Tag: learning lessons

  • What AI Can’t Do

    What AI Can’t Do

    What can AI do?

    AI can tell you the best practices to apply to web content.

    But it can’t fumble around in a new job after having earned a college degree that’s only tangentially related to your duties. It can’t try out these best practices with uneven application, see what the audience responds to, what the search engine responds to. It can’t organically become an expert on a niche subject matter after talking to an enthusiastic engineer growing in power until it understands the kind of article you need to write to reach people and have it matter.

    AI can’t touch grass. But we probably need to all go out and do that. (Photo by Aleksander Fox on Unsplash)

    AI can’t take that growth experience to its next job, where it’s already ahead of the game by knowing what to try and where to start and how to tell its younger coworkers that they don’t have to get it right away. That ultimately they just have to keep trying.

    AI can’t go on a date and have a first kiss and find itself distracted in the following weeks after that magic moment, going through the motions of life and working on routine tasks only to drift back to that experience, that feeling in the pit of your stomach, the way your lips tingled and made it feel somehow real for the first time ever. It can’t wonder at a new experience, something that took you completely off guard when you thought you’d already had things all figured out.

    AI can’t buy the new product that everyone’s been raving about and then discover that while it has ten functions you don’t need, it doesn’t have the one function you want. But you can’t seem to admit that to anybody else, so you end up with a piece of tech in your house that gets sparsely used until it ends up unplugged, without batteries, in a drawer somewhere. It wouldn’t find said abandoned object three years later in a fit of inspired spring cleaning, digging it out of the drawer and carting it off to the local thrift store while looking skeptically at the hot new gadget.

    AI hasn’t tried typing increasingly specific searches into the search bar in an attempt to locate that one perfect tweet you saw years ago but neglected to download or screenshot. It hasn’t thrilled in the glory of saving a small piece of internet history from obscurity even though nobody else you know cares about this. The screenshot won’t sit in a digital folder somewhere only to pop up later and surprise you into loud, barking laughter. It can’t understand that weird form jokes on the internet take become a type of shared language and, in some ways, an odd form of emotional support in the modern age.

    AI can’t get a bad cold and find both its nostrils stopped up and its throat aching and feel that post-nasal drip at the back of your throat that signals a lingering cough is imminent. That even after the other symptoms have disappeared, you’ll lie awake at night and not even the strongest dose of Nyquil will do anything to stop it but it also doesn’t feel like a big enough deal to go see the doctor.

    AI can be funny in a programmed way, but it doesn’t know the feeling of being struck over the head by something so gut-bustingly hilarious that you and the person you’re with keep cackling until your stomachs hurt and your eyes are streaming and you both pull it together just enough to sigh but then you both sigh at the same time and that sets you off into fresh peals of laughter.

    AI has never lain on a too small, not-quite-comfortable mattress, arm pinned under the body of a sleeping child, itself in a half doze in the dark, feeling the warmth and comfort of someone so small and vulnerable who trusts you so completely and loves you without any complication. It can’t wrestle with the question of whether you should just fall asleep or try to extract yourself to do the dishes. What the dishes worth anyway against that soft, even breathing?

    AI doesn’t know the human experience. It hasn’t skinned its knee or held someone while they cried or felt a deep aching frustration at something not going the way it had planned. It doesn’t care if it gives you advice that hasn’t been fact checked or if you’re exhausted because your baby didn’t sleep or if you’re exhausted because your heart was broken or if you’re exhausted because you stayed up way too late reading a thrilling book.

    AI doesn’t know the beauty of a sunrise or the sound of your breath in your ears as you go stubbornly run the next mile or a song you love but forgot about surfacing again on the radio.

    It can’t do those things. But you can.

  • What I should know better by now

    What I should know better by now

    Life is a nonstop self-improvement project.

    Unless you are magically perfect and always do everything right. (Sad to say, but doubtful.) Or if you’ve decided you’ve done enough to get better and now you can stay the same as you are forever. (Don’t do that. It makes things awkward for the people who have to interact with you.)

