Exhausted by optimisation, I’m seeking solace in the past. As Sibelius’s swans soar skywards, so do my spirits

‘Above a bed of swirling strings, a sudden peal of brass sounds out: wings uplifted, moving heavenward. It regularly brings me to tears.’ Photograph: FLPA/Alamy

At this fundamentally exhausting moment in human history, we find ourselves slap bang in the middle of a progress arms race, where everything – literally everything – is posed as perfectable.

That’s not just thanks to the AI industry, though its acolytes shout the loudest when they tell us that their plagiarism robots can help us blast through life more efficiently. Somehow, the myth of endlessly optimisable production has infiltrated every part of our lives.