Confessions of a former tech addict

Ask my family to describe my childhood, and you’ll get a unanimous, two-word response: “Game Boy.”

To say I was obsessed with Nintendo’s portable gaming console is an understatement. I didn’t just love my Game Boy; I was practically the Boy himself.

One of my earliest memories is at age 4, conspiring with my brothers to convince our mom to buy a limited-edition, Pikachu-themed Game Boy Color for our dad’s birthday. To my amazement, it worked, and as soon as my dad unwrapped “his gift,” I took it from his hands, jammed in a cartridge, and turned it on.

From that point on, every two years marked another step in my Game Boy journey. At age 6, it was the Game Boy Advance. Age 8, the SP. Age 10, the Micro, the only model I didn’t get (which I’m totally over, I swear). In middle school, I experienced heartbreak for the first time when I left a handful of Nintendo DS games on a flight, never to see them again. (To this day, whenever I walk off a plane, I pause at the gate and look through my backpack to make sure everything’s there.)

Stretched out on the couch, slouched in the back seat, lounging in bed, I always had a game loaded up and my attention captivated.

My obsession left my parents “more annoyed than concerned,” my mom recalled this week, though they were worried about me shortening my attention span and missing out on family time (including some of the meals and car rides from last week’s essay).

The grand irony is that now nearly 90% of humanity is tethered to their phones like me to my Game Boy — and I’m the one who’s concerned.

Game over

To be clear, I’m not anti-technology. But neither am I mesmerized by it like I was as a kid. Despite starting on an extreme, I’ve ended up with some sense of balance. (What that means practically is a whole other essay.)

How did that happen?

There are at least three explanations. And while they’re specific to my experience, I think they contain shards of universal truth that reveal how we can each improve our relationship to our devices.

1. I’ve always kept up with technology. Playing Game Boy wasn’t just about entertainment; more importantly, it bred my fascination with engineering and product design. I didn’t just want to play games, I wanted to understand everything about them.

   One outcome is that I’ve always closely followed consumer tech news and analysis. So every time a new device is released, I have a head start in considering how to incorporate it into my life.

   The lesson: Technology is taking over the world — we can’t change that. But that’s not the same as letting it take over your life. Being a more intentional user will help you tell the difference (and this newsletter will help you be more intentional!).

2. I love my devices, but I love people more. My family knows me as the [video] game boy, but also as the [board] game boy. Far more than playing video games alone, my favorite childhood activity was getting everyone to sit and play Monopoly with me (even though I always lost).

   When I got to college, as smartphones intruded further into my and my friends’ lives, my instinct was to reckon with the interpersonal consequences and find healthy ways to use them rather than accept them wholesale.

   The lesson: Embracing technology doesn’t inherently mean forgetting we’re human. If anything, the more it encroaches, the more valuable that human judgment, passion, and communication become. People are never going to stop wanting authentic experiences.

3. I was born at the right time. As attention-grabbing as my Game Boy was, it pales in comparison to the hyperactive, engagement-optimized devices that today’s kids are raised on. For starters, it could only run one “app” at a time and wasn’t internet-connected.

   Of course, I had internet at home, and I was only 14 when I got a social media account. But in 2009 Facebook was about you and your friends, and Twitter, what you ate for lunch.

   By the time Instagram took off and algorithms took over, I didn’t have much interest. The pressure to look cool and get followers was a game I didn’t enjoy playing.

   The lesson: Not only did ‘90s kids avoid the worst of the phone-based childhood, but we also have a few extra years before we become parents ourselves. Until then, we’re better positioned than anyone else to approach our own tech use with clarity and leave a path for others.

Insert coin to continue

That last point, that my generation has the unique opportunity to pause and contemplate our relationship to technology before “continuing the game,” is the animating force behind The Optimizt.

While it’s true that the topics I cover are broadly relevant, the specific people I want to reach are those who sense that opportunity — who are ready to take action but need guidance or community.

If you’re one of those people, I’d be endlessly grateful if you filled out this 5-minute survey to help me understand you and what you’d find valuable.

🎁 Recommendations

🎮️ Kirby’s Dream Land (1992) gameplay [1m]

Get a glimpse of my childhood. This Kirby game was a little before my time, but the classics always stick around. Who could resist?

🎥 What people in 1987 thought 2024 would be like [1m]

Hilarious that they couldn’t imagine a replacement for printers. Also, that 3D TV honestly looks pretty cool.

📰 A Coder Considers the Waning Days of the Craft (11/13/23) [18m]

A fun-to-read, thought-provoking article from last November about AI’s potential to replace coders. Its conclusion echoes my argument that human judgment becomes only more valuable as technology develops.

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