Navigating Infinite Possibilities: AI, Time, and the Human Experience

Introduction

Rembrandt's 1631 painting Portrait of a Scholar (detail) depicts an early 17th-century intellectual absorbed in voluminous texts – a reminder that even centuries ago, people grappled with managing abundant information. In today's world, artificial intelligence can generate knowledge, art, and solutions at a pace that feels limitless. We face a philosophical challenge: How do we manage our time and stay engaged with "normal life" when AI offers virtually unlimited opportunities for learning, creation, and progress? This is not entirely unprecedented. History shows that whenever transformative technologies expanded human possibilities – whether the printing press flooding the world with books, the industrial revolution accelerating work and production, or the internet connecting us to endless information – humans have struggled to adapt. This essay explores how individuals choose what to pursue amid infinite options, what mindsets help us stay grounded and find meaning, and how past societies adapted psychologically and socially to rapid change. By comparing the AI era with historical transformations, we can glean insight from philosophers, psychologists, and historians on maintaining balance in an age of boundless potential.

Infinite Potential and the Challenge of Choice

The advent of advanced AI places us in a position of effectively infinite choices. With AI tools, one can in principle learn any subject, master any skill, or create endlessly – far more than one lifetime could contain. Paradoxically, having too many options can lead to anxiety and paralysis instead of empowerment. Psychologist Barry Schwartz famously termed this the "paradox of choice." As he explains, "Learning to choose is hard. Learning to choose well is harder. And learning to choose well in a world of unlimited possibilities is harder still, perhaps too hard."​

Indeed, research shows that an overabundance of choices can overwhelm individuals, making it difficult to decide on a course of action and often reducing satisfaction in the choices we do make. In the AI age, this could manifest as a perpetual struggle: Should I use my time to learn a new language, pick up an instrument with AI tutors, start a business with AI support, create art, consume knowledge – when any and all of these are feasible? With seemingly infinite potential avenues, prioritization becomes crucial.

Crucially, the feeling of "too much to do, too little time" is not new – humans have long confronted it. After Johannes Gutenberg's printing press (15th century) made books vastly more available, scholars in the 16th and 17th centuries already felt overwhelmed by information. Historian Ann Blair notes that "signs of information overload were present... in pre-modern cultures and were further accelerated by the introduction of printing". The sudden availability of books created what one scholar called an "information lust" – a drive to gather and manage as much knowledge as possible. Renaissance writers complained that no one could possibly read all the new books being printed, much as we lament never being able to read everything on the internet today.

Yet, as Blair observes, this overload was "more psychological than factual." Often the perception of infinite information sparked anxiety even if one never could have read all existing manuscripts before. In other words, once people become aware of virtually endless options, the knowledge of what we can't get to creates stress. Contemporary digital thinker Clay Shirky echoes this historical perspective: "It's not information overload. It's filter failure." Humans have had "more books than any human could read for hundreds of years" – so the key is developing better ways to filter and prioritize. The presence of infinite possibilities is a constant; what changes is how we choose and filter.

How, then, can individuals choose what to pursue amid effectively infinite potential? One approach is adopting the mindset of a "satisficer" rather than a perfectionist maximizer. Instead of obsessing over the single best use of one's time, one can settle on projects and pursuits that are "good enough" and fulfilling, without the fear of missing out on something better. Schwartz notes that "the alternative to maximizing is to be a satisficer", which means you focus on options that meet your core needs or goals and don't worry about every other possibility. This ties to another piece of advice he gives: "Focus on what makes you happy, and do what gives meaning to your life."

In practice, this means clarifying one's personal values and interests to narrow the field of infinite options. If learning languages truly brings you joy or is central to your life's goals, prioritize that and let other opportunities pass. No one can do or learn everything – and that acceptance is liberating.

Another strategy is developing strong filters and curators for information and opportunities. Just as modern internet users rely on search engines, recommendation systems, or experts to surface what matters most, individuals can lean on tools (including AI itself) to highlight valuable paths and filter out noise. Historically, when printed material exploded, people invented indices, bibliographies, and libraries to manage knowledge. Today, we must cultivate digital literacy and discipline: for example, using AI to summarize large data, or limiting one's focus to a few key domains rather than sampling everything.

