Last week, I had the privilege of traveling to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic with my daughter on a work trip. It felt like both a gift and a much-needed pause. Between the rhythm of the waves, the warmth of the sand, and the vibrant flavors of fresh tropical fruit, my senses were alive in a way they hadn’t been for a long time. It was a beautiful reminder of what it means to be fully human.
On the plane ride there, I watched a three-part documentary series on the human brain. Each episode dove deeper into the miracle that is our mind: how we process emotions, store memories, and make sense of the world around us. After that, I rewatched The Matrix, a film I hadn’t seen in years but now viewed through a new lens because of my work in the field of artificial intelligence.
The contrast was striking.
As someone who works at the intersection of education and AI policy, I spend a lot of time thinking about machines that “think.” I read about neural networks and natural language processing. I talk to educators about how AI can support learning. I attend workshops and collaborate with others to guide the ethical implementation of AI in schools. Yet, watching those episodes on the human brain followed by a Hollywood imagining of what it means to be human inside a machine reminded me of something important.
AI is not the brain. It never will be.
Our brains are not just processors. They are storytellers, artists, archivists, and survivalists. They learn through emotion. They thrive in unpredictability. They can recall the scent of ocean salt mixed with sunscreen decades later and tie that scent to a childhood memory. They can taste a piece of grilled pineapple and immediately associate it with joy. No algorithm, no matter how powerful, can replicate the full sensory, emotional, and experiential reality of being human.
Walking along the beach in Punta Cana, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Not just for the stunning view, but for the way I could truly feel the moment. The warmth of the sand under my feet. The slight sting of salt in the breeze. The laughter of my daughter as she danced in the waves. Even now, I can recall the scent of fried plantains drifting through the air and the way the sun painted the water in layers of blue and gold.
AI doesn’t have a body. It doesn’t have a nose or skin or a memory rooted in physical sensation. It doesn’t experience awe. It doesn’t fall in love. It can generate poetry, but it doesn’t feel the ache behind the words. It can analyze art, but it doesn’t feel moved by it.
This doesn’t mean AI isn’t powerful or useful. It absolutely is. I believe in its potential to transform education in meaningful ways. I’ve seen how AI can give teachers back time, make learning more accessible, and provide real-time feedback that supports student growth. But it’s a tool. It mimics patterns. It approximates thought. And it’s important that we don’t confuse mimicry with mastery.
Too often in our rush to advance AI, we talk about building machines that “learn like us” or “think like us.” What I was reminded of on that beach, and during those airplane hours immersed in brain science, is that thinking like us is infinitely more complex than algorithms and data models can capture. It’s taste and scent and intuition. It’s heartache and inspiration. It’s a brain shaped by billions of moments that no machine could ever fully contain.
The human brain is the original neural network, but it’s not just about synapses and signals. It’s about soul.
As educators, we must understand AI deeply, but we must also hold onto what makes us irreplaceably human. We must teach our students not just how to use these tools, but how to stay grounded in their own humanity as they do. We should explore AI in the classroom, absolutely. But we should also spend time with poetry, walk barefoot on grass, smell the flowers, reflect, connect, and be present. The future isn’t about choosing between humans and machines. It’s about keeping the balance and remembering that the machine can assist, but it can never replace us.
In Punta Cana, surrounded by nature’s brilliance, I felt that balance settle back into place. I was reminded of how essential it is to step away from screens, to be in our bodies, to trust our minds, and to remember that the very things that make us human are the things AI will never truly replicate.
And thank goodness for that.
Paula Johnson Tech 
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