The technology that connects us today is mind-blowing, but the desire to reach one another across distance is nothing new. Before instant messages and video calls, there were letters carried through the post, followed by telegrams that could deliver a message far more quickly. Then came the telephone. For people in the nineteenth century, hearing the voice of someone miles away must have felt extraordinary. It brought something to long-distance communication that a written message could not: the sound of another person, speaking in real time. In that moment, distance began to feel a little less absolute.
I was nowhere near existence when the telephone was invented, but I do remember when using one meant putting your finger in a rotary dial and waiting for it to turn back after every number. Push-button phones came along and made dialing quicker, while the systems connecting one call to another kept advancing behind the scenes.
If you tried to reach someone whose line was already in use, you got the infamous busy signal. Maybe the line would clear in ten minutes. Maybe there was a large household on the other end, or one very talkative person with no plans to hang up. You could keep trying, but each busy signal sent you right back to where you started. I remember how frustrating that could be!
Then, lo and behold, came call waiting. A small signal could let someone know another person was trying to reach them while they were already on the phone. Today that sounds ordinary, but to me it felt groundbreaking. I was in my early teens, when a good part of your social life happened on the telephone after you had seen your friends in person. And if you were hoping to talk to a crush? Getting through could feel like the most important event of the evening. Call waiting changed the expectation that someone might be reachable even while they were talking to someone else. Looking back, perhaps that was an early hint of the connected life we know now.
Email gave us another way to reach one another. The written message had come a long way from letters carried through the post and telegrams delivered across distance. Now you could type a thought, press “send,” and have it arrive in someone’s inbox within moments. There was no busy signal and no need to catch someone at home. They could read your message and respond when they were ready.
That convenience changed more than the speed of communication. A conversation could continue across different schedules and time zones. A photograph, an invitation, or a document could travel with the message. Of course, the inbox eventually brought its own frustrations: too many messages, too many expectations, and the feeling that because you could be reached, you should always be available. Still, email was another tremendous leap. Voice and written messages were eventually joined by video, and what once felt extraordinary became an ordinary part of daily life.
Now connectivity reaches far beyond the person on the other end of a call. It follows us through our phones, our homes, our appliances and even our automobiles. I bought a new vehicle this July, and I am still discovering what its technology can do. One feature I had fun customizing was its AI assistant. When I announce that a particular person is in the car, it welcomes that person by name and asks whether it can make the ride more enjoyable—perhaps by playing music, adjusting the climate or suggesting a destination. Passengers are usually amazed by it, especially my grandkids. I have to admit, I enjoy their reaction almost as much as the feature itself.
My adventure with connected living at home started with a voice assistant. From there, I added music I could play by voice command, lighting and temperature controls, security cameras and scheduled greetings. Each addition made the house feel a little more responsive. These are small conveniences on their own, but together they change how you move through a day.
The automobile is changing in ways I could hardly have imagined when I was younger. In a fully electric car, a battery and motor take the place of the familiar gasoline engine. Charging and range become part of planning a trip, with software helping drivers keep track. That shift is remarkable on its own. Autonomous driving is a separate development, but the possibility of both becoming part of everyday life makes me look at the road a little differently.
A recent story appeared in my news feed about a group of Tesla vehicles reportedly parked in a lot roughly 12 to 15 minutes from my home, with the possibility of autonomous taxi service in the area. I have not seen them operating, but you can bet I’ll be listening for news. I’ll probably be looking out for one on the road, too. The idea that a car might drive past me without a person at the wheel still has the power to stop me in my tracks.
For all my excitement, connected living has another side. A device glitches. An update changes how something works. A feature you relied on suddenly needs troubleshooting that takes hours, days or even weeks. Sometimes you discover that a product is no longer supported on a platform, and the function you worked to set up cannot be restored. The time alone can feel like a sacrifice, and the frustration can be intense.
That leaves me with a question I keep coming back to: When technology promises to give us more time, what happens when keeping it working begins to take that time back? I still find these advances incredible. The child who once listened to a busy signal could hardly have imagined greeting a passenger through a car’s AI assistant. But as our surroundings become more connected, I want to pay attention to what each connection adds to my life—and what it asks of me in return.