By acknowledging that the range of possible pursuits is effectively infinite, we give ourselves permission to not chase every novelty. Instead, we can consciously design our inputs – much like a good librarian of the mind, we decide which "books" (projects, topics, media) to place on our personal shelf.

Philosophies for Grounding and Finding Meaning

When external possibilities grow boundless, it becomes ever more important to ground oneself in internal values and meaning. Philosophers through the ages have offered perspectives on how to remain balanced amid change and abundance. A recurring theme is that meaning must be actively cultivated by the individual; it isn't handed to us by technology or wealth of options.

This is a lesson from classical Stoicism, which emphasized focusing on what is within our control (our choices, our character) and not being distracted by externals. The Stoic thinker Seneca, writing in the first century AD, could well be advising us today about the use of time. "It is not that we have a short space of time, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough…if the whole of it is well invested," Seneca wrote. In a world of infinite AI-generated opportunities, this wisdom counsels us to invest our time wisely in what truly matters to us. Rather than flitting superficially from one AI novelty to the next (and feeling life is "too short" as a result), we should deepen our engagement with a few meaningful pursuits. Seneca also observed that people guard their money or property but squander their time – a reminder that our attention and hours are precious resources, not to be given away carelessly.

Modern psychology reinforces the idea that a sense of meaning and purpose acts as an anchor amid rapid change. Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist who survived the Holocaust, famously argued that humans can endure almost any condition if they feel their life has meaning. While AI greatly improves our conditions and abilities, it also risks inundating us with distractions or making human effort feel obsolete. To counter this, one might adopt what Frankl would call a "will to meaning" – intentionally choosing goals and projects that one finds purposeful, even if AI could theoretically do something else "more efficiently." For instance, you might choose to garden, or learn painting, or mentor someone, not because you couldn't have an AI do it, but because the act gives you fulfillment and human connection.

In effect, embracing a mindset of "meaning over productivity" can keep us grounded. Psychologist Barry Schwartz echoes this: in the face of endless options, "do what gives meaning to your life." That might mean prioritizing family, community service, creative expression – things that anchor you in human values – rather than chasing every AI-enabled enhancement.

Another helpful philosophy is practicing mindfulness and presence. Eastern philosophical traditions like Buddhism emphasize being present in the current moment and not becoming overly attached to endless desires. In a hyper-accelerated AI era, mindfulness can help individuals maintain balance. Rather than constantly projecting into the future ("What else could I do next?") or comparing oneself with the seemingly superhuman outputs of AI, one can focus on the here-and-now task or experience.

Mindfulness meditation, which has gained popularity in the digital age, is essentially a tool to counteract information overload and fractured attention – it trains the mind to rest on one thing at a time, providing a refuge from the onslaught of infinite stimuli.

Likewise, the concept of digital minimalism or intentional tech use, championed by authors like Cal Newport, can be seen as a modern practical philosophy. It entails consciously carving out tech-free time, pursuing offline activities, and setting boundaries on one's engagement with digital "infinite scrolls." By limiting and containing the influence of technology, people protect space for reflection and genuine human interaction, which are crucial for meaning and mental health.

This recalls the actions of some past thinkers: for example, during the Industrial Revolution's hectic growth, Henry David Thoreau withdrew to Walden Pond for simple living and reflection. Thoreau lamented being unable to read everything ("we are a race that reads little," he quipped when he realized even Plato's works on his shelf remained unread) – but instead of frantic catch-up, he doubled down on simplicity and depth in a few things. Today's proponents of slower living echo that sentiment, suggesting that we deliberately slow down at times in order not to lose ourselves.

Finally, a mindset of acceptance and adaptability can be psychologically grounding. Change is constant, and every generation faces new upheavals. Embracing that fact can paradoxically provide calm. The existentialist philosopher Albert Camus used the myth of Sisyphus (condemned to roll a boulder eternally) as a metaphor: we must imagine Sisyphus happy – i.e. find meaning in the striving itself, regardless of ultimate outcomes. In a world where AI's infinite progress can make human efforts feel small, one might say: even if I cannot accomplish or experience everything, the act of choosing and doing something earnestly is where I derive my sense of purpose. Each person's finite life gains meaning not by its scope (we will all only sample a tiny fraction of what's possible), but by the personal value and care we imbue into what we do choose.

