The line sounds like permission. It is a discipline.

Mollick's point is not that the machine belongs in every job. It is that you cannot know which jobs until you have tried. The frontier of what these tools do well is jagged — invisible from the outside, full of cliffs and plateaus that don't match your intuition. The task you assumed it would nail, it fumbles. The one you were sure it could never touch, it finishes in nine seconds.

So the people learning fastest are not the ones with the cleverest prompts. They are the ones who reach for it reflexively — on the email, the spreadsheet, the contract clause, the half-formed idea they would normally sit on for a week. Most of those attempts fail. That is the point. Each failure draws one more line on the map of where the edge actually is.

The cost of not inviting it is quiet. You keep doing by hand the thing it would have drafted in a minute, and you never find out, because you never asked. The frontier moves every few months, and the map you drew last year is already wrong.

So today: take the one task you have already decided it cannot do — the judgment call, the delicate note, the analysis you guard — and hand it over once, before lunch. Not to replace your work. To find out where the edge is before someone else draws your map for you.