The landscape of communication today feels...strange. For the sake of convenience and scale, nearly everything worth anything has become abstract — or online. I myself have persistently struggled to reconcile the value that digital communication offers and the human connection that it stifles. In my experience, becoming 'too online' has left me feeling detached from my physical reality and from my own humanity. Think about it — if you don't have a social media account or an email address, are you even considered real? Or reliable?
For generations, exploration and trade have fueled human connection. In our digital age, we must now navigate this intangible landscape and approach a different challenge: while we are no longer at such physical risk as before, we currently encounter the spiritual risk of losing life experience, each other, and our senses of self to an abstract society built on transactions and filters. How might we begin to integrate human nature into our technologies intentionally — not for profit, but for collective existence and well-being? In other words, how might we use technology to support humanity, not replace it? Let's explore this together.
It's indisputable that organizations, entrepreneurs, and creators rely on some online presence to remain discoverable. Undoubtedly, these digital venues of communication
work — that's where the people are. Today, for instance, Alex flicks their thumb and instantly accesses a curated glimpse of Bob's reflection or content. Over time, this exposure breeds familiarity and a sense of trust. Finally, this trust leads to at least one financial transaction and makes this entire interaction worthwhile. I get it — it's business — and people want to use technology to make their businesses and lives better. Technology easily achieves exposure while removing the barriers of renting out a billboard, distributing flyers, or establishing a brick-and-mortar. In many ways, technology has democratized the access and distribution of information, and honestly, utilizing technology is just strategic. Still, something else is happening beneath the surface — a subtle rewiring of how we think, connect, and consume. And the danger here much more resembles a slow pandemic than a sudden disaster. I'll elaborate what I mean.
I sense that communities are growing increasingly reliant on stimulation, the constant consumption of shallow content, and the systems that enable these exchanges. Language and patience are being replaced by short-form buttons and performance. Our social profiles display only our most presentable selves, and our conversations are smothered by likes, dislikes, and acronyms. Digital graphics and art are engineered to psychologically manipulate users and manufacture favorable outcomes. Ultimately, and ironically, software algorithms are programming us — shaping our behavior online and in the physical world.
We have forgotten how to take our time, how to touch soil, and how to meet people where they are — unfiltered, unimpressive, messy, diverse, normal. We miss the homey interaction offered by a vendor, a firm handshake or wrinkly smile, and everything else outside because we decided to do our business through a convenient, templated, and perfected screen.
I'm certainly not saying to do away with our entire technological infrastructure and only communicate by pigeon. I'm also not saying to delete your Instagram account. I simply intend to shed light on this specific tension — we've built an entire world of connection, within which true connection erodes and the human experience is dampened. What are we going to do about that? Is there anything for us to do?
I believe the seed is
intention — the intention to use technology for more than transactions, manipulations, and productivity. Perhaps by severing technology's attachment to utilitarianism, we might arrive at a new form of systematic art and uncover within it a human-centered technological creativity. In this framework, efficiency could exist not for profit, but in service of engineered beauty, and thoughtful website design might transcend commercial ideology to become an expression of depth. As we build our technologies, we must ask ourselves, "
Why are we making this?", "
What kind of experience or emotion do we want to amplify?" More practically, consider these imperfect proposals:
- Build minimalist applications which are anchored in physical reality and rooted in empathy (ex. trade, mutual aid, sustainability efforts, nonprofit missions)
- Cap profit generation for the sake of maximizing service quality (ie. vertical growth over horizontal expansion)
- Integrate functions which encourage offline time
- Foster diversity in creativity and design by discerning when to utilize AI and when not to
- Reward new kinds of metrics — not likes or follows, but meaning, impact, or time spent offline
- Walk away from the numbers-game and slow down
I understand through my own processing that this critique far surpasses the scope of technology. We're challenging a cultural and psychological problem through the
lens of technology. Technology merely reflects that which is already in us, and so our current insatiable wiring is on full display on the world wide web. No design strategy or application will resolve what we alone can change. So I leave you with this:
Remember why you are working so hard to earn what you earn. Remember why you are living out your life the way that you are. Remember what you actually value, not what you're told to chase. And let me reframe the question, "How might we use technology — in this case — to support humanity and
what you actually want?" And let this question guide you not only in the digital world, but in every decision that asks for your attention. Good luck.