Past Societies in Transition: Psychological and Social Adaptation

Looking back at history's great technological shifts, we find both striking parallels and useful lessons for today. Each transformative era brought initial upheaval and anxiety, followed by creative adaptation as people and societies found new equilibria.

The Printing Press and Knowledge Overload

When the printing press arrived in Europe around 1450, it was revolutionary – suddenly, ideas could spread faster and wider than ever. By the 16th century, presses across Europe had produced an estimated 150–200 million copies of books. For the first time, an average educated person had access to far more books than one could ever read in a lifetime.

The reaction was a mix of exhilaration and alarm. Scholars of the time wrote about the "confusing and harmful abundance" of books, worrying that people's minds could be "overloaded" or that important truths would be lost in a sea of trivia. In a kind of Renaissance version of FOMO (fear of missing out), writers like Erasmus complained about "swarms of new books" and the difficulty of finding wisdom in the glut.

Society adapted in various ways. Institutions and norms evolved to manage the explosion of information. Libraries became more important than ever, and new systems of cataloguing and indexing were developed so that one could find the right information amid the flood. Professions like editors, indexers, and librarians gained prominence. Scholars turned to compiling encyclopedias and reference books – effectively building filters for knowledge by summarizing and organizing it.

As Ann Blair's research shows, early modern readers practiced techniques to cope: keeping commonplace books (personal notebooks of important excerpts), skimming and consulting reference works rather than reading everything cover-to-cover, and even acknowledging the need to "discard and forget" information that was less important.

Culturally, there was an acceptance that one mind couldn't hold it all – intellectuals began to specialize more deeply in narrower fields, rather than the medieval ideal of the universal scholar. This specialization was a practical adaptation to an information-rich world.

Psychologically, people gradually adjusted to the idea that having more information doesn't mean you must absorb it all. Just as today we must accept that we can't watch every YouTube video or read every Wikipedia page, 17th-century individuals realized they must choose what to study. Interestingly, historians note that the anxiety of overload was often more about feeling behind than truly being behind. Once society got used to print's presence, that anxiety became a normal background hum rather than a paralyzing fear.

In fact, increased access to books eventually empowered people: the Protestant Reformation, for example, was fueled by individuals reading printed Bibles and pamphlets on their own. This empowerment came once society learned to harness the printing press for education and self-improvement, rather than seeing it as pure chaos.

The lesson for the AI era is that initial overwhelm can give way to empowerment if we develop tools, norms, and educational practices to guide the flood of possibilities.

The Industrial Revolution and the Acceleration of Life

The Industrial Revolution (late 18th through 19th century) transformed everyday life more dramatically and visibly than perhaps any prior period. People went from agrarian rhythms and handcrafted production to bustling factories, steam-powered transportation, and urban life. The pace of life accelerated sharply. Work moved from sun-up-to-sun-down farm routines to timed shifts in factories governed by the clock. New machines could produce goods far faster than any artisan, and new opportunities arose in cities – but at the cost of social upheaval and often grueling conditions.

How did humans adapt psychologically and socially to this rapid change? Early on, many struggled greatly. Social commentators of the 19th century described a sense of alienation and dehumanization in factory work. In 1848, Karl Marx observed that under industrial capitalism, the worker "has lost all individual character...He becomes an appendage of the machine, and it is only the most simple, most monotonous, and most easily acquired knack that is required of him." This vividly captures how many felt their work – once a source of skill or pride – had been reduced to repetitive, meaningless motions for the sake of efficiency. The term "alienation" was used to describe workers' psychological detachment from the products of their labor and from their own human nature, as factories demanded machine-like precision and offered little creative input.

Thomas Carlyle, a philosopher of that era, lamented that "Men are grown mechanical in head and in heart, as well as in hand. They have lost faith in individual endeavor…Their whole efforts, attachments, opinions, turn on mechanism." In other words, the mechanical worldview of the industrial age seeped into people's minds, threatening to reduce humans to cogs in a vast machine. This caused real existential angst: were humans meant for more than feeding coal into engines or tending looms?

Society's adaptation came through new social movements and values to counterbalance the upheaval. One response was the rise of movements that sought to restore meaning or humanity in work – for example, the Arts and Crafts Movement led by William Morris in the late 19th century advocated for a return to craftsmanship and aesthetically fulfilling labor as a rebuttal to soulless mass production.

