Jessica Cole

Category: Society

  • The Case for Scope 3 Emissions

    The Case for Scope 3 Emissions

    The digital economy treats human attention as a raw material to be mined without limit. However, this extraction produces a specific, harmful byproduct: it breaks our focus, fractures shared reality, and wears down the patience required for moral reasoning. Unlike physical pollution, which damages the air or water, this cognitive waste damages our ability to think. While corporations are increasingly held accountable for their physical footprint through ESG criteria, we ignore the mental damage caused by the product itself. What we are witnessing is the intentional fragmentation and manipulation of citizenry to the point of inability to functionally contribute to democracy. In this paper, I argue that this damage is a hidden cost that must be pro-actively regulated within specifically designed metrics and cognitive impact protocols, specifically expanding Scope 3 regulations to include “Cognitive Emissions.”

    To understand why this regulation is necessary, we must look at what is being lost. While the market views attention as a commodity to be sold, ethical philosophy defines it as the foundation of morality. French philosopher Simone Weil argued that “attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity” (Weil 1951, 105); it is the ability to pause one’s own ego to recognize the reality of another person. When digital platforms take over this “Attentional Commons” (Crawford 2015, 12), they do not merely distract us; they dismantle the mental tools, specifically the capacities for self-regulation and deliberation, required to govern ourselves (Crawford 2015, 23). Without the capacity for sustained, coherent thought, the self becomes fragmented, losing the sense of stability required to be a responsible citizen (Giddens 1991, 92).

    This fragmentation is not accidental. It is the result of a specific design philosophy that makes apps as tailored and easy to use as possible. Using Daniel Kahneman’s distinction, modern algorithms keep users trapped in “System 1” (fast, instinctive thinking) while bypassing “System 2” (slow, logical thinking) (Kahneman 2011, 20). System 2 governs executive control, a high-metabolic function that relies on cognitive resistance to maintain neural integrity. Neurobiologically, this follows the principle of use-dependent plasticity: neural pathways responsible for complex reasoning strengthen through challenge and degrade through disuse (Mattson 2008, 1). When an algorithm molds users into passive consumption, it removes the necessary friction required to sustain these pathways, leading to a functional degradation of critical thought.

    Consequently, this process is invasive. By predicting our desires, algorithms bypass our will, seizing our attention before we can decide where to place it. While Shoshana Zuboff calls this “surveillance capitalism” (Zuboff 2019, 8), the mechanism is closer to a slot machine. As Natasha Dow Schüll observes, these interfaces use design loops to induce a trance-like state that overrides conscious choice (Schüll 2012, 166). This is built-in user manipulation. Neuroscience research on “Facebook addiction” confirms that these platforms activate the brain’s impulse systems while suppressing the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for planning and control (Turel et al. 2014, 685). The result is a depletion of critical thought, creating a population that reacts rather than reflects.

    Regulating this harm means looking to the precedent of carbon reporting. The Greenhouse Gas Protocol’s “Scope 3” covers indirect emissions, including those generated by the use of sold products (WRI/WBCSD 2004, 25). I propose applying this exact reasoning to the digital economy: a tech company must be responsible for the mental effects of product use. They are destructive because they erode the basic cognitive foundations required for a functioning society (Habermas 1989, 27). If a platform’s design creates measurable addiction, radicalization, or a loss of attention span, these are “emissions” that incur a cost to humanity.

    To develop sustainable and reliable policies, we require new auditing metrics. We must calculate the speed at which content triggers emotional responses and establish a fragmentation index to measure how often an app interrupts deep work. This is a necessary (albeit complicated) metric given that regaining focus after an interruption takes significant time and energy (Mark 2008, 108). Furthermore, we must assess the deficit of serendipity, determining whether an algorithm narrows a user’s worldview or introduces the necessary friction of new ideas.

    Once measured, these emissions can be mitigated through cognitive impact protocols. This includes mandating friction by design to force users to pause and think. For example, when Twitter introduced prompts asking users to read articles before retweeting, “blind” sharing dropped significantly (Twitter Inc. 2020). This proves that simple friction can measurably reduce cognitive waste. Beyond individual features, firms must submit to independent audits to ensure their code promotes agency rather than addiction. Finally, just as carbon sinks absorb physical waste, digital firms should be mandated to fund zones (libraries, parks, and phone-free spaces) where our attention can recover.

