I’ve been told I have a fear of technology, but I don’t think that’s true. I actually love technology. The reality that the foundation of computing boils down to us smashing different rocks and materials together, then convincing them to do math, absolutely astounds me; I’ll forever be in awe of what we can achieve with these machines. That being said, I have no hope in the direction technology is taking - and has taken - due to the way it is utilized in our societies.
Let's take the idea of smartphones. A device in your pocket with a screen that changes based on the needs of the application, always able to connect to all the world's information at an affordable price, is an amazing idea. In practice, this product is capitalized in the most predatory ways possible. The constant strive for engagement so your usage data can be farmed and sold - as if your every movement should be considered a potential for profit - makes this less a tool to better your life and more an anchor that keeps you tethered to corporate interests. This dehumanizing mindset, paired with a world that increasingly requires you to carry one of these devices at all times, makes the entire invention a symbol of dystopia.
I take this mindset to every tech-related purchase, from cell phones to earbuds to household appliances to cars. I want my tech to be capable and feature-rich, but I don’t want to trade my privacy, repairability, and ability to walk away from it to have it. Unfortunately, the trade-off is usually a requirement, and the ability to opt out of these at the consumer level is becoming impossible.
Take parking, for example. Just a few years ago, I could go to my nearest big city (Nashville) and park at a garage, walk up to the ticket printer, put in my info, swipe my card, and be done. Now, all those ticket printers are gone, replaced with a QR code printed on coroplast board with weather-resistant ink. Now, my phone is expected to be my portal to the parking system, which means I not only need a phone but one that can scan QR codes and input data into a webpage. So, if I want to go to Nashville, I now need a smartphone or I have to drive around until I find a parking lot that still allows me to park without one. In this regard I must now decide: Do I want to be tracked and have my data collected, effectively turning my existence into a monetization strategy for a series of companies and corporations, or do I want to be able to park my car in a garage? Just writing the words sounds like a ridiculous compromise, but this is the reality we live in.
A couple of years ago, I was gifted a sous-vide for my kitchen. A lovely present from my father. I’d had one before which had buttons on the top to set the temperature, set the time, and a start/stop button, and it worked without issue. This new one, however, has one button on top: a start/stop button. Everything else is expected to go through an app. I need an app to operate an appliance that sits in my cabinet. I can plug it in and put it in a pot, but until I provide data to their server, my water-warmer is a high-tech brick. That requirement to allow a server access to my data - then inherently provide it usage information - feels so intrusive and pointless. It is a purposely over-engineered product that will likely become non-functional long before its components stop working. As servers shut down and interest in the product wanes, the devices those servers supported also shut down. The companies that make products like these are well aware of this, but making the device destined to be trash means they can harvest and sell your data in the meantime. These devices become a means to track first and operate second, and the longevity of the product be damned. This is spyware as a feature.
In these regards, it is not the technology I hate, but the exploitation it brings.
I do run my own server which uses a number of self-hosted websites that I can access from anywhere. I have a recipe site where I put all my recipes, and no one has access to it but me. I have a media server that allows me to watch movies and TV shows and listen to music, audiobooks, and podcasts without ever having to worry about the state of the company who hosts it - because there is no other company. I am detaching myself as much as possible, going so far as to buy a basic flip phone instead of carrying a smartphone. But I do recognize the limitations in our modern world as it pushes us more and more into a data-driven existence.
There is a certain irony in using a server - the very heart of the modern internet - to insulate myself from it. By hosting my own services, I am essentially building a digital fortress out of the same "magic rocks" I mentioned earlier, but now I hold the keys. It’s a rewarding experience to see a file transfer or a webpage load and know exactly where that data is living. It isn't floating in an ambiguous "cloud" owned by a conglomerate; it’s spinning on a disk in my closet. This DIY approach isn't about being a hermit - it’s about reclaiming the agency that has been slowly stripped away by "Software as a Service" models that treat ownership as a relic of the past.
However, I often wonder how long this middle ground will remain viable. As the world moves toward mandatory biometric check-ins, proprietary "smart" infrastructure, and the total phasing out of analog alternatives, my flip phone and home server feel less like a solution and more like a temporary protest. We are rapidly approaching a point where "opting out" isn't just a social inconvenience, but a structural impossibility. I fear the day is coming when the rocks we’ve taught to think will finally refuse to think for us unless we agree to their Terms of Service first.