My Date with the Future

The Messy Truth About Perfect Technology

The other day, I found myself stepping into the future—quite literally. I got into a Waymo driverless car in San Francisco. And as soon as that door shut, I had one of those holy shit moments: “There’s no one in the driver’s seat. Can I really be comfortable with this?”

It’s one thing to hear about autonomous vehicles and how they’ll revolutionize transportation, but it’s another to sit in one and trust a computer to navigate San Francisco traffic, where stop signs are treated more like suggestions and the roads are a constant battle of wills. I wasn’t sure if I should feel awestruck or mildly terrified.

At first, my brain went into overdrive (pun intended). Could I really relax while a robot dodged double-parked cars, pedestrians darting across the street, and cyclists who apparently have a death wish? But, as time went on and I realized I wasn’t about to meet my maker in a fiery crash, a strange calm washed over me. I realized the irony that it felt more normal to be apprehensive about a highly sophisticated computer than a random stranger who for all I know has a horrible driving record and a drinking problem.

As we drove the streets with impeccable caution and absence of road rage it felt eerily similar to my experience with ChatGPT. It’s always available, never tired, never cranky, never snapping at me. It’s endlessly patient and encouraging and says the nicest things to me. In fact, ChatGPT is basically the perfect conversationalist. But then, as I sat in that car, a new feeling arose ~ one that I also encounter with AI’s perfect measured responses - annoyance.

I found myself wanting Waymo to drive with a bit more... well, attitude or balls. That idiot who just cut us off—You’re a San Francisco car, act like it! Come on there was enough time to blow through that yellow! There was a part of me that missed the human edge—the unpredictability of an actual person behind the wheel, dealing with the madness of traffic in a way only a slightly edgy intercity taxi driver can.

Isn’t part of being human the messiness? The unpredictability? The frustrating, beautiful chaos of it all? As much as we want life to be smooth, don’t we learn the most from the bumps in the road—or, in this case, the driver who cuts us off and makes us question all of humanity for a brief moment?

This realization took me back to The Giver—the story about a perfect society with no pain, no suffering, no cold, no hunger. But in that perfectly controlled world, what was truly longed for? The fear, the pain, and the icy rush of sledding down a hill. The main character yearned for the very things that made life feel real. In their quest for comfort, they had lost something essential—the rawness of truly living.

Of course, the introvert in me sighed with relief: no small talk with the driver. No awkward exchanges about the weather or how long they’ve been driving. Pure, blissful silence. But then I recalled how many random, surprisingly meaningful conversations I have had with human drivers over the years? Chats that began with weather and ended with stories I never would’ve expected, bits of human connection that no algorithm can predict or replicate. It made me wish there was an “extrovert toggle button” I could push even momentarily.

And that’s when it hit me: while this driverless car and my perfect AI companion make life easier, they also make it... flatter. Sure, there’s comfort in never having to deal with a grumpy driver or a snarky response to my inane questions, but maybe that’s what makes human interaction so rich—the unexpectedness of it all.

Don’t get me wrong, I love technology. I’m all for progress. There’s something undeniably cool about sitting back and letting a car navigate while I just relax (and yes, I sent that video to all my family and friends - Look at me Ma! No Driver!) But I wonder what we’re trading for all this convenience. If we automate away all the messiness, all the little frustrations and surprises, what’s left?

So yes, my date with the future was impressive, smooth, and surprisingly safe (aka slow and boring). But when I stepped out of that car, I felt a longing for the very things it took away—the noise, the randomness, the imperfections. The future is bright, but I hope it gets programmed with a random surprise variable to be truly enjoyable.