    It can be argued that introducing friction impedes innovation and destroys value. This view, however, fails to account for the long-term liability of cognitive degradation. A market that incentivizes the depletion of user agency creates a systemic risk to the public. By implementing “Scope 3 Cognitive Emissions,” we operationalize the cost of this damage, forcing platforms to account for the mental impact of their design choices. We are currently operating with a dangerous separation between our technological power and our institutional controls (Wilson 2012, 7). Closing this gap requires a shift, moving away from design that exploits immediate impulse. We must engineer digital environments that protect, rather than degrade, the cognitive autonomy required for a free society.

    References
    Crawford, Matthew B. 2015. The World Beyond Your Head: On Becoming an Individual in an
    Age of Distraction. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

    Giddens, Anthony. 1991. Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age.
    Stanford: Stanford University Press.

    Habermas, Jürgen. 1989. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a
    Category of Bourgeois Society. Cambridge: MIT Press.

    Kahneman, Daniel. 2011. Thinking, Fast and Slow. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

    Mark, Gloria, and Deepti Gudithala. 2008. “The Cost of Interrupted Work: More Speed and
    Stress.” Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems,
    107–110.

    Mattson, Mark P. 2008. “Hormesis Defined.” Ageing Research Reviews 7 (1): 1–7.
    Pigou, Arthur C. 1920. The Economics of Welfare. London: Macmillan.

    Schüll, Natasha Dow. 2012. Addiction by Design: Machine Gambling in Las Vegas. Princeton:
    Princeton University Press.

    Sunstein, Cass R. 2017. #Republic: Divided Democracy in the Age of Social Media. Princeton:
    Princeton University Press.

    Turel, Ofir, Qinghua He, Gui Xue, Lin Xiao, and Antoine Bechara. 2014. “Examination of Neural
    Systems Sub-Serving Facebook ‘Addiction’.” Psychological Reports 115 (3): 675–695.

    Twitter Inc. 2020. “Read before you Retweet.” Twitter Blog, September 24.

    United Nations Global Compact. 2004. Who Cares Wins: Connecting Financial Markets to a
    Changing World. New York: United Nations.

    Weil, Simone. 1951. “Reflections on the Right Use of School Studies with a View to the Love of
    God.” In Waiting for God, translated by Emma Craufurd, 105–116. New York: Harper & Row.

    Wilson, Edward O. 2012. The Social Conquest of Earth. New York: Liveright.
    World Resources Institute and World Business Council for Sustainable Development
    (WRI/WBCSD). 2004. The Greenhouse Gas Protocol: A Corporate Accounting and Reporting
    Standard, Revised Edition. Washington, DC: WRI/WBCSD.

    Zuboff, Shoshana. 2019. The Age of Surveillance Capitalism: The Fight for a Human Future at
    the New Frontier of Power. New York: PublicAffairs.

  • The Lizard People

    The Lizard People

    (And Why We Are Creating Them)

    Lizard People.

    It is the label commonly tossed around Silicon Valley backrooms to describe a specific breed of colleague: those devoid of human consideration, understanding, or empathy. In lay terms, socio- and psychopaths. In our terms, the architects of the modern world.

    While the “Lizard Person” is a metaphor (lest we veer into David Icke conspiracy territory), the data suggests the archetype is real. According to research by Dr. Robert Hare and Dr. Paul Babiak, while only about 1% of the general population qualifies as psychopathic, that number jumps to an estimated 3% to 4% among senior business executives (Babiak & Hare, 2006). Other studies suggest the number in upper management could be as high as 12% (Croom, 2021).

    What draws them there? And more importantly, what happens when we strip-mine the education system of the Humanities, removing the very tools designed to stop their creation?

    To understand the Lizard Person, we first have to look at the human mind.

    The age-old debate of “nature vs. nurture” asks if we are born this way or if we are merely clay dolls molded by our environment. Consider Dr. James Fallon, a neuroscientist at UC Irvine. While studying the brain scans of serial killers, Fallon discovered a scan that looked exactly like a psychopath’s: low activity in the orbital cortex, the area involved in ethical behavior and impulse control.

    The scan was his own.

