“When I first began studying people and computers, I saw programmers relating one-to-one with their machines, and it was clear that they felt intimately connected.  The computer’s reactivity and interactivity […] made them feel they had “company,” even as they wrote code.”

I pulled this quote from Chapter 6 of “Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other” because I know exactly what the author is referring to.

I have been using computers for nearly three decades – and it’s safe to say that this usage has been a daily recurrence since an Apple IIe first arrived at my doorstep.  Computers have ultimately made me who I am today and it’s a path that I do not regret taking.

Computers, for me, have allowed me to tap into my core being.  Why?  Because at some level they ultimately represent “what could be,” and when your personality is centralized around “never ending possibilities” there is a unique connection that is not easily broken.

Through consistent and frequent use – whether that use was through gaming, programming, or creating – a “digital relationship” always developed.  Regardless of what was going on in my life, my computer has been the one thing that I can count on to learn from, experience new things, and to ultimately achieve a sense of “flow.”

I never really thought too deeply about this “relationship” because it has just been a natural part of my life; I could easily conceive giving up my television, but I am not sure I would be able to easily cope without my computer.

While my use of computers provides me with significant benefit (creative exploration, skill-development, research, etc.), it can clearly introduce a “digital divide” between myself and others.

The author of Alone Together summarizes this divide extremely well in her description of the use of robotic companions for the elderly:

“Does it deceive the elderly into feeling less alone as they chat with robots about things they once would have talked through with their children?  If you practice sharing “feelings” with robot “creatures,” you become accustomed to the reduced “emotional” range that machines can offer.  As we learn to get the “most” out of robots, we may lower our expectations of all relationships, including those with people.  In the process, we betray ourselves.”

Is my “relationship” with computers lowering my expectations of human relationships?  In general, the answer is “no.”

Through Territories and Incubator, this “one-way” dialogue has allowed me to comprehend the incomprehensible and elevate to a higher level of awareness and understanding.  And perhaps this “digital dialogue” is representative of the “ideal” situation as it relates to these unfortunate events.

After all, most people would tire quickly of my interminable analysis and heavy introspection, and many more would never truly comprehend my experiences without having lived through them (as would be true in an opposite circumstance).  Thus, this “digital relationship” has served a useful purpose.

Now, however, there is a greater risk for betrayal.  The longer that I spend channeling personal thoughts into a digital medium, I become accustomed to a default “acceptance” of the content and the two-way dialogue remains absent.

Intellectual engagement is one of my top priorities in life, and the thinking/writing process is a key producer.  Thus, eliminating all written thought at this stage may not be wise.  However, I am smart enough to know that a continuation along this introspective path without true connection is the wrong path for me.