Dear Diary,
Yesterday I found myself staring at my phone for twenty minutes, just watching the spinning wheel as my banking app tried to load. Twenty minutes of my finite life, gone. I laughed about it later with Marcus, but it got me thinking about how utterly dependent I’ve become on technology that I barely understand. While the app eventually loaded (thank goodness—I needed to transfer rent money), I couldn’t shake this feeling of being simultaneously empowered and vulnerable.
This morning, over my second cup of coffee, I stumbled across some articles about upcoming tech trends for 2025. Apparently, there’s this huge gastroenterology conference happening in San Diego where doctors will learn to use AI in their practice. Imagine having an algorithm examine your insides! The thought makes me squeamish, yet I’m fascinated. Would I trust an AI with my colonoscopy results more than a tired doctor at the end of a 12-hour shift? I honestly don’t know.
The more I read about these innovations, the more I feel like I’m watching two worlds collide. There’s this beautiful, hopeful vision where AI helps doctors make better diagnoses, prevents cybersecurity breaches before they happen, and generally makes life easier. Then there’s the reality I experience—apps that crash, passwords I forget, and the constant nagging feeling that my data is being harvested like some digital crop.
I called Mom today and tried explaining what I’d learned about “generative AI” and “large language models.” She listened patiently before asking if this meant robots would start writing her favorite mystery novels. We laughed, but her question was oddly profound. Where is the human element in all this advancement? Will my future diary entries be suggestions from an algorithm that knows my writing style better than I do?
The articles mentioned something called “zero trust” in cybersecurity. Apparently, it’s a framework where nothing is automatically trusted, even within an organization’s network. That concept resonates with me on a personal level. After David’s betrayal last year, I’ve been operating on my own zero trust policy in relationships. Verify, then trust—never the other way around. Is it healthy? My therapist has concerns, but I find comfort in the boundary.
I think what troubles me most isn’t the technology itself but how quickly it’s moving. The gap between what experts understand and what the average person comprehends seems to widen daily. I consider myself reasonably tech-savvy—I can troubleshoot Mom’s printer issues over the phone and set up my own router—but reading about “DOCSIS 4.0” and “XGS PON Interoperability” makes me feel hopelessly out of my depth.
Marcus thinks I worry too much. “Just enjoy the benefits,” he said while seamlessly ordering dinner through three different apps simultaneously. He’s probably right, but I can’t help wondering about the invisible infrastructure that lets him do that—the security protocols, the data exchanges, the privacy implications.
I had a strange dream last night where I was trying to explain to my childhood self how much of my adult life would revolve around technology that hadn’t been invented yet. How would I explain social media to eight-year-old Natalie who thought passing notes in class was the height of communication technology? Or that doctors would use artificial intelligence to look at pictures of our insides?
Tomorrow I’m attending that virtual workshop on digital privacy that Kate recommended. Perhaps I’ll gain some agency in this rapidly evolving landscape. I want to feel like a participant in this digital revolution rather than just a consumer being swept along. I want to understand the implications of giving my data to companies developing these AI systems, even as I benefit from their convenience.
The sun is setting now, casting an orange glow over my apartment. My smart speaker just automatically dimmed my lights to match the mood. It’s those little moments of technological harmony that make me appreciate how far we’ve come. Yet I can’t help but wonder where we’re headed. Will the innovations of 2025 make us more connected or more isolated? More informed or more confused? More human or less?
Perhaps the answer isn’t either/or but both/and. Technology, like life, contains multitudes. As I close my laptop for the evening, I’m choosing to embrace the contradictions and find my place in this ever-shifting digital landscape—even if that place includes occasionally yelling at unresponsive apps and marveling at the miracle of video calling my niece halfway across the country.
Until tomorrow,
Natalie
