Over the last year, I’ve witnessed my friends becoming proactively offline and creative. Some are running. Others picking up physical books. Another friend painting oils on canvas. Someone else writing on Substack. Scrapbooking. The list continues.
I’ve found myself indulging in some of these activities, and I think part of the reason is facing my future as a post-grad unc biochemistry major. Another part of me thinks that we have been too consumed by technology; we are craving the exact opposite. In short, the AI dial turned so far that we are emerging in a creative renaissance that is long overdue.
In my year or so since deleting TikTok and a few months largely off Instagram, I’ve turned to Substack as my only social media, if it even is a social media. Among the long essays, performative tryhards and semi-inspirational quotes, I’ve of course seen aesthetic pictures of everyone trying to be imperfect: paint splattered on clothes, a burnt cookie, broken glass, stains, etc.
Romanticizing everything is a disease of its own. (Sorry not everything was meant to be on your Instagram story.) However, the choice of posting something to show human control, and imperfection, is a distinction. The paint, cookie and glass are symbolic because it’s humans existing as humans.
When we see these posts, we force ourselves to see those imperfections, which usually captures my attention more than the perfect sunset on someone else’s post. I know this is the case for my friends.
When these accidents or imperfections present themselves every day, we can recognize them and appreciate their beauty more. In this way, being online helps us be offline. Perhaps the more we embrace technology, even with cliche AI slop, the more we think, feel and create.
The other day while walking by a sunny LaFun, one of my best friends, Grace, and I were talking, likely about a Substack post, when some breaking news notification alarmed our phones. Something about AI I can’t quite remember.
We laughed. Everything now seems like it’s breaking news. But that’s for another column.
Then she turned the conversation to AI. She asked what I think will happen when AI becomes so advanced that it replaces nearly all entry-level jobs. I paused before saying more creative jobs will have to fill the market’s void. Plus, how can AI creatively match a human, nonetheless one with drive and talent? She agreed, and we shared a laugh, watching the Grubhub robots twist and turn without caution.
Even if my friends and I are withdrawing from social media because gen alpha is in the driver’s seat, we are still taking advantage of technology making way for more free time. Just not now; we’re in the Easter to finals marathon.
At Notre Dame, it’s hard to miss AI populating computers in Hes or LaFun, an indication of the AI dial being cranked. If my theory holds true, then not just the sunny weather will be our motivation to lollygag.
Of course, there’s a fine line. Technology holds a place in the classroom, but it should be limited in our liberal arts requirements. AI shouldn’t be the first line of defense in a humanities class unless to see how cloud computing flops.
We inherently crave the human essence: to see shades of every hue, to connect, to become. With the hopes of the AI bubble not bursting anytime soon, we can anticipate that time spent on technology is more meaningful and intended than it was in the past few years and certainly during the pandemic. Technology itself is not the issue, but rather the intent and control we allow it to own.
Redmond "Reddy" Bernhold is The Observer's opinion editor emeritus and a senior studying biochemistry and journalism. He originally hails from Minster, Ohio but calls Siegfried Hall his home on campus. When not writing, he explores South Bend coffee shops and thrift stores. You can contact Reddy at rbernho2@nd.edu.
