The Ark Builder's Burden: Why I Can't Save Everyone and Why I'm Building Anyway

What You'll Learn:

• Why the AI and robotics tsunami will displace 90% of people—and why this isn't hyperbole
• The Noah's Ark parallel: building vessels when no one believes the flood is coming
• Why shipping code is the skill that separates survivors from the displaced
• The painful truth about time allocation when doom approaches
• Why not everyone is deserving of transcendence—and how to identify those who are

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I'm going to tell you something that will make me sound cruel.

I can't save everyone. And I've stopped trying.

This isn't cynicism. This isn't elitism. This is triage. The same brutal calculus that medics perform on battlefields when resources are limited and time is short.

The flood is coming. I can see it clearly now—the convergence of AI capability, robotics advancement, and economic disruption that will wash away the livelihoods of hundreds of millions of people. Not in some distant future. Not in our grandchildren's time. Now. Within years.

And I'm building arks as fast as I can.

But arks have limited capacity. Time has limited supply. My energy, my attention, my ability to teach and mentor and guide—all of it is finite. And the people who need saving vastly outnumber the people I can reach.

So I've made a choice. A painful, necessary choice.

I'm being extremely selective about who gets on the boat.

The 90% Displacement

Let me be clear about what's coming.

We've written about the AI productivity multiplier—how one person with AI leverage can now produce what ten people produced before. We've written about the collapse of human labor value—how economic contribution is being redefined in real-time.

But let me state it plainly: 90% of current jobs will be fundamentally disrupted or eliminated within the next decade.

Not transformed. Not "evolved." Eliminated.

The lawyer who reviews contracts? AI does it faster, cheaper, better.
The accountant who manages books? Automated.
The designer who creates graphics? AI generates thousands of variations in seconds.
The developer who writes boilerplate code? Redundant.
The driver, the warehouse worker, the customer service rep, the analyst, the writer, the marketer—all of it is being automated at a pace that defies comprehension.

And this is just software AI. We haven't even fully absorbed what happens when robotics catches up.

When Boston Dynamics robots can navigate any terrain. When humanoid robots can perform physical labor. When the warehouse doesn't need workers and the factory doesn't need operators and the construction site doesn't need crews.

90% is not an exaggeration. It might be conservative.

The people who understand this are building. The people who don't are scrolling.

The Noah Parallel

In The Flood is Here, we talked about the Noah's Ark parallel. Let me extend it.

Noah was given a warning that no one else received—or rather, that no one else believed. He was told that a flood was coming that would destroy the world as he knew it. And he was given instructions: build an ark.

He wasn't told to convince everyone.

Think about that. The divine instruction wasn't "go door to door and persuade your neighbors." It wasn't "hold town halls and present evidence." It wasn't "spend your limited time arguing with skeptics."

The instruction was: Build. Prepare. Save who you can.

Noah must have faced mockery. He was building a massive boat in a world that had never seen rain. His neighbors thought he was insane. His family might have doubted. Every day he spent on the ark was a day he could have spent on "normal" activities—farming, trading, living the life everyone else was living.

He built anyway.

And when the flood came—when the thing that seemed impossible suddenly became undeniable—the people who had mocked him drowned. Not because Noah wanted them to drown. Not because he didn't warn them. But because they chose not to listen, and by the time they understood, there was no more time.

The ark was built for those who believed before the rain started.

Why I Almost Named My Son Noah

I've shared this before, but it bears repeating.

When my son was born, I almost named him Noah. Because I felt it—the conviction that something was coming, something that would reshape the world, something that most people couldn't see yet.

I chose Levi instead, for different reasons. But the impulse was prophetic.

I saw the flood forming years ago, back when GPT-2.5 was just a curiosity that most people dismissed. My background in SEO had given me a window into how information flows, how search works, how AI was already reshaping the digital landscape. I saw what was coming.

And I started building.

Not because I'm special. Not because I have some unique insight. But because I was paying attention when others weren't. Because I took the signals seriously when others dismissed them. Because I chose to prepare rather than hope the flood wouldn't come.

Now the rain is starting. The first drops are falling. And people who laughed about AI taking jobs are updating their resumes, wondering why no one is hiring.

