Lessons in Cinema: The Gift of Rest, the Rise of AI, and the Foundation of Belief

I love going to the movies—and I’ll admit, I don’t indulge in this simple joy nearly enough. There is something sacred about sitting in a movie theater, popcorn in hand, perhaps a soda within reach, and allowing myself to simply rest. Not scroll. Not multitask. Not produce. Just be. For a couple of hours, I am invited into a different world, one that asks nothing of me except presence.

In a culture that rewards constant output, the act of sitting still and receiving a story feels almost countercultural. Cinema, at its best, becomes a kind of liturgy of rest—a reminder that we are not machines, even as we increasingly live alongside them.

And that’s where my thoughts have been drifting lately – toward the rise of artificial intelligence and what it means for creativity, imagination, belief, and rest. Don’t get me wrong, I am not anti-AI and in many ways, I am fascinated by it. But I am also attentive to what it reveals – AI, for all its sophistication, is built on a foundation of human knowledge, human creativity, and human curiosity. It does not originate thought or creativity – it synthesizes information. AI does not believe, rather it reflects patterns of belief.

That distinction matters.

Because what we create —our stories, our art, our questions—becomes the very material AI depends on to function. Which means that the cultivation of imagination and independent thought is not optional, it is essential. If anything, these qualities may become even more valuable in an AI-shaped world.

This is where cinema, and storytelling more broadly, holds profound significance. Stories stretch us. They invite us to wrestle with possibility, to confront the unknown, to feel what we may not be fully prepared for, and to imagine what could be. Take, for example, Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir. I was able to take time this past week to watch this amazing and multi-faceted movie. Project Hail Mary is a story grounded in creativity, problem-solving, and the deeply human capacity to adapt and connect. I don’t want to give anything away, but know that the narrative builds upon connection, depends on intuition, courage, and relationship.

That is something AI cannot replicate in its fullness.

What I’m learning—both in the theater and in life—is that rest and creativity are not separate practices. They are deeply intertwined. When we rest, we make space for imagination. When we step away from constant consumption, we create room for original thought. And when we engage stories, we participate in something larger than ourselves—a shared human endeavor of meaning-making.

Perhaps that is the deeper invitation – remain rooted in what makes us human and continue asking questions, nurture creativity, and tell stories that inspire and matter.

Blessings on this journey!