Steve Correa & Ronald D’Souza

(For ease of reading/writing as co-authors, we have retained the first-person narrative.).

It was a routine day when I slid into my car, turned on the engine, and instinctively opened Google Maps to navigate to the airport — a place I’ve driven to countless times over the past two years. My spouse, ever observant, chuckled as I keyed in the familiar destination. “Do you still need Google Maps for this?” she teased, her tone playful yet tinged with genuine amusement. She takes pride in her remarkable memory, relying on instinct and mental maps instead of digital aids. I often wonder if her refusal to use GPS makes her sharper and more alert, or perhaps it’s simply a quirk of her personality. Or could it be the Sudoku she does before bed? 
For me, the choice is less philosophical. It’s convenient and efficient, but it leaves me with an unsettling question: Am I trading my cognitive sharpness for the ease of technology?

There was a time — not so long ago — when driving from point A to point B once was enough to etch the route into your memory. The streets, landmarks, and turns became part of an internal map, your mind effortlessly recalling them when needed. The moment I start a journey; my first instinct is to reach for my phone. Even for a route I know well, I consult Google Maps, seeking the fastest or least congested path, as though the once-trusted map in my mind no longer exists.
This reliance on digital technology extends beyond navigation. Like countless others, I feel inundated with information. Notifications from my phone, endless scrolling through social media, emails, Spotify playlists, LinkedIn, WhatsApp, and podcasts — the sheer volume of data is overwhelming. Yet, in this age of boundless access, I find myself forgetting more.

A decade ago, I could hear the opening chords of Deep Purple’s Highway Star and instantly recall the song and its artist without hesitation. Today, I might recognize the tune but find myself fumbling for the name, my mind grasping fragments that no longer coalesce as easily as they once did. If I forget these details, I wonder if I am also losing the memories tied to them — the road trips, the late-night jam sessions, the friends who shared those moments. Or is it simply that I am listening to too many songs now? 
Even something as simple as scheduling an appointment has changed. I rely on my calendar app to keep my life in order. When a commitment arises, I add it to my digital planner, ensuring it won’t be forgotten. But in doing so, I realise I’ve outsourced a fundamental cognitive function. My memory no longer bears the weight of these details because it doesn’t have to. Technology has become my crutch, but at what cost? The trouble is, this can go a bit far when I ask my spouse to WhatsApp the list of groceries she needs and she points out the list is just three items!

Technology promises efficiency, asserting that it frees our minds for more meaningful pursuits. Yet, in reality, it often deprives us of those very pursuits. The time saved by automation is quickly absorbed by the endless stream of information competing for our attention. Philosopher Martin Heidegger predicted this paradox decades ago, cautioning that technology would seize us by the scruff of our necks and drag us into its clutches. His prophetic words resonate louder now than ever before.
The decline isn’t just in memory but also in how we perceive and process the world around us. While driving with Google Maps, I find myself staring more at the screen than at the road ahead. I miss the nuances of the journey — the shifting colours of the sky, the unexpected charm of a new street, and the simple pleasure of knowing I’ve arrived not just at my destination but at a moment fully lived.

This diminished presence extends beyond solitary experiences; it seeps into our relationships. As our attention spans shrink, we invest less time understanding one another. The nuances of communication, the subtleties of emotion, and the small, tender moments that build connection are increasingly sacrificed at the altar of efficiency. Relationships, like memories, falter when deprived of care and attention.
Yet, amidst this avalanche of change, I feel powerless to stop it. The convenience is seductive, and the pace is relentless. To resist is to swim upstream in a river that grows swifter by the day.

Memories are the essence of who we are. They shape our identities, relationships, and sense of self. When memory falters — whether due to the erosion caused by technology or the cruel grip of conditions like Alzheimer’s — we become strangers to ourselves and to those we love.
I often think of my father-in-law, who succumbed to Alzheimer’s. In the early stages, he clung to fragments of his life, desperately trying to preserve the connections that defined him. As the disease progressed, those fragments slipped away, taking with them not only his sense of self but also the shared history that bound him to his family. Watching his debilitating transformation was a moving reminder of memory’s fragility — and its power.

So, what does this mean for us in the age of AI and automation? Perhaps it’s a call to reclaim the moments we’ve surrendered. To occasionally turn off Google Maps and navigate by instinct. To enjoy a favourite song without letting an algorithm dictate what plays next. To pause and truly savour the journey, whether it’s a drive to the airport or a conversation with a loved one.
Let’s begin with a few digital free moments.

Also publised in Medium: https://medium.com/@stevecorrea.com/ais-impact-on-memory-and-cognition-reflections-on-modern-life-steve-correa-ronald-d-souza-4fa26b958927