One of the more interesting conversations I had in recent memory was about technology. It was not about technology as in tech; the unbridled behemoth that has stomped it’s feet over the Bay Area in recent memory. It wasn’t about technology in it’s most basic form either, which refers to pre-historic human ingenuity, one that shone through to give us an edge over other ornery, rambunctious monkeys.
We were speaking of the technology we grew up with, the technology that surrounds our daily lives and shapes the form they take, often peddled by companies who are a limb (big or small) of the aforementioned behemoth. I, of course, was peddling something of my own, and over the course of our conversation, the theory I proposed had my cabal of friends raising eyebrows, sighing deeply, and at some points, in hysterics. That’s how I knew it was worth sharing. No great point about our current cultural hellscape should ever have everyone nodding at the same time!
I do not believe that technology, in it’s current recreational form, should keep advancing. It was tough to calculate exactly where to draw the line in terms of chronology, so I thought back to the last time technology, in my life, was a net positive. Combing through my mental archives, it seemed as if that period was further and further than I had initially realized. Eventually, I pushed hard on the brakes of my introspection. Of course! How did I not remember. The last time a piece of technology felt like a complete positive in my life, with a complete absence of malice, was the Nintendo Wii.
I will give you this moment to laugh, scoff, or even close this tab & unsubscribe. But it’s true! I remember the day we got our Wii- it came in a surprisingly small box, it’s silicon and sensors housed in a spotless white case. My father and I set it up, eager to see what awaited us in a console dreamt up by Nintendo- a company that seemed less interested about making a profit, and more committed to coming up with wacky ideas that transcend cultures. This philosophy had seemed to give birth to the Wii, a console that was controlled by motion sensor and a durable, if slightly dinky, remote.
What struck me most about the Wii was it’s power to capture nearly every interest, and as a result, nearly every demographic in it’s wake. I was enamored with Japanese role playing games, and my dad was in the top 10% adult bracket of competitive Wii Sports Tennis. He fired up the console for a few hours nearly everyday when we first got it, and it became his new obsession after tearing his ACL in a game of real life tennis the same year.
The beauty of the Wii, and the reason I categorize it as the “last good piece of recreational technology” is that it felt like magic. Technology of the current day, however, feels much more like a curse, one that is widespread; an incantation designed to sap us of any fun.
When I use technology these days, it is burdensome and heavy, as opposed to the lightness and deft I felt when playing Wii Tennis doubles with my father. Indeed, when one gives it a critical examination, how could it not be?
Algorithms have shaped our collective aesthetic.
The most bombastic, polarizing content rises to the top, while niche and nuance, tragically, stay circling around the bottom.
The augmentations of the smarthome are those that bring about as many problems as they intend to solve.
The smartphone and our collective reliance on it has left our attention span in a desert, with no oasis in sight.
I am not immune to any of these. After writing the first paragraph of this piece, I opened a new tab and mindlessly scrolled Twitter for roughly thirty seconds before realizing what I was doing. I came back to this tab, shook my head, and continued writing.
In fact, I’m sure it is because of my age, education, and socio-economic standing that I am so aware of all this. When you are White, middle class (for the Bay Area), and college educated, it is exceptionally easy to examine the adverse effects of technology. It is, in other words, a deep privilege.
The dog days of our pandemic, as in, the collective two-year dark age the world experienced, brought about a renewed focus on how to make technology fun, or at the very least, bearable. Teleparty, an extension for web browsers, created a highly accessible & easy way for friends across the world to watch television shows together. (The shows you can watch are still only those on oligarchical licensed streaming services, but still.)
Discord, a community platform that hosts “servers” catering to different niche interests, was a godsend. For me, it was a crucial link to communicating with people and not losing my sanity, a platform that seemingly looked to channel message boards of the 90s, embracing in-jokes and highlighting events that happened offline.
Don’t get me wrong, our top minds should keep on funding, building, and deploying breakthroughs as they find them. But let it be in fields that are actually critical to our survival, like medicine, emergency services, and climate science.
The long lasting effects of the tech we’ve surrounded ourselves with is yet to be truly understood. What are the long-term effects of never having to wait for anything? What does it look like when we, as a culture, lose surprise and anticipation, two huge pillars of actually having a culture? Where do we go, and what do we dream of, when every experience is minutes away, tucked into a corner of the metaverse?
We won’t have these answers for a long time, and I have begun thinking what technology will look like in the lives of my children, and perhaps, even for my grandchildren. When I tell them I used to burn CD’s, a time consuming technological labor of love, will they say that’s enough grandpa, time for bed? Will I get sent away to an Amazon Prime Old Person Jail for mentioning a media format they no longer sell? I can only imagine.
Technology was created as an accoutrement for a better life, but in many ways, it morphed into a version of life itself.
But by embracing life offline, not in a romantic pastoral sense, such as tending the land and building a cottage- but in a realistic way, like going for a long hike or stepping in the ocean, can we be prodded to get back on the path we may have temporarily left.
I was reminded of this a week ago when my good friend Noah, the progenitor of my love for the outdoors, came back to town. We went on a hike as the sun was setting over Tilden, a lush public park on the edges of Berkeley. I could not believe how incredible the sunset was; I was blown away by opulent pastels clouds and fleeting rays of golden light. As the sun began to set, we encountered a bobcat, and after a tense 30 seconds, breathed a sigh of relief. It passed without so much as glancing at us.
We stood there, laughing, wiping sweat off our brows, and taking in the last of the sun. It was good to be alive.