Careful What You Wish For

Discussion of Artificial Intelligence is everywhere I turn these days. Breathless accounts of what it can do, delight over its ability to learn and adapt, dreams of how great life can be with these magical tools. But when things seem too good to be true, we should be paying closer attention. Are we really ready to give up so much?

I’m all for labor saving devices – a washing machine, an ice maker, a dishwasher – but when someone touts that Chat GPT can relieve me of all the tedious tasks in my work life, I am skeptical. Sure, key-entry can be dull, but taking the time to study patterns and trends in numbers often leads me to insights I wouldn’t have come to otherwise. Speed is not always enlightening as repetition and time help ideas form. 

Do I want a chirpy computer voice to tell me what should be on my grocery list? I do not. There’s value in forcing me to remember what I’ve used up over the last week and what ingredients I will need for upcoming meals. Plus, I might find something at the farmers’ market or a sale item in the freezer aisle that causes me to change course.

Professional writers appear to be shaken by the notion that a bot could replace them by producing wonderful prose, snappy tag lines, and intelligent analysis – “AI will take our jobs!” Well, maybe bots are already writing spam emails and social media posts (and it shows!) but I find that writing requires contemplation; removing that step won’t make it better. 

I’m happy to use Google to plot out directions to far-flung places, but I remember the value of studying a paper map to get the big picture, seeing how various roads cross and connect. Some trips are improved by taking the scenic route where you get an unanticipated view, find an alley short cut, or even have to execute a U turn to correct a mistake. For me, this has always been when I learn something.

AI claims to free us from the mundane tasks of our day so we’ll have more time for creative activities. But what if the mundane is when the thinking happens? The unhurried, mental meandering that you can do while sweeping a floor, or taking a walk. If we cede all the supposedly mundane tasks, the ability to do them will atrophy until we are unable to do them at all. Think about the last time you left your phone at home and had to figure out directions for yourself.

In the Mail

A letter in an envelope with a stamp is a missive from another time. A relic that has somehow materialized in the mailbox, alongside a catalog and a postcard from an area realtor. It may be something important or urgent, or a time machine.

I’ve resisted going paperless for most of my bills and bank statements, so I still check the mailbox. I may also find a reminder to get my car emissions checked, a summons for jury duty, or a solicitation using a font that tries to imitate handwriting. But I’m not fooled – personal correspondence is a rarity. 

As a kid, I didn’t get a lot of mail. Birthday wishes from my grandmothers and aunts (sometimes there was a $5 bill enclosed in an envelope secured with tape!), or the occasional pen pal letter (though it seemed to take forever for replies to come from Germany). Letters became more important when I was away from home – first college, and then when I moved away as an adult. 

Sure, there were the periodic phone calls, but letters were a way to share news, a newspaper clipping or photos, and not worry about the long-distance phone rates. Every part of that sentence sounds like it comes from the stone age. It was fun to buy colorful stationery or use something fancy and engraved with your name. I’d jot down my thoughts, something funny that just happened, or perhaps a complaint. I made it a habit to get double prints of all photos so I could show the family how cute the kids were, then pop that letter in the mail, hoping for a reply. It was exciting to receive a thick envelope, knowing it was something I could pore over and relish.

Alas, email has almost completely supplanted letter writing. It’s so fast and easy to send a note, even with pictures attached, and not have to scrounge around for a stamp. I despair for historians who won’t have the detailed evidence of daily life recorded on paper, but instead will be overwhelmed with server back-ups and video files.

Going through a box of family photos, I find letters my mother has kept. Among them are some chatty updates from me. It’s funny to recognize my handwriting, remember the card or stationery I used, and even the commemorative stamp I chose. The content is a small time-traveling moment, like finding a long-lost diary entry. Somehow I think rereading my sent emails wouldn’t be as evocative of a day in my past life.

Breadcrumbs

When archeologists carefully unearth an ancient village or tomb, they piece together ideas from what they find and orient it with what they may already know about the time, or the culture. Even so, they may never know why a bright feather was woven into an intricate basket, or whose hand drew animals on the cave walls, but their experience allows them to make an educated guess.

I’m looking through drawers, boxes and closets to see what’s there; one envelope stymies me. It is filled with short pieces of black yarn and cream yarn. The letter enclosed, postmarked from Michigan, refers to some fabric that these yarns are a part of. I have no idea. Days later, I’m emptying a high closet shelf and a bundle of cloth tumbles to the ground. I unroll it, wondering if some valuable scroll is within. Instead I find two rectangular woven fiber pieces – one black and one cream – arranged as a crisscrossed sweater, and tied on each side with short pieces of black and cream yarn. 

My inner archeologist, or Sherlock, has a theory. This is clearly handmade, the work of an artisan, not something bought at the mall. It may have been work spotted at a local art fair or fine handcrafts shop. This funky sweater / tunic may have been on display to demonstrate how it was to be worn because lying flat it hardly looks like a garment. It clearly caught the buyer’s eye. With a black turtleneck and leggings, paired with some flashy earrings, it would be a statement piece worn by someone confident and full of flair.

I look around. There are no photos of anyone wearing this piece. I hope buyer’s remorse didn’t relegate it to the back of the closet. Instead, I want to believe it was worn with pride and everyone who saw it said “wow!”

We don’t start out being part of a mystery, but the possessions we gather and our daily habits build a story about us and leave clues. I carefully roll the sweater back up, tucking the envelope inside, and place it back in the closet. I tell myself I want to be a good detective and leave it the way I found it. Maybe I’ll write back to the artist to learn the story. Maybe someday I’ll be confident enough to wear it myself.

Perfect Day

Maybe it only exists in our imagination or memory, but it’s fun to think of what would make up a perfect day. An idealized Hollywood production, or something more modest? Only you can decide.

I see occasional news features where a local celebrity recounts what would make up their perfect day in Chicago. It’s a fine format to promote local restaurants, parks, and attractions, but what strikes me is that everyone’s idea of a perfect day is different while revealing some interesting themes.

I can imagine a few different kinds of perfect days.

One: It’s sunny and in the 70’s so a long walk outside is comfortable. I can check out the flowers thriving in all the neighbors’ yards, pass a playground full of squealing kids, and see if the bakery down the street still has croissants. I join the crowd on the path by Lake Michigan, making room for runners and bikers to whoosh past me. 

Two: It’s rainy and cool but I don’t need to go outside for anything. I have a good book, a cup of tea, and a comfy couch. The pantry and refrigerator are full, so later I can make a wonderful pot of soup, a salad and some bread. There’s a good movie to watch while we have brownies and ice cream.

Three: Exploring a new city, we find beautiful architecture, welcoming cafes and an outstanding art museum. There’s the chance of getting lost, but it means we find something unexpected (a book store? a famous artist’s mural? a hidden garden?) Our hotel is small and a bit quirky, but close to everything we want to see.

Four: I have a long list of tasks, so I start early. I dust and vacuum, reorganize the closet, iron some long-ignored shirts, take a load of things to Goodwill, shred old documents, finish an analysis of email performance…whew! Sounds horrible, but what a feeling to check these things off the dreaded list! I’ve earned some time watching a few episodes of a cooking show!

So, what makes a perfect day? It’s one where you get to do things you enjoy, finish something that’s been bothering you, or perhaps, do nothing at all. Perfect is in the mind of the beholder.