I Wonder if Waymos Wave

What a year.

If you ask me, I think I’ve lived an entire five lifetimes in these past twelve months, and even that might be an understatement.

Yet, as I sit down to write this last letter of 2025 to you all, I find myself at a loss for words.

I thought about highlighting some of my favorite moments in AI development. I considered sharing my reflections on the global state of responsible AI. I even deliberated the idea of creating a blooper reel covering all the mistakes and lessons of this past year.

Although all relevant and all things I do plan to share, none of these really seemed to capture the core shift in perspective, and now mission, that 2025 has brought.

So, tapping back into ‘Writing 101’ basics, I’ve decided to go the route of show-not-tell and share with you all a story that has been percolating in the back of my mind all year.

I hope you indulge me with a few moments of reflection.

See you in 2026 ♡

It’s midnight in San Francisco as I am making my way back home.

The fog is already sneaking in, its curling tendrils drifting through the spotlights cast by lamps on the near-empty streets.

Up ahead I see headlights cut through the dark as a car crests over the hill, making its way in my direction. From behind me, another set of headlights emerge, the hum of electric motors barely audible over the muted laughter echoing out from a bar down the way.

I pause as I reach the intersection to watch as the two Waymos drive past one another. They carry no passengers, they have no particular direction, and yet these silent soldiers march dutifully forward, forever roaming in wait of their next command as the streets of San Francisco still for the night.

By now I have become accustomed to these self-driving cars. What once was a novel sighting, has become commonplace, so it is not the technological feat that has caught my attention on tonight’s brisk walk home. No, as I watch the Waymos cross paths I find myself thinking instead about something entirely human.

Of all things, I have caught myself wondering if Waymos wave.

On a different night on the opposite side of the Atlantic, I find myself tucked in a few fuzzy layers deep, sitting in the front seat of my local Brussels bus.

It’s 2am and the night’s chill is stubbornly rushing in each time we hit a stop. Up ahead, I watch as another bus inches its way towards us, reminiscent of that autonomous silent march I had stood in attention for a few months back.

We draw closer, and as the buses make to swish smoothly past one another, the drivers mark the moment in time with the slightest tilt of the hand.

A wave.

Entirely unremarkable, yet I find myself thinking a lot lately of these little waves.

Seemingly insignificant, these waves do nothing to contribute to the job at hand. The drivers will still go about their work, the buses will continue to operate, the tides of passengers will flow on, all irrespective of whether or not two people remember to wave at each other. There is, harshly put, absolutely no functional purpose to this ritual in any way shape or form.

In fact, if any further proof was needed to confirm the uselessness of this action, all we would need to do is look to the San Franciscan counterparts. Shuffling passengers back and forth across the city, autonomous cars can be touted as the epitome of transportation, a true shrine to seamless transit having reduced everything to the essentials, of which now even drivers are no longer considered.

It seems ridiculous to wonder if Waymos wave. Yet, the idea that they march silently on in solitude through the cold night fog seems oddly, well, lonely.

These little waves generate absolutely no value to the job at hand, but perhaps that is exactly what makes them so valuable. It is, simply put, an act so utterly human that it becomes priceless.

Maybe the romantic bone in my body has been rattling lately, but in a world that threatens detachment and isolation, these little waves feel like a humble victory in our ongoing fight for connection.

Acknowledgement, understanding, a blink of shared experience between two strangers. These bits of humanity that exist around the edges of our daily lives are what make this whole life thing worth it. Because sometimes the only thing that truly matters on those cold and lonely nights is the simplest of gestures saying:

I see you. I am here, too.

As we head into this new year, I’ve decided I am tired of hearing about extraordinary AI. Instead, I want to understand what makes being human so extraordinary.

Because it is only through exploring these extraordinary edges of humanity that we can truly build the kind of AI worth having.

So, come 2026, that’s exactly what I’ll be up to. Of course, there’s a whole lot more to this plan than my foreshadowing hints at. But I like a little bit of mystery, so I guess you’ll just have to stay tuned to find out.

Oh, and one last thing before I sign off for the year; if 2025 has taught me anything, it is that I am not alone in this desire. So to all those out there drifting through the cold and lonely night full of AI doom, gloom and fear in hope of the dawn:

This is my wave to you.