We Were Promised Progress. Why Are So Many People Miserable?

 

I sometimes find myself wondering whether we misunderstood what progress was supposed to mean.

I grew up in a world where technological advancement was presented as something that would inevitably make our lives better. Faster computers, better phones, easier transportation, instant communication and access to almost unlimited information were supposed to free us from many of the difficulties that previous generations experienced. And in many ways, they have. I can speak to someone thousands of kilometres away almost instantly. I can find almost any piece of information I need within seconds. I can order food, book a ride, work remotely and manage much of my life from a device that fits into my hand.

By almost every measurable standard, I am living in an incredibly advanced period of human history.

And yet, I look around and I see something that doesn't quite add up.

People seem exhausted. People are anxious about money, careers, relationships and the future. Many people feel lonely despite being constantly connected. We have more entertainment than we could possibly consume, yet we complain about boredom. We have more convenience than previous generations could have imagined, yet we constantly complain that we don't have enough time.

So I keep coming back to the same question: if progress is supposed to make life better, why do so many people seem so unhappy?

I don't ask this question because I think technology is bad. Far from it. I benefit from technology every single day. I have access to information that would have been almost impossible to find a few decades ago. Technology has transformed healthcare, education, communication, business and almost every other aspect of human existence.

The problem, in my view, is not technological progress itself. It is the assumption that technological progress automatically produces human happiness.

It doesn't.

The washing machine made household chores easier. The smartphone put a camera, map, calendar, bank and library in my pocket. Email made communication almost instantaneous. Remote work has allowed people to earn a living without necessarily being physically present in an office.

But what did we do with all that extra convenience? We filled it.

The faster technology made things, the more things we expected to accomplish. The easier communication became, the more messages we sent. The more efficient our workplaces became, the more work we seemed capable of taking on. The smartphone was supposed to make my life more convenient, but it also made me permanently reachable.

There was a time when leaving the office meant leaving work behind. Now work can follow me into my bedroom.

Then there is social media.

I think this may be one of the strangest consequences of technological progress. I can now see how thousands of other people are living. I can see their holidays, businesses, relationships, houses, cars, bodies and achievements. And I can compare all of that with my own life. The problem is that I am rarely comparing my ordinary Tuesday with somebody else's ordinary Tuesday. I am comparing my entire life with their best moments.

Someone buys a new car, and I wonder why I am not doing better. Someone travels to an exotic destination, and suddenly my own holiday feels inadequate. Someone announces a promotion, and I start questioning my career. Someone appears to have a perfect relationship, and I begin wondering what is wrong with mine.

Technology has given me access to more information than any generation before me, but it has also given me an almost unlimited supply of reasons to feel behind. I also think we have forgotten how to be bored. Whenever I have a few quiet minutes, my instinct is often to reach for my phone. If I am waiting somewhere, I scroll. If I am travelling, I watch something. If I am eating alone, I find something to consume.

Silence has become uncomfortable.

And perhaps that is part of our problem. We have become so accustomed to constant stimulation that simply sitting with our own thoughts can feel strange. I sometimes wonder what would happen if we stopped trying to optimise every part of our lives.

We have productivity apps for managing our time, fitness trackers for monitoring our bodies, financial apps for tracking our money and social platforms for managing our public identities. We measure steps, sleep, calories, followers, engagement and productivity.

At what point do we stop living and start managing ourselves?

I don't think the answer is to reject technology or return to some imaginary simpler past. I would not want to give up the conveniences that technology has brought me. The answer, perhaps, is learning to put technology back in its proper place.

A smartphone should be a tool, not a companion. Work should provide a livelihood and, ideally, some sense of purpose. It should not consume an entire existence. Social media should allow us to connect, not convince us that our lives are inadequate. And progress should not simply mean that we can do more things in less time. Perhaps progress should also mean having the wisdom to decide which things are actually worth doing.

That is where I think we have gone slightly wrong. We became very good at making life easier without becoming equally good at making life meaningful.

A faster car can get me somewhere more quickly, but it cannot tell me where I should go. A powerful computer can give me information, but it cannot tell me what knowledge is worth pursuing. A smartphone can connect me with thousands of people, but it cannot guarantee that I will have a single meaningful friendship.

Technology can give me tools. It cannot give me purpose.

Perhaps that is the next challenge of progress. Not inventing another device that makes us faster, richer or more connected, but figuring out how to use everything we have already created without allowing it to consume us.

Because I don't think we have a technology problem. I think we have a meaning problem. We were promised that progress would make life easier. It has.

But I am increasingly convinced that easier is not the same as happier.

And perhaps the greatest challenge of the modern age is learning how to live well in a world that has become incredibly good at making everything possible.