There is a profound silence in each of us, a quiet conversation happening beneath the noise of our daily lives. For most of my own life, I’ve been obsessed with this silence. I’ve watched us, as a species, achieve the extraordinary—we map the cosmos, we connect the world, we peer into the birth of stars. Yet, the universe within remains, for so many, a mystery. We live inside the most sophisticated system ever created, and we’ve barely learned its language.
We’ve been taught to speak to our bodies only when they scream. A sharp pain. A frightening diagnosis. A slow, creeping fatigue that finally becomes too heavy to ignore. Our entire system of health is built around this moment of crisis. It is brilliant, brave, and profoundly reactive. It fights fires. But it rarely asks why the spark was there in the first place.
I remember a friend, a brilliant, vibrant man, who loved food and life in equal measure. His work was his passion, a whirlwind of creation centered around the kitchen. The changes were subtle at first—a little less energy, a few more pounds each year that wouldn’t budge. He dismissed it as the price of a life well-lived. He wasn’t ignoring his health; he simply didn’t understand the quiet signals his body was sending. Then came the doctor’s visit, a clinical term—insulin resistance—and a prescription. He walked out feeling not empowered, but accused. As if he had failed a test he never knew he was taking.
His story isn’t unique. It’s the story of modern health. We are given a verdict, but not a translation. We are given a treatment, but rarely understanding.
What if we could learn to listen before the body starts to shout?
This question is no longer philosophical. We stand at the most extraordinary crossroads, where the tools to listen are finally arriving. This is not about replacing the intuition of a great doctor or the wisdom of our own senses. It is about augmenting them. For the first time, we have a lens powerful enough to see the patterns that were always there, hidden in the beautiful, overwhelming noise of our own biology.
Artificial intelligence, so often feared as a force of homogenization, can do the opposite: it can be the ultimate tool for individuality. Projects like Holivita are already showing how AI can reveal these hidden connections, turning raw data into a deeply personal health map. A doctor in a lifetime of practice might see ten thousand patients. But an AI can analyze millions of data points from a single person. It can begin to trace the invisible threads that connect your stress to your gut, your sleep to your skin, a specific food to a flicker of inflammation. It’s not looking for ‘average health.’ It’s listening for your health.
The goal is to move from a model of fighting disease to one of building vitality. From being a passenger in your own body to becoming its architect.
This is a deeply humanistic project. It’s about giving each of us the blueprint to ourselves. Not to sell us immortality in a bottle, but to offer something more valuable: agency. The power to make a hundred small, intelligent choices—what to eat, how to move, when to rest—based not on generic advice, but on a deep understanding of our unique, personal design. It turns health from a chore into a discovery.
This is the conversation I hope to continue in these columns. Not about technology for its own sake, but about what it means to be human in an age where we can finally understand our own machinery. We will talk about the science of aging not as a decline, but as a malleable process. We will explore the connection between our feet and our faces, our mitochondria and our moods, our genes and our daily lives.
We’ve been tourists in our own bodies for too long, just hoping for the best. The future is not about visiting anymore. It’s about finally coming home. It’s about learning to listen to the silence, and understanding what it has been trying to tell us all along.
This article was written in cooperation with Lado Okhotnikov