    Fallon possessed the genetic and neurological markers of a killer. Yet, he was a non-violent, successful academic. Why? As Fallon argues, it was his upbringing (a supportive, connected community) that prevented his biology from becoming his destiny (Fallon, 2013).

    If isolation breeds monsters, then community breeds humans. The most effective way to establish that sense of community is to understand where you came from. To feel like part of a whole. This is the function of the Humanities: studying our species’ art, our evolution, our history. It stops us from becoming mindless, formula-spouting robots.

    Philosopher Martha Nussbaum warns of this explicitly in her book Not for Profit. She argues that by slashing Humanities budgets in favor of technical training, we are producing “useful machines” rather than citizens capable of empathy or democratic thought (Nussbaum, 2010). We are removing the very curriculum that teaches us to see others as souls rather than data points.

    Capitalism and Lizard People are a match made in hell (pardon my French). The system is the perfect playground for someone without empathy. Corporations love a mindless accountant who crunches numbers all day without questioning shady tax reports. CEOs love optimizing operations to boost margins, even if it means exploiting labor or the environment.

    Consider the “efficiency” of lobbying. A study regarding the American Jobs Creation Act of 2004 found that for every $1 corporations spent lobbying for this tax holiday, they received a return of $220 in tax savings—a staggering 22,000% return on investment (Alexander et al., 2009).

    This is what happens when you optimize for math without morals. You get high returns, questionable ethics, and a ruling class that views the population as a resource to be mined rather than a community to be served.

    Perhaps these decisions are intentional features of the system, not bugs. But the education system can at least attempt to lower the odds of this outcome by producing an ethically aware population. By removing the requirement of Humanities courses, we remove the requirement of understanding what makes us human.

    Resources

    Alexander, Raquel M., et al. “Measuring Rates of Return for Lobbying Expenditures: An Empirical Analysis Under the American Jobs Creation Act.” SSRN Electronic Journal, 2009.

    Babiak, Paul, and Robert D. Hare. Snakes in Suits: When Psychopaths Go to Work. HarperCollins, 2006.

    Croom, Simon. “The Prevalence of Psychopathy in Corporate Leadership.” Fortune, 2021.

    Fallon, James. The Psychopath Inside: A Neuroscientist’s Personal Journey into the Dark Side of the Brain. Current, 2013.

    Nussbaum, Martha. Not for Profit: Why Democracy Needs the Humanities. Princeton University Press, 2010.

  • Stop Asking AI Stupid Questions.  

    Stop Asking AI Stupid Questions.  

    Let’s be brutally honest. Most companies are getting AI wrong.

    We are seeing the friction of trying to fit a 21st-century sense into a 20th-century business model.

    They’re spending millions on a new technology and getting… faster spreadsheets? More polite chatbots? Marginally better marketing plans?

    The initial hype is clearly dead, and for many leaders, the ROI is looking dangerously thin.

    Why?

    Because we’re asking it stupid questions.

    We are treating the most powerful perceptual tool ever invented like a slightly-smarter, cheaper intern. We ask it to summarize reports, fetch data, and write boilerplate emails. We are focused on optimization.

    Not only is this incredibly inefficient, but it is a (borderline embarrassing) failure of imagination.

    Granted, this isn’t really our fault. Our entire mental model for business was forged in the Industrial Revolution. We think in terms of efficiency and inputs/outputs. We hire “hands” to do work, and we look for tools to make that work faster.

    So when AI showed up, we put it in the only box we had: the faster intern box.

    We ask it Industrial-Age questions: “How can you write my emails faster?” “How can you summarize this 50-page report?” “How can you optimize my marketing budget?“

    These aren’t necessarily bad questions. They’re just lazy. They are requests for efficiency.

    They are limited, and they are all, at their core, asking how to do the same things, just faster. As long as we are only optimizing, we are missing the potential revolution entirely.

    The real breakthrough, I believe, will come when we stop seeing AI as an extension of our hands and start seeing it as an extension of our perception.

    Your intern is an extension of your existing ability. They do the tasks you assign, just saving you time. A new sense, like infrared vision, grants you an entirely new ability (thinking X-Men). It lets you see heat, a layer of reality that was completely invisible to you before.

    This is the shift we’re missing.

    Its true power isn’t in doing tasks we already understand, but in perceiving the patterns, connections, and signals we are biologically incapable of seeing. Humans are brilliant, but we are also finite. We can’t track the interplay of a thousand variables in real-time. We can’t read the unspoken sentiment in ten million data points.

