We are all becoming data addicts, but that doesn’t mean we’re any better at ending our bad habits.
Note: By reading this column, you consent to allow Josh Freed to track your data and laughter and sell them to anyone he chooses.
Welcome to the new tracking world where we’re always being stalked by advertisers, tech companies, health apps and friends — but mostly by ourselves.
Everywhere you look, people gaze at their phones or smart watches, focusing on their steps walked and calories burned, instead of the world around them.
Others electronically track their glucose levels, kale consumption, magnesium, mood, sleep performance and how many times they’ve blinked that day.
Back then these people were considered “data freaks,” but 10 years later we are all becoming data addicts measuring our lives in bits and bytes.
When Socrates said “know thyself,” he was obviously predicting the Fitbit.
Many of my friends now wear Apple watches or similar gadgets to measure their jogging, biking or tennis performances. Then they share them with utter strangers who share their performance data, too.
Like a tree falling unseen in a forest, does an unmeasured walk actually happen?
There’s no limit to what we can now track. There are meditation trainers to measure our brainwaves, posture-correctors that zap us when we momentarily slouch.
Mood trackers tell us if we’re feeling happy, sad or “meh,” in case we can’t tell ourselves.
At night, we can measure our REM sleep vs. deep sleep; how often we breathe, snore, grind our teeth, visit the john or get woken up by our partner’s tossing.
Ask someone “How are you?” nowadays and you may get way more information than you wanted.
“I’m great, thanks! Yesterday, I weighed 81.2 kilos, walked 11,673 steps, got 2.2 hours of REM sleep and blinked every 4.3 seconds. And you?”
If anything, it’s becoming hard NOT to know your data, even when you don’t ask for it. My phone is always providing personal alerts that read like this: “Josh — You walked 3721 steps today, less than average. You can do BETTER.”
My Kindle ebook displays messages like: “Congratulations! You’ve read 19 days in a row — a new record! (But you can definitely improve your reading choices. Some sponsored recommendations follow.)”
When we’re not tracking ourselves, others are, so they can bombard us with ads. Look up a hotel in Dijon, France and you’ll instantly receive seven airline “deals” for overseas flights, along with five ads for Dijon mustard.
How many times a day must I click NO to the message “Do you allow Google to use your location?”
Besides, Google already knows my location better than I do.
To boot, while we are being electronically stalked, we’re also stalking others. Location tracking has evolved from “Where’s Waldo?” to “Where’s my spouse?”
“I thought you said you were taking a haircut, honey, but my location tracker shows you’re at the pool hall again. Is there a barber there?”
Meanwhile, many under-35s eagerly share their location 24/7 with dozens of friends who share theirs, so they can all make insta-plans by texting.
“Hi guys! I see Jamie’s at the Apple store on Ste-Catherine. I’m downtown, just 467 steps away and I can see Ellie’s having a nearby manicure (353 steps) and Jade’s at a Peel Street
Botox clinic (631 steps).
“Meet up for drinks when we’re done?”
I admit I track some things too, especially the location of my wallet and keys, which often get “separated” from me. As well, my car automatically tracks its location whenever I park, useful for a guy who’s misplaced it often over many decades.
I wish I could track my clothing and get urgent messages like: “ALERT! Single white Nike sock last seen outside the Parc Ave. YMCA.”
(And if you’re near the Y and happen to see it, please notify me.)
Why are we all becoming track-aholics? Behind the self-tracking craze is the belief we can constantly improve our habits and behaviour by measuring them.
It’s like making new New Year’s resolutions every few hours and hoping we can keep them for another day.
But forever is a long time.
Can creating a better ourselves someday be possible by tracking our entire life? Or does changing ourselves depend on countless tiny unknowns like heredity, culture and self-discipline that we can never fully fathom?
I don’t know the answer. But I do know this column took 43,512 heartbeats, 13,431 breaths, zero steps and too many hours of sitting and not eating.
So I’m going to stand up now and take a walk — to the kitchen.