Starved for Insights

The sheer volume of technology tools and advice and platforms and writing blogs available today (present company included) are mind-boggling. But for all of the technological frou-frou, book writing is still, and I believe should remain, primarily a human endeavor.

I approach new technologies with curious trepidation. I don’t like relying on everyday tools that require the in-depth knowledge of a computer scientist to operate. I have no patience with panaceas. Every new “solution” brings a new (and unique) set of problems. The trouble with the massive amount of choices we have is that most of them are not easily digestible. We are awash in information but starved for insights.

I could make a very long list of the technology I have deployed and abandoned in the past. Only the stalwarts that add real value to my life have survived. Microsoft Office, for example.

Does anyone remember learning to drive a car with a manual transmission? The old stick shift. Four on the floor. There was a real knack to it. Automatic transmissions were available, of course. But the generally accepted view was you should learn to drive a stick shift first. Automatic transmissions seemed a little “less than ” and their drivers a little lazy. Anyone could drive an automatic transmission, after all.

Driving a manual transmission took skill. It was scary at first. Not only did you have to learn the vehicle’s particular shift pattern. You had to coordinate the feel and shift of the changing gears while pressing the clutch to the floor. (I accidentally hit the brake more often than I care to admit in early lessons. I don’t think I am alone here.)

At the licensing bureau, the man with the clipboard looked solemn and judgmental. It was so great the first time you could drive the car around the pylons in the parking lot. You finally mastered shifting seamlessly from first to fourth without grinding the gears. You brought the car to a full stop without smashing into any of the pylons. Or smashing your nose into the steering wheel. Receiving a pass from the grim adjudicator and finally being awarded your driver’s license was equivalent to winning an Olympic medal. There was little back then to match that sense of accomplishment and the freedom it foretold.

Today we seem to have a population that believes all of life’s rewards should come effortlessly as their due and birthright. It’s a regrettable loss of the magic and uncertainty and payoff that comes with creative ingenuity and sustained effort. Sure life and many of its rewards are hard to attain but like many hard things, the rewards can be sweeter.

In adulthood, the “first-time” thrill of accomplishments is mostly behind us. But the potential excitement has come back to me in this journey to write a book. There are more metaphorical gears and clutches and brakes and accelerators in this undertaking than I had imagined.

As a lifelong writer, I know that information isn’t knowledge and we still need humans to interpret it. To make sense of it and give it meaning. Perspective is key. A bowl and flour and eggs and sugar and milk sitting on a counter are not a cake. As much as new technology is out to dazzle and engage us (or take over humanity, according to some) someone still needs to put that cake together. Someone needs to pop it in the oven, then ice and decorate it. Put the candles on it and light them if the birthday celebration is going to hit the desired emotional mark.

I am not saying we should always be resistant to technology trends and new ways of doing. But we should push back and take our time to evaluate how these new technologies serve us, not the other way around. Slow, steady, and considered effort, seasoned over time often produces a more satisfying result for both the product and the soul. That analogy applies whether we are talking about cars, cakes, or books.