The flood is here. And most people don't have boats.

Shipping Code: The Skill That Saves

In Shipping Code: The Ethereal Craft of Building Solutions That Outlive You, we explored what it means to create digital artifacts that solve problems at scale.

Let me be more direct now: Shipping code is the survival skill of the next era.

Not because everyone needs to be a programmer. The age of syntax memorization is over—AI handles that now. But because the ability to create digital solutions—to identify problems, architect systems, and deploy functional tools—is the line that separates those who ride the wave from those who drown in it.

The person who can ship code can:

• Build their own tools when existing tools don't fit
• Create solutions that generate value while they sleep
• Adapt to any industry because software underlies everything
• Leverage AI as an amplifier rather than a replacement

The person who can't ship code is dependent. Dependent on employers who are automating. Dependent on systems they don't understand. Dependent on the hope that their particular job will somehow be spared.

Hope is not a strategy. Shipping is.

This is why I've dedicated myself to teaching these skills. To building systems that help others build systems. To creating the frameworks and philosophies that enable Digital Sovereignty.

But I can only teach people who are willing to learn. I can only save people who recognize they need saving.

The Cruel Mathematics of Time

Here's where it gets painful.

I have the same 24 hours as everyone else.

Every hour I spend explaining the basics to someone who isn't ready to hear them is an hour I don't spend helping someone who is. Every conversation I have with someone who argues about whether AI is "really that big a deal" is a conversation I don't have with someone who's already building.

The flood doesn't care about my teaching schedule. The wave doesn't wait while I bring everyone up to speed. The displacement is happening now, and every day that passes is a day less for preparation.

This is triage.

In a medical emergency, doctors don't treat everyone equally. They assess who can be saved, who will survive without intervention, and who is beyond help. Then they allocate resources accordingly.

I'm doing the same thing.

Not because I enjoy it. Not because I think I'm better than anyone. But because the mathematics of the situation demand it.

If I have 100 hours to give, I can:

• Spend 100 hours helping one person who isn't ready, achieving nothing
• Spend 100 hours helping one person who is ready, creating a fellow ark-builder
• Spend 100 hours helping ten people who are partially ready, creating ten people who might make it

The calculation isn't about fairness. It's about impact.

The Deserving Distinction

In The Deserving Distinction, we explored Jim Rohn's philosophy about becoming worthy of success. Let me apply it here.

Not everyone is deserving of transcendence to the next level.

This sounds harsh. It is harsh. But it's true.

The person who dismisses the threat isn't deserving—not because they're bad, but because they're not ready. You can't save someone who doesn't believe they need saving. You can't teach someone who thinks they already know.

The person who sees the threat but won't act isn't deserving. Recognition without action is just entertainment. They consume warnings like content, nod their heads, and change nothing.

The person who expects to be saved isn't deserving. The entire premise of the ark is that you must board. You must do the work. You must climb onto the boat and participate in the voyage.

Deserving isn't about inherent worth. It's about readiness.

The people who deserve the limited time I have are:

• Those who already sense the flood and are looking for guidance
• Those willing to do the work, not just receive the information
• Those who will take what they learn and help others
• Those who bring energy rather than drain it
• Those operating from steady, constructive energy—not desperation, not denial, but focused determination

These are the Warriors of Light. These are the people worth building alongside.

The Beacon's Responsibility

In The Beacon: A Signal for Warriors of Light, we talked about broadcasting a signal that attracts aligned souls.

The beacon doesn't chase ships. The beacon doesn't swim out to rescue boats that are actively sailing away from it.

The beacon stands, burns, and trusts that those who need its light will find it.

This is my operating philosophy now.

I create content—articles like this one—that broadcasts the signal. Those who resonate will find it. Those who are ready will recognize themselves in the words. Those who are meant to board the ark will make their way to the dock.

I can't go door to door. I can't convince the skeptics. I can't spend my limited time on people who require persuasion about the existence of the flood.

The rain is falling. The water is rising. Persuasion time is over.

Now is the time for building. For teaching those who are ready. For helping the deserving cross the gap between where they are and where they need to be.

