Mourning the Loss of A Simpler Future for my Child

Reading “The Extinction of Experience; Being Human in a Disembodied World” by Christine Rosen has been illuminating. The things that bother me about society today can be slippery and nameless, and hang around my psyche as feelings of dis-ease and awkwardness with the way things are. When I was growing up, I took bike rides around the neighborhood with my brother, I took the bus to high school for all 4 years, and I was an avid reader. Sure, we watched TV, but that was the extent of our screen use. There were no advertisements at every gas pump, no virtual reality “friends”, and social media just started to rear it’s many-faceted head when I was 13.

I’m sitting with a heavy feeling of grief about the way the world is for children and young adults now. When I had a child, I didn’t look forward to a world where shallowness abounded. Perhaps, almost certainly, I was too idealistic. After 4 years in the Santa Cruz Mountains, taking in the immense splendor of the natural world (sans TV or internet for 2 years of that time), I imagined raising my child amongst the trees and showing her the simple but reliable beauty of walking down the mountain during sunrise each morning in the early summer warmth. If things continue the way they are heading, she’ll be more likely to want to be in a VR headset with her online friends than enjoy a nature walk.

According to Christine’s book, the most searched query on Google in 2022 is “What to watch?” and in 2014 the most popular query was, “What is love?”. This profound shift should indicate a path astray. We are being led along a wandering path with nothing at the end and only distractions along the way. The shift from “What is love?” to “What to watch?” might also be a symptom of the housing crisis and broader economic instability. The inability to secure stable, independent living—a foundational aspect of human dignity—creates a pervasive sense of disempowerment. In a world where millions are priced out of housing or burdened by rent and debt, it’s no wonder so many turn to distraction, seeking fleeting comfort in entertainment to avoid the unbearable weight of reality.

Housing insecurity forces people into survival mode, which limits their ability to dream, create, and contribute to society. The constant worry over rent or finding a place to live reduces mental bandwidth, making it difficult to engage with the deeper, more meaningful questions of existence—like “What is love?” Instead, the question becomes, “How do I make it through today?” We cannot fully embrace our lives without fighting back powerfully against this angst and anxiety about simply existing.

Technology, particularly algorithms feeding endless content, steps in as a kind of palliative care for this pain. Scrolling through recommendations and consuming media can temporarily soothe the anguish of economic precarity, but it often perpetuates a cycle of numbing rather than addressing the root causes. This coping mechanism highlights a troubling paradox: the very platforms that could be used to amplify voices and advocate for change are instead being optimized for profit and engagement at the expense of awareness and agency.

Many of the same megalomaniac companies shaping our digital lives are implicated in the housing crisis. Tech-driven gentrification, speculative real estate investments, and the commodification of housing as an asset rather than a human right exacerbate the problem. Meanwhile, these corporations market technology as the solution—virtual reality to escape cramped apartments, smart homes for those who can afford them, and even startup-driven co-living spaces that promise community but often feel like another layer of commodification.

I’ve been wondering if brain-computer interfaces like Neuralink really are the next wave of evolution for humans. We certainly cannot process all of the information we are receiving without deleterious effects to our wellbeing. This is clear across the world. At the same time, technology has allowed wide swaths of people access to inclusive banking, inclusive education, and the ability to practice free speech.

What would the world’s technology look like if it weren’t controlled by megalomaniac companies out for profit? We may never know. I imagine something breathtakingly beautiful. Ethical and inclusive technology could be designed to enhance human potential without overwhelming daily life. At its core, this vision prioritizes human well-being over profit, integrating technology as a supportive tool rather than a dominating force. Platforms and devices would operate with clear boundaries: no manipulative algorithms, no attention monopolization, and no invasive surveillance. They would empower users to set intentional limits on usage, fostering a healthy balance between the digital and physical worlds. For example, rather than encouraging endless scrolling, platforms could include features that prompt reflection, mindful breaks, or collaborative decision-making. Technology would exist as a quiet, unobtrusive presence—a tool to amplify creativity, foster connection, and simplify necessary tasks, leaving ample space for human-led experiences.

To ensure technology remains a servant rather than a master, certain hard limits must be universally upheld. First, privacy must be non-negotiable: no tracking of user behavior beyond what is explicitly consented to, and all data should be stored securely and owned by the individual. Second, accessibility must be a standard, ensuring no one is excluded from using technology due to financial, physical, or cognitive barriers. Third, technology should avoid replacing human connection or labor where it erodes dignity and fulfillment. For example, AI could support educators rather than replace teachers or enhance healthcare without reducing empathy in patient care. Lastly, time spent with technology should be a choice, not an obligation—workplaces, schools, and governments must commit to systems that do not require constant connectivity to function.

My time spent immersed in nature changed my life - it highlighted the blissfully simple joy of being alive. This time wasn’t perfect. I struggled with various life changes - but they were all MINE. They weren’t the overwhelm of useless noise and information found in the city. The struggles I faced made me stronger, mentally and physically. I overcame and found moments of pride and joy. The struggles I face now are struggles many face in suburban or city areas. The lack of access to any quiet space for reflection, outside of my own home. The lack of nature. The lack of a friendly community that knows who I am, and vice versa. I am not sure this is the world I want my child to grow up in, yet here we are. I’d like to say I’m going to be brave and try to fight the tides with her here, but I might be secretly planning another escape to the woods. It is yet to be decided.