    AI can.

    When you reframe AI as a sense, the questions you ask of it change completely. You stop asking about efficiency and you start asking about insight. You stop asking, “How can I do this faster?” and you start asking, “What can I now see that I couldn’t see yesterday?” For example, perceiving a hidden market anxiety.

    So what does this shift from intern to “sense” actually look like?

    It comes down to the questions we are asking. The quality of our questions is the limiting factor, not the technology (for the most part).

    Look at marketing. The old paradigm, the “intern question,” is focused on automating grunt work:

    The Intern Question: “AI, write 10 social media posts and five blog titles for our new product launch.”

    This is a request for efficiency. It gets you to the same destination a little faster.

    But the organ question is a request for perception:

    The Organ Question: “AI, analyze the 5,000 most recent customer support tickets, forum posts, and negative reviews for our competitor. What is the single unspoken anxiety or unmet need that connects them?”

    The first answer gives you content. The second answer gives you your next million-dollar product.

    Let’s look at strategy. The intern question is about summarization:

    The Intern Question: “AI, summarize the top five industry trend reports for the next quarter and give me the bullet points.”

    This is a request for compression. You’re asking AI to act as an assistant, saving you a few hours of reading.

    But the “Organ Question” is about synthesis and signal detection:

    The Organ Question: “AI, find the hidden correlations between global shipping logistics, regional political sentiment, and our own internal production data. What is the emergent, second-order risk to our supply chain in six months that no human analyst has spotted?”

    The first question helps you prepare for the meeting. The second question helps you prepare for the future.

    To summarize all of this word vomit, I believe that the AI revolution isn’t stalling; more so waiting. It’s waiting for us to catch up.

    What we are seeing is the friction of trying to fit a 21st-century sense into a 20th-century business model.

    We are all still pointing this new tech at our old problems; our inboxes, our reports, our slide decks. We are asking it to help us optimize the past, when its real ability is to help us perceive the future.

    The most critical skill for leadership in this new era will not be prompt engineering. It will be question design. Stop asking “How can AI do this job faster?” and start asking, “What new work becomes possible because we can now see in this new way?”

    So, ask yourself and your team: Are you using AI to get better answers to your old questions? Or are you using it to find entirely new questions?

  • Navigating Value and Purpose as AI Advances

    Navigating Value and Purpose as AI Advances

    Across continents and cultures, we observe a phenomenon of accelerating consequence: the infusion of machine intelligence into the core processes of our economies and societies. This technological trajectory, marked by advancements in artificial intelligence and automation, transcends mere industrial optimization. It prompts a fundamental inquiry into the evolving nature of human contribution and the very definition of value. We are entering what might be termed the nascent Cognitive Age.

    As cognitive labor itself becomes increasingly automatable, we are compelled to move beyond reactive adaptation. We must engage in a deeper, more strategic consideration of humanity’s role and purpose. The discourse is often dominated by anxieties surrounding labor displacement; a valid concern, yet one that potentially obscures a more profound transformation. The critical questions extend further. When machines can execute complex analytical and even creative tasks with remarkable speed and scale, what becomes the distinct value proposition of human cognition? How must our organizations, educational systems, and socio-economic frameworks evolve? These questions demand our focus. Ignoring them risks navigating this pivotal time without a compass.

    A necessary first step involves shifting the frame. We must move from a simple human-versus-machine contest to an exploration of comparative advantages. While AI excels at pattern recognition, prediction within defined parameters, and high-volume data processing, certain domains remain, for now, distinctly human precincts. These are not “soft skills.” They are higher-order cognitive functions, crucial for navigating complexity and ambiguity.

    Consider the capacity for true origination. Not only iterating on the known, but also generating genuinely novel concepts, perhaps sparking a new artistic paradigm or forming a scientific hypothesis that redraws the boundaries of our understanding, drawn from a deep well of lived experience and intuition. Equally vital is the facility for nuanced ethical reasoning. This involves making judgments in situations fraught with ambiguity, conflicting values, and human consequences – deciding not merely if a technology can be deployed, but if and how it should be, a process demanding wisdom beyond algorithms.