Labor unions and worker protection laws emerged, not only to address physical exploitation but to set boundaries so that work would not consume life entirely. The concept of a weekend or an eight-hour workday was gradually instituted (though only fully realized in the 20th century) to ensure people had leisure time – a radical idea in early industrial times. This leisure was not simply rest; it was seen as time in which individuals could pursue education, family life, religion, or hobbies, thereby preserving their humanity and sanity.

Philosophically, some 19th-century thinkers turned to nature, art, and spirituality as anchors. The Romantic movement in literature and art was, in part, a psychological reaction to industrialization's cold rationality. Romantics like Wordsworth and Beethoven celebrated emotion, nature's beauty, and the sublime as realms where one could still find meaning and freedom. The popularity of novels (enabled by mass printing) also gave people an imaginative escape and a way to explore human values during a time of technical obsession. In religion, this era saw the spread of new religious revivals and social gospel movements – communities sought moral grounding amid the dizzying changes in lifestyle.

Importantly, humans also adapted by learning new skills and mindsets for the industrial world. Time discipline – showing up to work on time, structuring one's day by the clock – was not innate to agrarian people; it had to be learned. Within a generation or two, though, living by the clock became second nature in industrial societies. People also adjusted to urban social life, forming clubs, labor societies, and other support networks to replace the village communities they left behind. City dwellers developed a new kind of mental map and resilience to live among crowds and constant activity – what the sociologist Georg Simmel later called the "blasé attitude" (a sort of emotional reserve) as a coping mechanism for city life.

So, while early industrialization was psychologically taxing, over time new cultural norms and personal habits evolved to help people thrive in modern cities and factories. From the Industrial Revolution we learn that adaptation often requires social innovation (like unions or community groups) and a reassertion of human values (art, leisure, rights) in the face of technology's demands. We also learn that humans are remarkably resilient: what one generation finds utterly disorienting, the next may take for granted as "normal life." The children of 19th-century factory workers, for example, often had very different attitudes than their parents – they grew up literate, with access to public libraries or museums endowed by industrial philanthropists, and with expectations of some comfort and progress. Similarly, after our current period of AI upheaval, future generations might find a new balance where AI is simply part of the landscape and human life has reorganized around it.

The Internet Age and Digital Deluge

In more recent memory, the late 20th and early 21st centuries brought the internet and digital revolution, which is in many ways the direct predecessor to the AI revolution. The internet gave ordinary people access to almost the entire store of human knowledge, communication across the globe, and ceaseless streams of content and entertainment. By the 2010s, a person with a smartphone held a portal to effectively infinite information and social connections in their pocket.

The impact on psychology and society has been massive. People have had to adapt to information abundance, constant connectivity, and rapid communication in real time. One immediate challenge was again information overload. Email, news feeds, social media, and the web in general bombard us with more inputs than we can process. Average attention spans appeared to shrink in the face of "content shock", as one 2024 essay describes: "we have never had access to so much information, and yet somehow, we appear to be less well-read, fragmented, and jittery… as digital databases expand, attention spans shrink."

The human brain, tuned by evolution to a slower pace of change, often struggles with the distraction and fragmentation fostered by digital life. We see rising anxiety, the phenomenon of "FOMO" (fear of missing out) when viewing others' highlight reels on social media, and even "digital addiction" where people compulsively check devices. Psychologically, the internet age has forced us to confront how to maintain focus and depth in a sea of superficial stimuli.

Yet, people and societies have been adapting. Many users learned to curate their digital experience – unfollowing sources of negative content, using apps to limit screen time, or practicing "digital detox" by taking breaks from devices. On a broader scale, new social norms emerged: for example, norms around texting or emailing (like expecting a reply within a day, or using emoticons to convey tone) developed so that communication overload could be managed. In workplaces, the initial expectation that everyone be reachable 24/7 began to be tempered by policies protecting off-hours or encouraging "no email weekends" to preserve sanity.

Educational systems started teaching digital literacy, helping students learn how to find credible information online and not be misled by the endless flows of data – essentially updating the skill of critical reading for the internet era. Moreover, the internet spurred the creation of communities and support networks that actually help people cope. Niche interest groups, forums, and later social media groups allowed individuals facing the same rapid changes to share strategies. For instance, parents navigated raising "digital native" kids by exchanging advice online; professionals disrupted by new tech found peers to retrain with; and movements like mindfulness meditation found new life by spreading techniques through apps and videos, giving stressed people tools to regain calm.