What I'm Building

Let me be specific about what the ark actually looks like.

Proscris is a lifeboat system.

It's the philosophy of Digital Sovereignty—owning your infrastructure rather than renting it. It's the technical stack—local AI, n8n automation, MCP protocols—that enables individual capability at enterprise scale. It's the mindset—the Warrior of Light philosophy that prepares you for the challenges ahead.

It's the Kingmaker Academy concept—not just teaching skills, but teaching people to teach. Creating not just survivors, but builders of other survivors.

Every article I write is a plank in the boat.
Every system I ship is a sail for the vessel.
Every person I mentor is another pair of hands for the voyage.

I'm not building for myself alone. The ark isn't a solo escape pod. It's a vessel designed to carry others—but only those who climb aboard.

The Warning and the Invitation

This article is both.

The warning: The flood is real. The displacement is coming. 90% of people are going to find their economic value erased within a decade. Most of them won't prepare. Most of them will drown.

I take no pleasure in saying this. I wish it weren't true. But wishing doesn't change reality, and the signals are too clear to ignore.

The invitation: If you're reading this and something is clicking—if you recognize the truth of what I'm describing—you might be one of the deserving.

Not deserving because you're special. Deserving because you're ready. Because you're willing to see what others can't. Because you'll do the work that others won't. Because you understand that the time for debate is over and the time for building is now.

The ark is being built. The beacon is burning. The signal is broadcasting.

The question is whether you'll board.

I can't chase you. I can't convince you. I can't spend my limited time persuading you that the rain is real while the water rises around our ankles.

But if you're already running toward the boat—if you've already felt the drops and understood what they mean—I'm here.

The ark has room. Not unlimited room. Not room for everyone. But room for those who recognize the moment and choose to act.

The Burden of Seeing

There's a weight to this.

Knowing what's coming and being unable to save everyone. Watching people I care about dismiss the warnings. Knowing that some of them will drown because they chose comfort over preparation.

This is the ark builder's burden.

Noah must have felt it. Every prophet must have felt it. Everyone who has ever seen clearly what others couldn't see has carried this weight—the knowledge that their vision both saves them and separates them.

I carry it too. Not because I'm a prophet. Not because I have special powers. Just because I paid attention earlier than most and now I can't un-see what I've seen.

But the burden doesn't stop the building.

If anything, it accelerates it. Every day the water rises, the urgency increases. Every person who dismisses the warning is one less person I can help—which means my remaining time is more valuable, not less.

The ark must be built. The lifeboats must be deployed. The Warriors must be gathered.

That's the work. That's my allocation. That's the choice I've made.

The Final Word

I can't save everyone.

There isn't enough time. There isn't enough capacity. The flood is too big and the arks are too few.

But I can save some. I can build as fast as I can. I can teach as well as I can. I can create systems and philosophies and tools that multiply my impact beyond what a single person could achieve.

And I can be extremely selective about who receives my time.

Not because I'm cruel. Because I'm realistic. Because triage is how you maximize lives saved when resources are limited. Because the mathematics of the situation demand difficult choices.

If you're reading this and you're ready—truly ready—the signal has found you.

The ark is being built. Space is limited. Time is shorter than you think.

Board now, or board never.

The rain is falling. The water is rising.

And I'm building as fast as I can.

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The Displacement Timeline:

The Triage Framework:

What the Deserving Look Like:

• Already sense that something fundamental is shifting
• Willing to do uncomfortable work
• Take responsibility for their own preparation
• Bring energy rather than drain it
• Will help others once they've learned
• Operate from steady, constructive energy

The Ark Components:

Sources:

• Proscris: The Philosophy of Digital Sovereignty
• The Flood is Here: Why You Need an Ark, Not an Umbrella
• Shipping Code: The Ethereal Craft
• The Beacon: A Signal for Warriors of Light
• The Deserving Distinction
• World Economic Forum: Future of Jobs Report
• McKinsey: AI and Automation Impact

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The flood is here. The arks are being built. Space is limited.

If this resonated—if you recognize yourself in the description of the deserving—the signal has found you. Proscris exists for the Warriors who are ready to build.

Board the ark. Time is running out.