    Furthermore, the realm of interpersonal connection and empathy remains intrinsic to effective leadership, collaboration, and care. Building trust across diverse global teams, mentoring talent through challenges, and navigating intricate social dynamics rely on an emotional intelligence that machines currently simulate but do not genuinely possess. Complementing this is the capacity for integrative systems thinking. This means perceiving the intricate, fluctuating web of interactions within our world; seeing the potential ripple effects of a policy decision across an entire ecosystem. For instance, demanding a holistic understanding that defies linear processing.

    And perhaps most fundamentally, there is the uniquely human drive for purpose and meaning-making. This ability to define why an endeavor matters beyond its immediate utility remains central to setting direction and inspiring collective action towards aspirational, value-driven goals.

    Recognizing these enduring human strengths presents a strategic imperative for organizations worldwide. The challenge extends beyond simply implementing AI tools. It requires redesigning organizational structures and cultures from their core to amplify human potential in collaboration with intelligent technologies. This is essential work.

    This necessitates a move beyond efficiency as the primary metric. It means fostering learning ecosystems where continuous adaptation, critical inquiry, and cross-disciplinary problem-solving are inherent – supported by psychological safety. It requires cultivating new benchmarks for value creation.

    Imagine actively measuring success not only through financial returns but also through demonstrable gains in innovation capacity, workforce adaptability, ethical conduct, or positive community impact. Embracing greater flexibility and distributed models of work becomes essential, focusing on outcomes and empowering talent irrespective of geographical constraints. Crucially, it demands principled leadership committed to the ethical governance of technology, ensuring fairness, transparency, and accountability in human-AI systems. This is a consideration with varying nuances across different cultural contexts but universal importance.

    The implications, however, extend far beyond the boundaries of individual firms or institutions. We face a period demanding the co-evolution of our broader societal structures. Foundational assumptions underpinning education, social welfare, and economic participation warrant re-examination. How must educational philosophies adapt globally to cultivate the creativity, critical thinking, and socio-emotional intelligence essential for this future? What revisions to social contracts and economic frameworks might be necessary to ensure equitable participation and security in a world where the traditional link between labor and income may be less universal for many? Addressing these systemic questions requires open, globally-informed dialogue and a willingness to experiment with new models for societal well-being.

    The journey into the future is not predetermined. Technology provides powerful new capabilities; its ultimate impact hinges on human choices and values. Navigating this era successfully requires more than technological prowess alone. It demands wisdom, foresight, and a conscious commitment to placing human flourishing at the center of progress. It calls for thoughtful stewardship from leaders across all sectors and societies, fostering the collaboration needed to shape this future with intention. The helm is ours to grasp.

    Jessica Cole

  • The Antelope Theory

    The Antelope Theory

    When I was a child, the Geico Antelope with Night Vision Goggles commercial burst onto our classroom YouTube screen as we prepared to watch Bill Nye. It left me rolling with suppressed giggles. Or perhaps it wasn’t just the humor; maybe it was boredom masquerading as desperate delight, who knows. Either way, it was unforgettable.

    That ad not only effectively sold insurance to children and adults alike, but it also sold wonder . The sheer audacity of transforming something as mundane as car coverage into what felt like the most entertaining clip ever made lodged itself deep within me.

    But why? What alchemical magic allowed this fleeting moment to linger long after its runtime had ended? Was it the absurdity? The humor? Or something deeper, more primal – an echo of something buried in the marrow of human experience?

    This question became an obsession, leading me down two intertwined paths: psychology and business. Together, they offered a mural through which to explore the intricate patterns linking memory, emotion, and human connection. And what I discovered was nothing short of mesmerizing.

    At its core, memory is the loom upon which we weave the fabric of our identities. It shapes how we navigate relationships, make decisions both trivial and monumental, and construct meaning out of chaos. Memory operates on two primary planes: episodic and emotional .

    Episodic memories are like picture frames of specific moments – the scent of rain during childhood summers, the sound of laughter rumbling through a crowded room. They shimmer like sunlight on water but inevitably fade, dissolving into the ether like watercolors left too long in the sun. Emotional memories, however, endure. Rooted deeply in the amygdala, the brain’s ancient seat of emotion, they transcend the details of any single experience. These intangible imprints of joy, sorrow, awe, or fear linger long after episodic details blur.

