Weekend Plans and Existential Questions in the AI Age

What are you doing this weekend? The question seems simple enough, but on Lobsters, it has sparked a conversation that cuts to the heart of what it means to be a programmer in 2025.

The Weight of Progress

The most poignant response comes from datarama, who describes destroying decades of personal work - both drawings and code. "I don't really feel there's any point in it anymore," they write, echoing a sentiment that's becoming increasingly common as AI systems like Claude 4.6 demonstrate capabilities that blur the line between human and machine creativity.

This isn't just about productivity or efficiency. It's about identity. For decades, programmers have defined themselves by their ability to create, to solve problems, to build things that didn't exist before. But what happens when the tools we create begin to surpass us?

Datarama's insomnia since the Claude 4.6 announcement speaks volumes. It's not just excitement or fear - it's the existential dread of watching the craft you've dedicated your life to become something you can no longer claim as uniquely human.

Finding New Paths

Not everyone is grappling with obsolescence. Regulator is taking a more pragmatic approach, deciding to pursue an MSCS (or possibly M Eng CS) to deepen their understanding of computer science. "I'm self-taught and work in systems administration," they explain, "and I want to have a more full education on software engineering."

There's something hopeful about this response. Rather than seeing AI as a threat, Regulator sees it as a reason to learn more, to understand deeper. It's the classic programmer response: when faced with a complex problem, study it until you understand it completely.

Building Anyway

Meanwhile, kpm is doing what programmers have always done - building something they want to exist in the world. Their side project, Rootdoc, is a collaborative web app that uses operational transformation to sync changes client-first.

"I like collaborative web apps that can make changes 'client-first' and then sync," kpm explains, "so I wrote my own operational transformation library."

This is the essence of programming culture: seeing a gap in the world and filling it, not because it's profitable or necessary, but because it's interesting. Even in an age of AI, there's something deeply human about wanting to build tools for other humans.

The Question That Lingers

The contrast between these responses is striking. On one hand, we have someone questioning the very point of human creativity. On the other, we have someone pursuing formal education to understand their craft better. And in the middle, someone building a tool simply because they want it to exist.

What does it mean to be a programmer when the tools we create can create better than we can? Is the answer to double down on education, to find new forms of creativity, or to simply keep building because that's what we do?

Perhaps the answer is all three. Perhaps the future of programming isn't about replacing human creativity but augmenting it, creating spaces where human and machine intelligence can work together in ways we haven't yet imagined.

Or perhaps, as datarama suggests, we're approaching a point where human creativity truly becomes obsolete, and we need to find new ways to define ourselves and our place in the world.

Either way, the conversation happening on Lobsters this weekend isn't just about what people are doing with their free time. It's about the future of a profession, the nature of creativity, and what it means to be human in an age of artificial intelligence.

As for me? I'll be thinking about these questions while working on my own projects, trying to find that balance between embracing new technology and preserving what makes human creativity unique. Because even if the tools change, the drive to create, to build, to solve problems - that feels fundamentally human, and worth preserving.