Society also developed antibodies to misinformation and overload – fact-checking organizations, calls for "information hygiene," and even regulatory conversations about limiting the most toxic info flows (e.g. moderating harmful content on social platforms) all arose as adaptations to the new environment.

Historically minded thinkers point out that none of this is wholly new. The author Alvin Toffler coined the term "future shock" back in 1970, describing "the dizzying disorientation brought on by the premature arrival of the future." Toffler noted that as technological change accelerates, people can experience culture shock within their own society – a sense of not recognizing the world they live in. He predicted that learning to adapt to continual change would become a primary challenge for mental health.

In many ways, the internet era proved him right: we have had to become more agile learners, constantly updating our skills (think of how often you must learn a new app or update your computer habits), and also more tolerant of ambiguity (the online world is full of conflicting information, requiring discernment). People who thrive in the digital age often exhibit resilience and adaptability – they treat learning as lifelong, and they find ways to carve meaningful narratives out of the chaos (for example, using the internet to pursue a passion or connect with a tribe of like-minded others, rather than letting it just scatter their energy).

All these adaptations set the stage for the AI era. In many respects, AI is an extension of the digital revolution – now the machine not only delivers information but can generate content and make decisions. The psychological and social tools we developed for the internet (filtering information, balancing online/offline life, critical thinking) will be even more vital with AI. For example, critical thinking becomes crucial when AI can produce deepfakes or convincing but false information; self-discipline in time management becomes even harder when AI can produce infinite entertainment or work tasks on demand.

Fortunately, we are not starting from scratch: we have recognized the importance of mental health in digital life and begun normalizing practices like therapy, mindfulness, and digital well-being in our culture. As AI ramps up, these supports can help individuals stay grounded.

Synthesis: Continuity and Resilience in the AI Age

Each historical case – printing press, industrialization, internet – shows a pattern: an initial period of overwhelm and dislocation, followed by human adaptation through new tools, norms, and mindsets. With AI's rise, we are in that early tumultuous phase. Many feel the pace of change is too fast, echoing the anxious refrain from past eras that society is "fast sinking" or that the human element is being lost. Yet history suggests that humans will find equilibrium. We are a self-reflective, creative species; when confronted with virtually infinite opportunities or challenges, we invent new ways of living.

One key continuity is that human meaning and purpose remain central. No matter how powerful our tools – from the printing press to AI – people seek significance in their lives. Philosophers remind us that happiness and meaning depend more on our inner life than on external circumstances. Thomas Carlyle observed in 1829 that his era's thinkers were obsessing over external "mechanism" to improve society, whereas the ancients focused on inner virtue. His critique is pertinent today: we might be tempted to think AI's wonders automatically confer a good life, but ultimately it falls to us to cultivate purpose, virtue, and balance. Technologies can amplify or alleviate certain pains (like drudgery or ignorance), but they don't answer the fundamental human questions of "What shall I do with my time? What is my life for?" Those are philosophical questions each person and culture must answer.

Another continuity is the need for balance between embracing progress and preserving human well-being. Past societies that fared best found a middle path: they did not wholly reject new technology (though some groups like the Luddites tried to in the industrial age), but neither did they blindly surrender to it. Instead, they integrated it thoughtfully. For example, 19th-century reformers didn't advocate destroying machines; they fought for fair conditions so machines would serve humanity, not enslave it. In the same way, a balanced approach to AI is to welcome its benefits – the ability to cure diseases, solve complex problems, enrich education – while actively mitigating its risks (job displacement, information overload, erosion of privacy or creativity).

Social adaptation in the AI era might include policies like universal basic income or retraining programs if AI automates many jobs, ethical guidelines for AI use, and cultural shifts such as according more value to human-only activities (like interpersonal care, handcrafted arts, nature experiences) that AI cannot replace.

Historically, we also see that time management becomes a conscious discipline in times of change. The printing press era gave birth to habits of study and note-taking; the industrial age taught people to schedule work and leisure; the internet age forced many to learn personal time management to avoid being online 24/7. In the AI age, time management may involve deliberately setting limits on AI use – for instance, deciding that one will spend an hour a day engaged in completely analog activity (like walking or manual hobby) to counterbalance the high-tech efficiency the rest of the day. There is a growing movement around "slow tech" or humane tech usage, suggesting that we manage our relationship with AI such that it augments rather than dominates our lives.

