What your day will be like in 2039 (Mostly Optimistic Version)
A vision of the future, good and bad
This post is one of two — both painting a vision of a day in your life, 20 years from now, in 2039. One post (this one) is mostly optimistic and the second is mostly pessimistic; you can read it here. Both are of course completely subjective — some of the ideas contained may delight or horrify you in equal measures, or not at all. I’d love you to let me know what you think after you’ve read both.
Mostly Optimistic
6 am
Your virtual assistant, Saoirse (Irish for freedom), integrated with your house, wakes you up a few minutes after she (it?) has made coffee and some 30 minutes after she turned on the heat, by sending gentle vibrations through your smart-pillow. You rub your eyes, then reach out your hand to your bedside dresser, finding your iGlasses in the darkness, quietly, so not to wake your sleeping partner.
You slip the light glasses onto your face and the virtual displays spring up all around you, only visible to you — news, social feeds, emails, messages, all arranged around your head like screens around a stock-trader of old. Your fingers dance in front of you, opening emails, dismissing them, browsing the news, checking how your posts from yesterday are doing, then finally waving it all aside as you get up and head downstairs for that coffee.
8 am
The kids pile into the first pod that pulls up smoothly outside the house, already arguing over who gets to pick the movie to watch on the journey to school. You make sure the onboard nav is set to where it’s supposed to go and you wave them off, just as your pod pulls up. You smile appreciatively as you see it’s a free upgrade, with a plush interior with full recliner seats. You pay the standard rental each month for use of pods anywhere in the country, calling them when you need them and watching them drive off when you don’t. It’s extra for the movies and games but well worth it to keep everyone entertained.
Your dad still calls them cars but you always laugh and point out that cars had steering wheels and controls, the pods are more like a cinema on wheels. Or empty cylinders with seats, depending on how much you pay.
8:30 am
You’re fast asleep, as the pod hurtles down the motorway at 200 kph, one of thousands travelling in convoy, platooning, full of commuters either asleep like you, watching movies, catching up on work, or whatever else they fancy doing. You live far from the city, in a nice house with a small bit of land where you grow actual vegetables— the long distance to work doesn’t matter as the commute is so comfortable and fast. The move outwards has been called the de-gentrification of the cities, as people take advantage of lower house prices and more space further away from where they work.
9:00 am
You’re in work, and have switched from your lightweight iGlasses to a sturdier pair of Microsoft Enterprise Vision glasses, standing in a virtual meeting room with colleagues from across the world. Some are in offices like you, some are in pods in transit, some are at home. You like to work in the office most days, as you like to keep your home and work lives separate, but you’re in the minority; most work remotely.
As you and your colleagues walk around the virtual machine you are designing, Saoirse, also integrated with your headset, quietly informs you that the heli-pod is confirmed for 12pm to take you to your meeting across the city. Pods are much more efficient than human drivers ever were but with so many of them on the streets, it’s quicker to get around the inner city walking or, if you can afford it, flying. You usually would walk, but hell, it’s going on the company account!
Turning your attention back to the 3D models floating in front of you, you virtually high-five a colleague in Belgium. The new robot your company is designing will be able to move autonomously through dense vegetation, strong enough to break off fruit and vegetable but light enough not to break any branches or leaves. Orders from all the main vertical farms have already been taken — once George (named after the lead designer’s youngest child’s favourite cartoon monkey) has passed testing, it will start replacing human workers immediately.
11:15 am
You take a break to perform your monthly health check, stepping into the booth in the company lobby and listening to some music as it performs a multitude of scans and tests. You barely notice the pinprick on your finger for the bloodtests as Saoirse reminds you of this afternoon’s meetings. You’re supposed to be playing golf in Augusta, virtually, straight after work with the VP of Marketing, who’s based in Japan but she’s had to cancel. Something about having to have virtual dinner with the VP of Social Media, based in France. You’re glad — the haptic golf suit makes it feel almost like you’re there in Georgia at Amen Corner but you prefer the real thing. Even the scents releases by the simulation aren’t the same as real azaleas and freshly cut grass.
The booth pings and informs you that you’re still in great health, sending a detailed report to your email, along with your company’s HR department and healthcare providers.
Any privacy implications never even cross your mind, your every move being monitored and analysed, subtly and discretely all day, everyday. No need to worry about mass surveillance — by the government, the employers, the virtual sites you visit, the retail outlets you shop in, the pods you travel in — if you’re doing nothing wrong. If you stopped to consider it, you’d probably come to the conclusion it’s worth it for the great life you live, and the security it provides. After-all, you live in Ireland, not China! Still the world’s largest authoritarian state, though Russia may argue about that.
1:30 pm
You walk back to your office, after a successful meeting, stopping at a food truck to get a cheeseburger and fries. Your iGlasses tell you what proteins and other artificially generated ingredients the meat is made of, but you don’t read it, it tastes amazing. You’ve tried real meat in that posh restaurant you took your partner to last Christmas, and you honestly couldn’t tell the difference. It’s the same with the salad in your burger — it comes from one of the indoor vertical farms where George the Automated Farmhand will soon work, picked and delivered minutes before you ordered it. Does it matter that the first time it’s seen sunlight is pretty much right now as you’re eating it?
You wipe your mouth and deposit your napkin and wrappers into one of the bins that move quietly and discretely along the sidewalks, scanning their surroundings to predict if someone is likely to need their services. “Thank you” it murmurs, then glides onto the next person its image recognition software suspects of needing somewhere to put some rubbish.
As you walk along in the sunshine (and it’s nearly always sunny now — except when there’s violent storms) you read the sports news via your glasses, watching last night’s NFL highlights, shaking your head as the Pats win another AFC East title. All around you people move their fingers in front of them, sketching out intricate patterns in the air as they navigate virtual menus and screens that only they can see.
Your glasses buzz and clear all displays for a moment as it sees someone about to walk into you — their glasses have done likewise and you both smile at each other briefly before continuing on; just standard etiquette for the 2030’s.
You see a few people interacting with the air in front of them, but without any glasses — they must be using the latest in-retina devices, implanted directly into their eyes. The kids have been talking about them non-stop since some kids in their school got them, but you and your partner aren’t so sure. Your job is all about technology but you both are trying to limit how much technology your children are exposed to. Running outside in the fields with their friends has to be better than watching 360 movies from implants in their eyes?
3:30 pm
You call the kids, materialising in your living room at home as a hologram they can all see via their glasses. They’re doing their homework, with each of their virtual helpers — small fairy like holograms hovering beside them — paused as they chat happily to you for a few minutes. The youngest asks whether you’ll bring them back anything, maybe that sweet shop near your office. You laugh, maybe if Saoirse tells you they’ve behaved. Not only your assistant she (it?) doubles up as the afternoon childcare provider.
5:30 pm
You leave the office and walk past a homeless man as you wait for an empty pod to take you home. Verbal begging isn’t permitted in the city limits, but through your glasses you see his Need Icon pulsing discretely above his head. You touch it virtually and it expands, offering a range of items that he would like people to purchase for him — a sleeping bag, sun-screen, water, food and more. You smile at him and order him everything on his list, waving off his surprise and murmuring that it’s the least you can do. Across the city several drones leave the Amazon warehouse to fly the items to the man, he should have them in a few minutes.
He tries to thank you, but you are already in a pod and closing your eyes as it starts the journey home.