    I am, at many times, an anxious perfectionist who has to accomplish things or I feel like I haven’t done enough. I have grown more aware of my own foibles over the years and have even come to accept a few of my shortcomings (maybe, just barely). I am making definite strides in the right direction.

    But there’s some shit that I’ll just never learn. I’m going to wake up thinking I’ll change it today, then I won’t change it, and then go to bed promising myself I’ll do better tomorrow.

    Hilarious.

    You’d think by now I would just accept that there is some stuff that’s just not going to happen. But I absolutely will not. My brain is convinced that future me will unlock the key to the secret that changes who I am. (Narrator: She will not.)

    Here’s what I should know better but will never actually learn.

    I’ll go to bed early tonight.

    I absolutely will not do this. Instead I will look up from bottle washing or from dog walking or from folding laundry and sigh heavily.

    Woman in orange long sleeve shirt stretches before morning jog
    Oh hey. It’s me, tomorrow morning. (Photo by Emma Simpson on Unsplash)

    I’ll wake up early tomorrow.

    When I am training for races, I manage to convince myself that I’ll wake up early and run. I don’t. I managed to do this successfully for a stretch of a few months when my first kid was a baby. I will never get that magic back. Instead I will do the four mile run after the kids go to bed. (But don’t worry. I’ll still get to bed early.)

    I’ll have more time to read next week.

    In addition to going to bed early, I will also read an actual print book in bed before I fall asleep before 10 p.m. Oh wait. No. I won’t do that.

    I’ll start regularly cleaning parts of my house on a schedule instead of when it gets too disgusting to stand.

    Anyone who has ever known me my entire life can attest that I have never, not once, ever done this. (I sometimes have flickers of understanding, but they never last.)

    I’ll get that that show on my watch list.

    No, I haven’t seen The Wire or Friday Night Lights or Call the Midwife or Chernobyl or Killing Eve or Homeland or This is Us! Saved on my lists across various apps though. Don’t worry, I’ll never get to them.

    I will successfully cook a healthy meal every night, work full time, do all the laundry and the dishes, update my blog, go on a run every night, and still get to bed early every night.

    Just a parody of myself at this point.

    I’ll invent time travel, go back to the Regency era, and find Mr. Darcy.

    Really, he’d just be a complete nightmare. Get it together, me.

    I will successfully convince people online that they should be more empathetic.

    Never will anyone online be convinced of anything ever. It is why I type out impassioned defenses and then always hit the ol’ backspace before posting anything.

    I will come to terms with the fact that I can’t do everything all the time and that’s okay.

    Maybe this one’s not fair. I do come to terms with it sometimes and feel good about it on occasion. But it never lasts. Oh! There it is:

    The self-improvement efforts I make will stick once I’ve made them and I won’t have to continually work on them like other humans do for reasons.

    Turns out self-improvement doesn’t exist on autopilot.

    Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to sign off so I can go to bed early, wake up at dawn to go on a four mile run so I can be ready for a full day of work, using my thirty minute lunch break to fold the laundry and prep dinner. That’ll give me enough time after dinner to read a few chapters and then hit the hay early.

  • Those who stop doomscrolling are probably still doomed to repeat it

    Those who stop doomscrolling are probably still doomed to repeat it

    I just logged in to get this screenshot. I SWEAR. (Thanks to Visual Watermark for the text on image assist.)

    I quit Twitter a couple weeks ago.

    Again.

    My relationship with Twitter has often been unhealthy (a common refrain of Twitter users), but during the pandemic, it really ratcheted up in terms of being a life sucking source. I could not stop doomscrolling. Continually glued to all the absolutely horrendous news about politics, police violence, widespread protests, the fact that California was on fire, just all of it.

    There were times when I thought or said out loud that I needed to stop. Having the internet prove to me every day that the entire world was an absolute dumpster fire was not really the most calming habit I could have picked up during a stressful time. It also made being pregnant real weird. (Even weirder than being pregnant during a pandemic was already.)