    This is why a hilarious ad campaign, a sweet note from a stranger, or even a frustrating customer service experience can leave indelible marks. These emotional echoes shape how we perceive brands, experiences, and ultimately, ourselves. They whisper to us across time, reminding us who we were – and who we might become.

    Think about your own life. What memories stand out? Chances are, they’re not the mundane routines but the ones charged with emotion. A first kiss. A graduation speech that moved you to tears. A song that transports you back to a summer you’ll never forget. These moments are anchors, tethering us to our sense of self and purpose.

    With that in mind, nostalgia is one of humanity’s most universal impulses. The act of seeking refuge in feelings of safety, belonging, and connection; emotions that anchor us amidst life’s turbulence. Consider Pokémon Go, a cultural phenomenon born from the marriage of modern augmented reality and our childhood memories. Adults who once spent hours glued to Game Boy screens were invited to step outside and rekindle their childlike wonder. In its first year alone, the game generated over $1 billion in revenue, proving that nostalgia is a genius marketing tool- a bridge to something profoundly human.

    However, nostalgia must be wielded with care. Overuse and inauthentic attempts risk alienating audiences, transforming what should feel like a comforting embrace into a hollow echo. Authenticity is the key to unlocking its power.

    Why does authenticity matter so much? Because nostalgia is about finding meaning in the present, not just glimpses of the past. When done right, it reminds us that the things we loved as children – the simplicity, the wonder, the unbridled joy – are still accessible to us, if only we know where to look.

    While grand gestures often capture our attention, it is the small, unexpected moments, the micro-memories, that quietly build brand loyalty. Picture Southwest Airlines’ flight attendants turning routine safety announcements into comedic performances, turning monotony into precious moments of giddiness. These unexpected sparks of joy accumulate over time, weaving themselves into the fabric of our experiences and drawing us back again and again through little giggles. Micro-memories remind us that greatness often resides in subtlety, in the art of making the ordinary extraordinary.

    These moments are like whispers in a crowded room, easy to overlook but impossible to forget once heard. They linger in the corners of our minds, shaping how we feel about a brand without us even realizing it. Think about your favorite coffee shop. Is it the coffee itself that keeps you coming back, or the barista who always remembers your name? It’s these tiny, human touches that create lasting impressions.

    Today, our lives unfold across a kaleidoscope of online platforms, leaving behind fragments of ourselves scattered like flocks of swallows dispersing across a field. Memories are no longer linear narratives but constellations of highlights, disconnected yet interconnected. Today, some brands are recognizing this shift and offer tools to help us piece together these fragments into structured, clear wholes.

    Spotify’s revered annual “Wrapped” feature curates a year’s worth of listening data into a personalized story, while Facebook’s “On This Day” invites us to revisit moments buried deep within our archives, although frankly, mine are usually more cringeworthy than anything; but a self-deprecating smile is always welcome. These initiatives don’t just organize information; they give shape to our collective identity, helping us find coherence in a world where we often lose ourselves in societal norms.

    In an age of fragmentation, these tools remind us that our stories are still whole, even if they’re told in pieces. They invite us to reflect, to connect the dots, and to see ourselves as part of something larger than the sum of our digital footprints.

    Memories are social threads that bind communities together. Brands that create shared experiences become part of a group’s collective narrative, fostering loyalty that transcends individual transactions. Peloton’s milestone shoutouts celebrate personal achievements while reinforcing a sense of belonging to a larger tribe. Similarly, Apple’s global launch events transform product releases into communal rituals, uniting millions around a shared moment of anticipation and excitement.

    When brands tap into this communal aspect of memory, they cease to be mere entities selling goods. They become storytellers shaping culture. They remind us that we are not alone, that our stories are intertwined with others’, forming a rich collective of shared humanity.

    As businesses grow increasingly adept at leveraging memory, they must also grapple with ethical questions. At what point does enhancing experiences cross into exploitation? Amazon’s recommendation algorithms, though convenient, raise concerns about the extent to which our choices are subtly guided, or manipulated, by invisible forces. The challenge lies in striking a balance between personalization and autonomy, ensuring that technology serves rather than subverts our agency.

    This tension raises questions about the future of memory and identity. If our memories are shaped by external forces, then who gets to decide what those forces are? And what happens when the line between genuine, authentic experience and curated narrative blurs beyond recognition?

