The Pause That Changed Everything
How COVID revealed the fractures, accelerated the future, and gave us one rare chance to think differently.
What if that moment in 2020 — when the world ground to a halt — wasn’t just an interruption, but an invitation? A rare global exhale that revealed three forces already reshaping everything: AI, clean energy, and biotech. This isn't about nostalgia for lockdown. It's about noticing what surfaced — and asking whether we’ve already forgotten.
The 2020 pause wasn’t just a slowdown — it was a rupture. A crack in the rhythm of everyday life that exposed forces already reshaping our world. Artificial intelligence, clean energy, and bioengineering — not far-off possibilities, but real shifts already in motion.
I still remember walking into a supermarket and seeing empty shelves. Not low — gone. It hit me in the gut. This wasn’t a third-world crisis, this was here, at home. That surreal moment was more than just a shock — it felt like a veil had been lifted. It wasn’t just about shortages; it was about the fragility of everything we take for granted. In the silence that followed, I had time to reflect.
COVID stopped the machine, and in doing so, it made the invisible visible. We could suddenly see what was accelerating beneath us, what had been hidden behind headlines and routine.
Artificial Intelligence wasn’t just evolving — it was quietly taking root in everything from our phones to our workplaces. Not as a gimmick, but as an invisible infrastructure. Meanwhile, clean energy was no longer an idealistic dream. The economics had shifted. Solar and battery tech were falling in cost so rapidly they were threatening to tip entire energy models on their heads. And bioengineering — once science fiction — had already leapt into reality, from CRISPR to lab-grown meat to vaccines built on genetic code.
These weren't just technological marvels. They were signs. Signals of a broader paradigm shift that no longer asked permission. But while the pace quickened, our institutions — the systems built for a very different time — lagged behind.
What strikes me most is how every major shift seems to follow the same rhythm. As tech becomes more accessible, prices fall, adoption spreads, and disruption follows. It’s not a straight line. It’s a curve — often invisible until it suddenly becomes undeniable. We’ve seen this before: electricity, the printing press, the internet.
Clean energy is perhaps the clearest example. With every drop in cost, the excuses run thinner. Yet adoption is still patchy, met with lobbying, regulatory delays, and narratives designed to seed doubt. Who controls the grid? Who benefits from slowness?
AI is similar. From the margins to the mainstream — and now, into every tool we touch. But as access grows, so does the power imbalance. The models remain centralised, the data often opaque. We’re users, yes — but rarely decision-makers.
Bioengineering, meanwhile, holds immense promise. The potential to cure, to heal, even to regenerate. But also, the risk of overreach — of commodifying biology without consensus. Who draws the lines?
And underneath it all, there’s a rhythm that feels familiar. Peter Leyden’s 80-year theory — the idea that societies go through a major transformation every four generations. Post-Enlightenment upheaval, the industrial revolution, the post-WWII order. Each time, a collapse gives birth to something new. Each time, the old-world resists until it can’t anymore.
If he’s right, we’re in the middle of one now. Only this time, it’s happening faster. AI evolves by the week. Climate impact accelerates year by year. Bioengineering races ahead of public debate. Our tools have outpaced the frameworks we use to govern them.
And while all this happens, the planet isn’t just watching.
Nature has always absorbed the cost of human ambition. AI’s appetite for energy is staggering. Clean tech still depends on extractive processes — lithium, cobalt, rare earths. Biotech could regenerate ecosystems, or disrupt them in ways we can’t yet predict. The planet isn’t a backdrop. It’s the stage. If it collapses, the show ends.
So why do we hesitate?
Because whenever old systems feel threatened, the same playbook gets dusted off: Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt. FUD. It’s the firewall of the status quo. You’ve seen it already:
“AI will destroy jobs and spawn rogue machines.” “Clean energy can’t support modern life.” “Bioengineering is unnatural. Dangerous.”
These narratives aren’t about truth. They’re about delay. They buy time for legacy industries to pivot, consolidate, or entrench themselves further. And the mainstream media, the movies, the pundits — they often play along with this charade.
That’s why critical thinking matters now more than ever. Not just to challenge what's coming, but to question the stories we're being told about it.
What do should we actually want from this moment?
This moment isn’t a rallying cry. It’s a pause — an invitation to notice, to question, to reflect. A reminder that the systems we live in are not fixed — they’re constructed. And that means they can be reconstructed. Knowledge, after all, equals progress. The pandemic proved that change, even rapid change, is possible. Governments moved. Societies adapted. Paradigms shifted. Not always perfectly, but undeniably.
So, we stand here now — not at the beginning of something, but in the middle of it. The technologies are already shaping tomorrow. The only real question is whether we shape them back.
That moment in the supermarket, with the bare shelves, remains a touchstone for me. Not because it was scary — though it was. But because it stripped away all pretence. It reminded me how little control we often have — and how much we could take back if we chose to engage.
If there’s one truth I carry forward, it’s this: the pause gave us perspective. And it’s what we do with that clarity — that rare chance to see the scaffolding of our world — that will define the decades ahead.
Because if we don’t act with intent, this moment — like every other moment before it — will be shaped by someone else.
About me:
I write about collapsing orthodoxies, global power structures, and the myths we inherit without question. My focus is on exposing the machinery behind ideology—whether economic, religious, or geopolitical—and imagining what comes next when we stop pretending the old systems work. This piece is part of an ongoing effort to challenge belief-based authority and restore the primacy of human dignity. If you're reading this, you're already part of that conversation.