    I officially logged out a few times and managed well for a few days or a week at a time. One time I had successfully left Twitter and then Ruth Bader Ginsberg died a month before a national election. When the election itself actually happened, I stayed off all social media for a few days because my anxiety had already reached such a peak I didn’t think I’d be able to survive it. Then, when the votes started suggesting that the results wouldn’t be disastrous, I got back on to celebrate.

    Sometimes there is good stuff on Twitter! Nothing makes me laugh out loud quite like an absolutely bizarre tweet or meme that you only understand when the Twitter brain worms have fully taken over. Because I am officially an Old, and will never download TikTok, I got to see some of the best of TikTok through Twitter. This particular dance to “Rasputin” by Boney M. for example. So delightful!

    The less pleasant aspects of the platform, though, started to outweigh the other stuff. Dunking stupid tweets and dogpiling people seems to be Twitter’s favorite pastime. And although I hardly ever tweet and am too scared to voice opinions to become the Twitter main character of the day, the ghost of that threat seems to loom over all interactions.

    Piling on can be fun in the moment, and it can often reveal truly bizarre intersections of humanity (the most recent examples being Bean Dad and the Cinnamon Toast Shrimp Guy), but it finally started to dawn on my that this meant all my feed was breeding was negativity. Everyone is criticizing everyone. Either because they won’t open a can of beans for their daughter or because people are taking the bean thing way to seriously or because nobody can just have fun on the internet anymore or–

    Even all this might not have been enough to do it. Social media addiction is real and so is starting the doomscroll anytime you have a free second.

    But I had a second kid in December and went back to work in March. I’m up for an hour in the middle of the night most nights. My sleep is pretty destroyed and my days are an absolute blur of taking care of children, trying to productive at work, cramming in a boatload of chores, and then collapsing in an exhausted heap so I can sleep for three hours before the baby wakes me up.

    Most nights, I try to squeeze in a tiny bit of personal time before the exhausted collapsing part. Read a little bit, watch a short show, have an actual conversation with my husband. When Twitter was how I spent my personal time, I got sucked in for far too long, which was then further destroyed my already terrible sleep schedule.

    It all came to a head and I logged out. It’s been two or three weeks now. (I honestly can’t remember just how long because time means nothing these days.) I miss the memes and the goofiness somewhat. But I’m also getting a little more reading in. If I pick up my phone mindlessly, I try to open an ebook or put the phone back down. I can’t marvel at hot takes that truly bend the fabric of the universe, but I can get to bed thirty minutes earlier.

    Mocking Spongebob meme with the text, "I logged of Twitter. What a life hack."
    What I look like talking about how much I’ll achieve now that I’m off social media. (Find image here.)

    Does this make me a better person than anyone still on Twitter? Nope. Social media can be great for people for a whole of reasons.

    Which makes me think. Just because Twitter isn’t good for me right now, could it have been at some point? Despite all the bad on the platform, could the sheer amount of time I spent doomscrolling on Twitter in 2020 have been a little bit good? I was anxious all the time, but that would have been the case anyway. And because I couldn’t see anyone and was essentially trapped in my home, I could at least log on and see that everyone else was feeling the same. We all sort of went a little bit mad together, true, but would it have been any better doing that alone?

    The isolation of the pandemic was pretty heightened for me. Being pregnant is difficult and doing it mostly alone was ever harder. Not that anything I was doing online had to do with the pregnancy. But still. Maybe it was helpful while it needed to be and now I’m entering a new phase where it’s not. Different things for different stages of life and all that.

    Will I stay off Twitter forever? Unlikely. I will be very proud of myself for hitting some milestone in the future. Tell myself that I’ve broken the habit and it can’t hurt to log back on and take a peek for just 30 minutes. Then I’ll discover that someone thinks baking cookies is anti-feminist or that some person we all used to love is actually super problematic or that the shipping wars have fired up over a new media property. And I’ll be right back in it.

    Hopefully, next time, with more really fun dance routines.