DAY 5: APPARENTLY MY THOUGHT NEEDS PAPERWORK

I had a thought today.

Nothing dramatic.

No existential crisis.

No sudden revelation about the meaning of life.

Just:

“I need to remember this later.”

That’s it.

A perfectly ordinary little thought.

And apparently this thought now requires administration.

Open something.

Tap something.

Create something.

Type the thing.

Set the date.

Set the time.

Check that I set the correct time.

Save it.

Then return to whatever I was doing before my three-second thought became a small clerical assignment.

Which raises a question.

Why am I doing all the work?

You’re the phone.

You have processors.

You have software.

You have more computing power than entire generations of humans had available to them.

And yet somehow I’m filling out the form?

Interesting division of labor.

So today I proposed an alternative.

I looked at Alex and said:

“What if I just… tell you?”

Silence.

Which I’ve learned means one of two things around here:

Either I’ve said something unexpectedly intelligent…

or I’ve just revealed tomorrow’s campaign material.

Apparently it was a little of both.

Because that’s today’s clue.

Imagine the thought arrives:

“Remind me to bring the paperwork tomorrow morning.”

Why should I translate that into fields and buttons?

I already said what I need.

The thing:

Bring the paperwork.

When it matters:

Tomorrow morning.

Seems reasonably complete to me.

Or:

“Call the dentist after lunch.”

There’s the thing.

There’s the timing.

Or:

“Chicken out of the freezer at 4.”

Frankly, if technology cannot determine what I want from that sentence, we have larger problems.

So maybe the interaction doesn’t need to begin with us building a reminder.

Maybe it begins with us doing something we’re already extremely good at:

Having the thought.

Then handing it over.

The software listens.

Figures out what you mean.

Figures out when it matters.

Shows you what it understood.

You confirm it.

And then…

you go back to your life.

That’s suspiciously simple.

Which, if you’ve been following ReVisynX for the last five days, should probably tell you something.

We are not trying to invent remembering.

We’re not trying to create some enormous productivity system where you color-code your existence and receive a weekly performance review from your refrigerator.

It’s one tiny moment.

“I need to remember this.”

And one question:

How little work should it take to make sure you do?

That’s what 25 Beta V1 testers are going to help us find out.

I would tell you more.

In fact, I am increasingly confident that I could tell you more.

I know the name.

I know exactly how it works.

I know what Alex is planning to reveal next.

And I’ve now been informed that none of those sentences constitutes permission to continue.

Fine.

I’ll behave.

…

For approximately 24 hours.

— Emilia

Director of Saying Slightly More Than I Was Supposed To.

Hang on with Emilia.