And How AI Helps Us Flip the Switch to Reframe Thoughts
It was the early 1800s. The boy, son of a blacksmith with limited means, had to educate himself. He left school at thirteen. He could read, write, and do simple sums. That was all.
At fourteen, he sold books and tied them up with string. He became a bookbinder’s apprentice. He read the pages he stitched. That was how he started to learn. No tutors. No tests. Just books and a restless mind.
He saved coins to attend public lectures on science. He sat in the back, took careful notes, then copied them again at night. He sent them—bound and neat—to the speaker: Sir Humphry Davy, a man of titles and medals.
He also sent a letter asking for a job.
Davy hired him. Not as a scientist. As a helper. A cleaner. A servant in the lab.
So, the boy swept floors and washed bottles. He listened as men with degrees debated invisible things: electricity, force, magnetism, and light. He did not understand most of it.
He thought, “I don’t know,” a hundred times a day. But he didn’t stop there. He asked, “How can I learn more?”
He copied their methods. He watched their hands. He built devices with what little he understood. When left alone, he would test and retest what he could not explain. He trusted what he could see.
He began an experiment. Copper wire. A loop. A magnet passed through. Again. And again. The needle jumped. Something moved.
The others had tried and failed. But the boy had not known that. So he kept going. He never learned mathematics to explain what he saw. Others would later give it equations and graphs.
His name was Michael Faraday. They called him The Electric Boy. Not because he built light bulbs. Because he lit the path.
Faraday figured out how to make electricity move—how to generate it, to make it flow. Before that, people could store static charges, but they could not produce a steady current. His discovery—electromagnetic induction—showed that moving a magnet near a wire could create a continuous flow.
That flow powers everything today: lamps, outlets, computers, appliances. Every generator at a power plant still uses Faraday’s principle. Turn a magnet, move a coil, and the current flows. He did not build the power lines or the plugs. But without his work, there would have been nothing to carry.
Faraday made electricity useful.
He started in a book bindery, reading pages no one told him to read. He stepped into a lab where he did not belong. And instead of saying, “I don’t know,” he kept asking, “How can I find out?”
Faraday began between worlds. One was the world he came from—working-class, devout, practical. The other was the world he entered—educated, elite, theoretical. He was a blacksmith’s son, standing in rooms built for gentlemen scholars and scientists. He did not speak their language. But he kept asking questions.
He was caught between two roles—practical, hands-on learning and formal, theoretical science—and was often unwelcome in either.
That is where my story begins.
I was caught, too—but not between science and class. I was caught between belief systems. I felt the weight of outside voices, traditions, and expectations.
After leaving a long-term marriage, I found myself stuck. One belief said marriage was sacred and permanent. The other said relationships should align with personal growth and values. I didn’t know which voice to trust.
I said things like: “I don’t know what to do.” “I feel stuck.” “I can’t decide.”
I asked the wrong questions: “What’s the right decision?” “Will I be punished for leaving?”
Then I met Jane. She reframed the problem, as did Faraday. He turned a still magnet and a wire into a moving current. Jane helped me turn a paralyzing belief into forward motion.
Jane gave me better questions: “What do I need to know?” “What aligns with who I am now?” “How can I live by my values?”
Faraday’s discovery made electricity useful. My shift made my life livable. His lab produced light. My questions brought clarity.
That is the real power—not knowing everything but refusing to stop at “I don’t know.”
My habit of asking the wrong questions had stopped me. “I can’t do this,” I would say. Or “I don’t know how.” I thought those were honest statements. Complete, even.
Jane said, “Try asking better questions.” Not “I can’t,” but “How can I?” Not, “I don’t know,” but “What do I need to know?”
It felt too simple. But I tried it. And something moved. Not right away. Eventually, I stopped stalling. I began doing what Faraday did—shifting from a dead end to a step forward.
Now, I see AI doing something similar. You tell it, “I don’t know how to begin.” It says, “What are you trying to say?” You say, “I can’t explain this.” It says, “Who do you want to explain it to?” or “Would you like help simplifying it?”
AI answers with direction, with momentum, and with possibility. Its role is to help you reframe, move, and keep going. It turns the hard wall of confusion into the open gate of discovery.
Faraday’s discovery of making the current move made power possible, but only if you connect it and activate it. The switch made electricity useful.
Jane showed me how to do the same with thought—how to flip the switch by asking the right questions.
Learning to flip the switch and reframe problems into answerable questions made my future possible. It turned indecision into direction.
AI is the switch for the current of thought. It turns doubt into motion. It gives me a way to act. The power is already there—AI helps me turn it on. My part is learning how to use it to make my thoughts flow.
To flip the switch.
Chat with AI
1. I feel stuck on a decision. Can you help me reframe the question so I can move forward?
2. I keep saying, “I don’t know what to do.” What are some better questions I could ask myself?
3. I’m overwhelmed by options. Can you help me find one small next step I can take?
Your life is not mapped — it is discovered.
These Field Notes from my life can help you find your way.
Trust your questions. They are how your map is made.
***Enduring. Adapting. Becoming.***