Digital tech has flattened our experience of the world to text under a glass touchscreen, writes Amelia Wattenberger in a beautifully-illustrated essay. We should build more computer interfaces that serve the way humans experience the world—through their five senses.
I think about this idea in terms of how my kid sees me get stuff done. When I was growing up and observing my parents manage our family life, I watched them jot plans on a paper calendar hanging in our kitchen, write checks and stuff stamped envelopes to pay the bills every week, scribble weekly grocery shopping lists, plan a month of family dinners on index cards, keep an address book of names and phone numbers, call their friends on the phone, and spend Saturdays going to the bank, the butcher, and the post office. Today, my kid observes me doing all those different things but has no indicator of what I’m actually doing unless I show her and tell her, because it all just looks like me tapping on a phone screen or typing on my laptop.
Parenthood reminds me on a daily basis: there’s a big difference between intellectual and experiential knowledge. Lessons from a book or teacher pass easily. Experiencing something firsthand—that is, getting your body involved—is how you absorb information into your bones.
No matter how often I tell my kid what I know, she won’t fully learn until she does things herself, often the opposite things I advise. Hard to watch! But this is attendance in the school of life, where her experience will always be a more effective teacher than I can be.
What would happen if you surrendered your computer, phone, books, and pens and went silent—no contact with anyone—for 10 full days? There was something irresistible about this question to me. I needed to find out the answer for myself.
The prospect of being alone in your own head for 10 days is scary to a lot of people. I happen to be a person who loves being in my head. It’s safe, comfortable, and logical there. I rely on facts and narratives to form my understanding of the world in there. My body rarely gets involved, at least consciously. And that served me just fine—until it didn’t.
