There was a time in our lives when we didn’t see what friends had for dinner, scored on their biology tests, ran their half-marathon, posted a song, a funny meme, a photo of their cat, someone parked in the bike lane, a misspelled sign on the window of the local bodega, the cat from said bodega, their review of the new episode of that cool TV show that’s not on TV but a streaming service, their disdain for streaming services, their rant about cancelling their streaming service, their love for sports, their hatred of people that love sports, and the video highlight of some great athletic feat by someone in a high school, college, or pro event that everyone will watch for 3.4 seconds.

We didn’t read 18 articles about 18 different subjects before getting out of bed, like consuming three newspapers, 4 morning shows, and an hours worth of talk-radio (the comments and replies) before we even put on pants.

The soundtrack to our commute or shower or morning walk was limited to the music we owned, or the MP3s we downloaded to our portable device. Now we have the option of every piece of music ever recorded, and 60K new songs are uploaded to Spotify alone every single day. Hurry, it’s Bandcamp Friday – here’s 900 gentle suggestions from everyone about what you should check out and it will only take you 3.2 years to listen to 30 seconds of the first 329 links.

People could call us on the phone. Or send us a letter.

I have five email inboxes, three Asana inboxes, a Basecamp, and two Slacks to watch throughout the day. I’m probably forgetting one or three others.

Our meetings used to be limited to conference rooms. Now my face appears anywhere there’s a smart device and wifi. We’re experts with webcams and microphones and lighting and sound dampening, but fuck if anyone can provide a god damn agenda in 2022.

Am I the old man yelling at the cloud? Fuck yes I am. I’m tired.