    Memory’s influence extends beyond the past. It shapes how we perceive the future. It’s a powerful thing. Anticipation activates similar neural pathways, creating positive associations before an experience even occurs. Think about a family favourite, Disney. Their crafted vacation planning tools immerse families in the magic long before they set foot in the park, while Tesla’s pre-order model builds excitement and emotional investment months ahead of delivery. By harnessing the power of anticipation, brands can create memories that begin forming before the actual experience unfolds.

    Anticipation is a form of hope, a promise that something better lies ahead. It reminds us that the future is a journey filled with possibility and potential, not a destination.

    If you have a takeaway, let it be this: the most enduring legacies are not built on subtlety, not on noise but on meaning. They are the quiet whispers that echo across lifetimes, the small sparks that ignite the flames of connection.

    Jessica Cole

  • The Socratic Paradox

    The Socratic Paradox

    Today I write from the ever bustling airport, the ultimate people watching spot.

    I found myself considering the thousands of separate realities that others exist in. As I am sure you have also noticed, the majority of the public tend to be absorbed by their devices, constantly- regardless if they’re walking, sitting, standing, running, etc. They are sucked in to screens. It’s almost their second reality, their never-ending dopamine fix. So, what is this constant use doing to us?

    Socrates once famously claimed that wisdom begins with acknowledging one’s own ignorance. In 2025, this principle takes on new significance. We’ve mastered the knack of recognizing what we don’t know; our questions are sharper and more frequent than ever. Yet, as recent neuroscientific research reveals, our capacity for deep understanding may be eroding.

    We’re armed with AI-powered tools that can respond to complex queries, yet studies show that 80% of workers suffer from ‘information overload’. Our brains, designed to handle 3-4 items of information at once, are bombarded with up to 74 GB of data daily. This cognitive overload is reshaping our neural pathways, potentially at the cost of our ability to engage in sustained, deep thinking.

    The prefrontal cortex, particularly the dorsolateral and ventrolateral regions (DLPFC and VLPFC), plays a crucial role in controlling learning processes. These areas are responsible for selecting and manipulating goal-relevant information. However, when faced with an overwhelming amount of data, these regions can become overtaxed, leading to decreased efficiency in information processing and decision-making.

    This cognitive strain extends to the workplace, where the cost of information overload is staggering. Research indicates that cognitive overload costs the US economy about $900 billion annually. The implications are clear: our ability to ask sophisticated questions has outpaced our capacity to absorb and integrate the answers.

    To address this imbalance, we must cultivate a practice of “mindful inquiry” that combines the Socratic method with modern cognitive science:

    1. Pause to consider the depth of your question and your readiness to engage with the answer, aligning with the Socratic tradition of self-examination.
    2. Implement spaced repetition and active recall to reinforce learning and enhance long-term memory formation.
    3. Design learning experiences that reduce extraneous cognitive load, allowing for deeper processing and comprehension.
    4. Incorporate periods of ‘digital fasting’ to allow for reflection and knowledge consolidation. Give yourself a mental spa treatment.

    Moving forward, the integration of AI in learning presents both challenges and opportunities. AI-powered tutors could engage learners in adaptive Socratic dialogues, potentially revolutionizing the way we balance inquiry and absorption. However, we must remain vigilant against the risk of intellectual complacency that easy access to information might foster.

    In navigating this new landscape, our goal should be to harness both technology and wisdom from the past. By combining Socratic inquiry with neuroscience-backed learning strategies, we can evolve into knowledge vacuums, capable of not just posing insightful questions, but of deeply understanding and applying the answers we receive.

    The future of learning lies not in the volume of information we can access or the complexity of questions we can ask, but in our ability to transform that information into wisdom through thoughtful inquiry and absorption. Our next steps will shape not just our individual minds, but the collective intelligence of our species for generations to come.

    Perhaps the greatest wisdom lies in knowing not just how to ask, but how to listen, absorb, and integrate. The Socratic paradox of our age challenges us to be both humble in our questioning and diligent in our understanding, fostering a new kind of intellectual virtue that balances curiosity with contemplation.

    Jessica Cole

    This is a follow up thought chain to Asking Better Questions

    Works Cited:

    Friedlander, M. J., et al. (2013). Neuroscience and Learning: Implications for Teaching Practice. PMC.

    Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. (2024). Information Overload Is a Personal and Societal Danger. RPI News.

    Structural Learning. (2024). How Neuroscience Informs Effective Learning Strategies.

    Ji, X. (2023). The Negative Psychological Effects of Information Overload. ERHSS, 9, 250-256.

    Moore, C. (2025). Is Cognitive Overload Ruining Your Employee Training? Cathy Moore’s Blog.

  • The Dance of Connection

    The Dance of Connection

    As a child, I often found myself preoccupied with adult dynamics. How they communicated, maneuvered, and projected. I was too aware, perhaps, of the ways people curated their interactions, even in seemingly simple moments. This awareness grew with me, becoming both a guide and a source of tension as I navigated the world of social interactions and self-perception.

    Now, as an adult, I see these dynamics amplified by the tools of our age. Technology, designed to connect us, often feels like it’s drawing thicker lines between us. Social media amplifies the performance; algorithms reward curation over authenticity. Our virtual worlds increasingly shape our real ones, and the anxiety of “getting it right” extends to every facet of our public and private lives.

    But then, there are moments that disrupt the pattern. Like the dinner party I recently attended. A gathering that wasn’t about networking, status, or self-presentation, but about genuine connection.

    The setting was the perfect canvas. A high-ceilinged apartment with concrete floors, a long dining table, and the soft hum of casual conversation. The group was diverse, the conversations fluid, and the atmosphere disarmingly relaxed. No one was jockeying for position or angling for attention. Instead, we moved together in an unspoken rhythm, each person contributing in their way, without pretense.

    What struck me wasn’t just the ease of the interaction but how it contrasted with the curated interactions I encounter so often in business, online, even in casual social settings. This gathering reminded me of something fundamental: connection isn’t built on perfection but participation.

    It’s no coincidence that anxiety feels like the defining emotion of our age. Our tools have changed the way we interact, layering our realities with endless opportunities for comparison and self-measurement. Notifications, likes, and comments create a feedback loop that ties our self-worth to external validation.

    In workplaces, AI and automation promise efficiency but often heighten our sense of inadequacy. We’re constantly measuring ourselves against algorithms that don’t account for the complexities of human experience. Even in personal spaces, the pressure to document and share our lives has turned every interaction into potential content.

    Yet, these same technologies hold the potential to reshape how we approach connection. Video calls have made global collaboration effortless. Platforms for shared learning and storytelling have democratized access to information. The challenge lies in finding ways to use these tools without letting them dictate our sense of self.

    Philosophically, community has always been about shared purpose and mutual reliance. In traditional societies, survival depended on collaboration. Today, survival often feels like a solo endeavor, and our communities reflect this shift. Be it online or in person, we form connections based on shared interests or convenience rather than necessity. As a result, those connections often feel shallow.

    The dinner party was a rare exception… a return to the kind of interaction that feels rooted, real, and reciprocal. It made me wonder: How can we bring this spirit into our modern, tech-driven world? What would it take to create spaces, physical or virtual, where people feel free to be themselves, without the pressure to perform?

    As someone who reflects a great deal on the interplay between innovation and human experience, I see both a challenge and an opportunity in how we approach connection. Technology isn’t inherently isolating; it’s how we use it that determines its impact. Consider platforms that prioritize genuine interaction over engagement metrics, or workplaces that encourage collaboration over competition.

    The future of connection may lie in designing systems that mimic the organic, unpolished interactions of gatherings like that dinner party. Imagine a social network that rewards vulnerability rather than curation, or a workplace that values shared storytelling as much as productivity. These ideas may sound idealistic, but they’re not out of reach.

    At its core, this reflection isn’t just about social anxiety or community; it’s about rethinking the systems we’ve built and the values they reflect. If we want a world that feels less isolating and more humane, we must challenge the assumptions underpinning our interactions.

    What if we stopped measuring success by likes, shares, or promotions and started valuing moments of actual connection? What if we designed technologies and spaces that encouraged presence rather than performance? And what if we approached every interaction, not as an opportunity to prove ourselves, but as an opportunity to understand someone else?

    Because if there’s one thing the dinner party taught me, it’s this: the most profound connections happen when we let go of the need to be anything other than ourselves. And in a world that often feels like it’s pulling us apart, perhaps that’s the most radical act of all.