Earlier today, I saw that a major venture capital fund has led a $64 million Series A round into a company that is, in essence, working to make AI voices sound more human through voice cloning and a bunch of other tech stuff that I don’t understand.

Among other things, they claim their product “masters the subtle nuances of human speech—including hesitations and filler words—letting you create voice agents that sound authentically human.”

There are certainly practical use-cases for robot voices that sound like humans. For instance, I remember seeing a video of a man that couldn’t speak who received a device programmed to sound like what he would sound like if he could speak. It enhanced his life and his feeling of connection and belonging in the most beautiful ways and in amounts I cannot begin to fathom.

But that’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about AI being crammed into every part of human existence and connection.

To me, it is equal parts stunning, terrifying, gut-wrenching and heartbreaking to watch piles and piles of money continue to be thrown at projects that help robots to better approximate human behavior and experiences while at the same time funding and access continues to be limited—or outright cut—for programs that help actual humans connect to their actual humanity.

What…and I say this with the utmost seriousness, professionalism, and earnestness…the actual fuck.

And voice…my goodness…my heart…

Voice is such a tender and mysterious and human thing. Each voice is unique to each human.

The sound of a human voice is formed by lived experience—by having a soul and walking around in a body. By bumping into the hard edges of the world and surviving. By rolling along the smooth edges of life and being held and loved.

The sound of a human voice is formed by the excruciating experience of being witnessed and perceived by other humans. By the experience of using our voices in search of belonging, safety and dignity. By the comfort and elation of speaking up and being seen, heard, and met in our needs, and the inconsolable grief of speaking up only to be utterly ignored and let down.

The sound of a human voice is formed by our human experiences with justice and injustice, expansion and constriction, injury and health, abundance and scarcity, freedom and subjugation, along with an innumerable number of other factors.

The sound of a human voice is formed by everything we are and everything we aren’t.

There is a reason why 75% of people are more afraid of public speaking than death.

To speak up is to reveal yourself. To be known. To be vulnerable. To potentially be misheard, misunderstood, misidentified, dismissed, disregarded, detected or dejected is a fate worse than death.

How to explain all of this to the robots?

How to explain the concept of an embodied voice to an entity without a body?

To an entity that has never been a 13 year old whose voice cracked at the worst possible moment.

To an entity that has never fallen in love with a singer because of the way they sang that one syllable on that one line of that one verse in that one song from 25 years ago.

To an entity that has never mustered all possible courage to speak up only to face the rejection of someone speaking over them and stealing away the whole conversation.

To an entity that has never thought their heart might literally explode with electricity and fire and excitement when they heard their favorite person say ‘I love you’ to them for the first time.

To an entity that has never felt ostracized due to a speech impairment, an accent, a gender, a size, a shape, an age, a place, a time.

To an entity that has never had to fight to be heard. That doesn’t know what it feels like in your body to experience hunger, or fear, or taxes, or wars, or hugs, or intuition, or that moment when you get a surge of courage and your shoulders relax and your spine straightens and your voice comes flying out smooth and clear and honest.

To an entity that has never cried while watching that video of the baby receiving a hearing aid and listening to its mother’s voice for the first time.

My work in the world is to connect humans to their humanity by way of the exploration of what it means to have a voice.

So, what does it even mean to have a voice?

There is no one answer. You have to find out for yourself. You have to explore your own humanness and humanity.

All I know is that:

• You’ve got to be very brave.

• You’ve got to be willing to get messy.

• You’ve got to be willing to take total responsibility for yourself and try some new shit.

• It’s easier with a guide. (Not a sales pitch. Just the truth.)

Anyway, I’ve been trying to figure out how to end this post for the past 15 minutes.

I don’t have a put-a-bow-around-it ending here. I’m human. We’re terrifically imperfect. That’s part of the wonder of it all.

Since I’m using this space to practice being more authentic, I’m going to end here all weird and abrupt. But I’d love to continue the conversation. What are your thoughts?

Reply to this post to email me directly.

If you want to talk, book a friend call here.

If you want support exploring what having a voice means for you, book a discovery call here.

(I’m offering sliding scale pricing on all my services right now. I don’t have the numbers published online, let’s just talk about what would feel supportive to you.)

I love you.

No really, I do.

We got this. Don’t let the robot bitchez get you down.❤️