Last night I spoke on a panel at Furman University about the rise of AI in marketing and how it might influence future jobs. I was one of four panelists, the other three serving as in-house marketing experts for their companies. Sitting beside them, I couldn’t help but notice how much I stuck out.

I giggled at myself when I ran in at the last minute, grabbing my name tag before sliding into my seat, while the other three were already comfortably settled with printed questions and carefully prepared notes. The woman next to me even wore a purple suit (so on-brand for a marketing person).

Meanwhile I looked out at the crowd of students and remembered what I was like when I sat where they were.

I was your quintessential overachiever, wound up tight and thrilled to share that “Everything is great!” through gritted teach. I was the type of student who vowed to make all A’s and be the president of every club. I loved the feeling of accomplishment, the structure of goals, and the satisfaction of doing everything “right.”

And now? Maybe it’s because I turned 40 not long ago. Maybe it was the hell I went through last year with my marketing business. Maybe it’s just plain being tired. Whatever it is, I’m not that person anymore, and honestly, I’m glad.

Earlier that same day, I had participated in a workshop sponsored by Magnet Global, the international association for marketing agencies. The workshop focused on how leaders guide teams through change—something every organization is wrestling with right now.

To kick things off, we took the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test. I had taken the same test in college—a solid 20 years ago.

Back in 2006 I was an INFJ: introverted, thoughtful, appreciative of everything planned neatly and on schedule. This time, however, my result came back as an ENFP, which indicates I’m still intuitive and feeling-based, but now extroverted and spontaneous — someone who resists rigid schedules and limiting beliefs about what the future is supposed to look like. When I saw the result, I laughed to myself at how true it felt.

Life has a funny way of rearranging you.

For most of my life, I measured myself — and other people — by accomplishments. What titles did they have? How many degrees had they earned? Did they own their business or were they just in the C-Suite? Were they voted “Best and Brightest” in their city? How well did they speak in front of a room?

But somewhere along the way, my priorities shifted. Now when I look around a room, I’m not wondering who has the most impressive résumé. Instead, I’m wondering who in the room has the biggest heart.

And ironically, that realization hit me again during a panel about artificial intelligence.

The other speakers talked about how AI has made their work faster, smarter, and more efficient. And they’re right. I use it too, and it’s an incredible tool. AI can generate ideas, can analyze massive amounts of data, and can write content in seconds.

But as the conversation went on, I kept returning to the same thought.

AI cannot replace the things that actually make great leaders, collaborators, and storytellers—things like curiosity, heart, emotional intelligence, the ability to read a room, and the instinct to ask better questions. These things only come from real people.

And the older I get, the more I realize the best parts of life aren’t perfectly planned or neatly accomplished. Instead, they’re the moments that feel a little messy: Laughing too hard at dinner, crying over a pint of beer with a friend, showing up a little imperfect—maybe a little late—with ketchup on your shirt and a story to tell.

Those are the moments when people connect. When real life actually happens. To me, this is the strange paradox of the AI era.

The more powerful technology becomes, the more valuable our humanity becomes. AI can do a lot of things, but it can’t replace heart.

And sitting there on that stage at Furman—slightly underprepared, a little less polished than the others—I realized something: For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t worried about being the most accomplished person in the room.

I was just hoping to be the most human.