technology as tool, never master
Essays on five domains of humanity — spiritual, mental, physical, relational, financial — asking one question of technology each time: does it genuinely serve, or quietly erode?
In an age of curated personas and algorithmic isolation, the simple act of watching a team play reveals something profound about what it means to be seen, to belong, and to move together toward something larger than ourselves.
A cruise ship passenger goes overboard, and the story becomes data. What technology can't teach us about the relational work of witness and presence.
When a daughter steps into her mother's spotlight, we witness something older than celebrity: the quiet, relational work of passing down what matters most.
When a pizza brand disappears or a buffet closes its doors, the internet lights up with collective grief. What we're mourning isn't just food—it's the architecture of shared experience that technology can catalog but never quite replace.
In an age of algorithmic isolation, the weekly ritual of watching a game together—whether in living rooms or stadiums—remains one of our most resilient forms of communal presence.
When Argentina faces Bolivia or Japan meets Ecuador, millions participate in something ancient: communal meaning-making through shared ritual, unmediated by algorithms.
In an age of algorithmic isolation, the communal experience of watching sports together reveals something essential about our relational needs that no personalized feed can satisfy.
In an age of algorithmic curation and digital tribes, college football stadiums remind us what it means to belong to something real—a place, a tradition, a community that existed before us and will outlast us.
In an age of instant connections and algorithmically curated relationships, baseball's 162-game season offers an ancient wisdom about what it means to show up, day after day, for the people who matter.
The recall of Fromm and Oma's Pride pet foods reveals how digital platforms have trained us to react to crises rather than prevent them—and what we lose when citizenship becomes performance instead of practice.
When flight delays strip away our schedules and devices fail us, we're left with something we've almost forgotten how to do: simply be present with strangers.