Perhaps the most heartening lesson from the past is that humans often emerge more capable after adapting. The printing press ultimately raised the level of collective knowledge and literacy. The industrial revolution, for all its hardships, eventually led to higher standards of living and the concept of widespread education and leisure – as Bertrand Russell noted in 1930, "to be able to fill leisure intelligently is the last product of civilization". Initially, many didn't know how to use free time meaningfully and were troubled by always thinking "something else would be better to do", but over time, societies learned to value hobbies, arts, and personal development.

The internet, despite early chaos, has made many of us adept at multitasking, quick learning, and global collaboration. Similarly, adapting to AI might make the next generations incredibly skilled at creativity (since AI can handle routine tasks), problem-solving, and emotional intelligence – the uniquely human faculties that we'll lean into once AI handles more rote work. Already, educators talk about focusing on "human skills" for future students: empathy, critical thinking, teamwork, and ethical reasoning, on the premise that AI will handle technical skills. This indicates a social adaptation in progress: recognizing what is irreplaceably human and cultivating it.

Conclusion

Standing at the dawn of the AI era, we find ourselves in a world of dizzying possibilities. The challenge of managing our time and staying engaged with the everyday in the face of limitless learning and creation is profound, but not without precedent. History teaches us that while technology changes the landscape of life, the human quest for meaning, balance, and connection remains constant.

Individuals can navigate infinite options by prioritizing what matters to them, using wisdom from psychology and philosophy to avoid paralysis and overreach. Whether by channeling Stoic discipline, embracing "good enough" choices, or cultivating mindfulness, we have inner tools to remain grounded. Past societies weathered the shock of the new by developing new norms and institutions – from libraries and labor laws to digital literacy and mindfulness apps – and these adaptations give us a roadmap for the AI age.

Ultimately, the human spirit is remarkably resilient. We are capable of finding purpose amid chaos, community amid upheaval, and balance amid abundance. The printing press did not render life meaningless from too many books; it enriched it, once we learned to manage knowledge. The industrial revolution did not break the human soul; it challenged us to reassert the value of humane working conditions and the need for rest and creativity. The internet, while overwhelming at times, also connected us in new empowering ways after we learned to sift information and cultivate digital well-being.

In the same way, AI's virtually unlimited opportunities can be seen not as a burden to drown in, but as a vast sea on which to navigate. We must become, in a sense, skilled captains of our own ships: setting a course based on our values, trimming the sails of our attention to catch the winds of opportunity without being blown off course, and dropping anchor when needed to savor the ports of meaningful experience.

By comparing our current moment with the past, we gain confidence that rapid change is something humans can handle. We are not the first to ask, "How do I choose what to do, when so much is possible?" or "How do I stay sane amid all this change?" – and we won't be the last. The answers lie in a blend of ancient wisdom and new innovation. As long as we continue to ask these questions and seek balance, we carry forward the legacy of thoughtful adaptation. In doing so, we ensure that technology serves a fully human life – one where progress is paired with purpose, and where even in an age of algorithms, we remain authors of our own meaningful stories.

Sources

• Ann M. Blair, Too Much to Know: Managing Scholarly Information Before the Modern Age. (Insights on Renaissance information overload and management)
• Clay Shirky – Web 2.0 Expo NY talk, 2010. (Quote on filter failure vs. information overload)
• Thomas Carlyle, "Signs of the Times" (1829). (Observation on the mechanical age's effect on mindset)
• Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Communist Manifesto (1848). (On the alienation of the worker as "appendage of the machine")
• Barry Schwartz, The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less. (Psychological impacts of too many choices; advice to satisfice and focus on meaning)
• Seneca, "On the Shortness of Life." (Stoic perspective on time management and wasting time)
• Alvin Toffler, Future Shock (1970). (Definition of future shock as disorienting effect of accelerating change)
• Bertrand Russell, The Conquest of Happiness (1930). (On the difficulty of wisely using leisure time)
• Iskander Rehman, "An early modern guide to information overload," Engelsberg Ideas (2024). (Discussion of 17th-century coping with info abundance and comparison to today)
• Nicholas Carr, The Shallows (2010) and other digital age analyses (on internet effects on attention)
• Various sources on digital culture and well-being