On Human Language

A colleague, dear friend, and longtime reader recently offered feedback on a post. “It felt like it came straight out of an AI engine,” they said.

That stung — and it mattered. Not because it was machine-generated (it wasn’t), but because it felt that way. That’s a real issue, especially now.

As leaders, creators, and colleagues, we crave authenticity more than ever. We can feel when something is alive and nourishing, not just delivered. When it’s spoken from human experience — the heart, mind, and soul — not just sent.

And increasingly, we’re all developing a kind of AI-radar. We can detect when something is polished but flat — technically fine, but relationally hollow. Our instincts recoil. We disengage.

That friend’s comment was a gift. They could have said nothing. I’m fortunate to have over 30,000 readers, and most responses to my weekly emails are kind — with occasional critiques, usually for my idealism (which I wear proudly). But this feedback went deeper. It reminded me that my work, our work — especially around leadership and culture — isn’t about flawless messaging. It’s about presence. Connection. Realness. Authenticity.

So, how do we ensure a more human language — in leadership, in culture-building, in how we speak and write to one another?

Here are four reflections that are guiding me:

1. Language is relationship, not just broadcast.

When someone says, “That sounded like a machine,” they’re not just critiquing tone. They’re naming a gap in shared humanity. In leadership, language isn’t transmission — it’s invitation: I’m with you. I’m thinking with you. I’m here to help.

When writing lacks the fingerprints of doubt, context, emotion — it begins to feel like it’s written at people, not with them.

2. Honest feedback is a gift.

My friend’s comment was rooted in respect. They’ve followed my work long enough to know when something feels off. In teams, we often ask for feedback on metrics, outcomes, alignment. But how often do we ask, Did I sound like myself? Did that feel human? Am I being fully myself?

Because if we lose that, we lose trust. And trust is the heartbeat of leadership. After all, the best advice we’ll ever receive is critique from those who know us well and have our best interests at heart.

3. Retain voice, even when machines assist.

We’re now working in a world where AI can draft, polish, and summarize. That doesn’t make it wrong — it makes our stewardship of voice ever-more important. If we let machines shape our language unfiltered, we risk erasing the very things that connect us: humor, love, belonging, imperfection, and emotion.

In leadership, voice is not just branding. It’s presence. It’s proof we’re there.

4. Use tools, but stay human.

I’m dyslexic. I use Grammarly for proofreading. I use AI for scholarly and industry research, along with JSTOR and other online scientific research tools. However, I also know this: if a message sounds smooth but generic, it’s not worth your time. It requires my real-world experience and perspective on the matter.

So:

Start with your perspective, noticings, and ideas. Let the tool follow, not lead.
Use AI to explore similar ideas — not to come up with ideas for you.
Ask real humans for feedback.
And don’t rush. Slower writing is often more human writing.

What am I committing to?

I’m continuing my writing — and my team communication — with more of the person I am. With unfinished thoughts, with honest questions. I’ll say I don’t know yet more often, instead of always leading with here’s what I know.

I’m writing for you — the reader, the colleague, the team member — not for an algorithm.

I have two primary pillars for doing so:

1. Generosity of thoughts and ideas, which I share freely;

2. Empathy that acknowledges that I have a sense of what you’re going through as a leader, and I’m here to help.

Your time and attention are precious. And trust is built not just through ideas, but through presence. You deserve to hear someone you recognize in the words.

If you lead, shape culture, build brands, or write to connect — ask yourself: Does this feel like me? Would someone who knows me say, “Yep — that’s Steven talking”?

Because no matter how good the ideas are, if we lose ourselves in the process, the words will lose their meaning and we drift from our humanity.

Thanks for reading. I’ll keep writing — slower, more present — and aim to write with you, not at you. If this sparked anything for you, I’d love to hear it.

If you want a more trusting team, a culture of belonging or a magnetic brand that attracts more of the right customers, I can help. If you'd like to explore if working together makes sense, drop me a line.

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