Keeping Up is Hard to Do.
After years of ignoring the need for faster internet at our lake home that sits in a technological black hole in the pristine Chattahoochee National Forest, we finally gave in and ordered a Starlink satellite system.
The following chronicles why we did it, how Starlink works, my moment of overwhelm, and what I learned when I experimentally gave up anything with a motor for a day.
Don’t judge. We have valid reasons:
Must stream the Georgia Bulldogs whenever and wherever they play.
A growing mass of Gen Zs show up mid-week (cheaper flights) and work remotely half days (saving their PTO for Ibiza).
I want to give the people what they want so they will come.
A little history and context: Space X rolled out their roaming constellation satellite system, Starlink, to the public in 2021, and it has since become a popular option for rural internet service. In 2023, over two million people were using the service; if our neighborhood is any indication, that number will increase daily.
The promise of speedy internet is true, but easy installation—not so much. The satellites are built for desert roaming or wide-open skies. The system does not care for tall leafy oaks, spiky pines, and eagle nests. Finding the sky is integral to success, so we rural inhabitants have learned to no longer fear the people in logo’d shirts roaming gravel roads holding their phones up in the air. Indeed, they are the good ones who seek access to speedy internet for those who can afford it.
Starlink is too expensive. I read they lowered the kit rate in Kentucky. There was some hubbub about the government funding and rescinding a massive $900 million rural broadband grant after Starlink allegedly failed to perform. If my experience is the norm, I can see why the company couldn't get it done, and it's too bad. I hope they are still trying because rural areas are getting left behind.
Suppose the technicians find an obstruction-free northern sky. In that case, Starlink provides us in the woods revolutionary WIFI with a speed of up to 250 Mbps compared to the FIVE (5) Mbps we get with the other option—TDS's dial-up plan. That's a massive difference, and for little kids in snowy mountain hollows with no transportation, fast internet means more learning on those inevitable days away from school.
After weeks of following technicians all over my yard, up on the roof, down to the dock, with countless circular hours on the Starlink app clicking bot support FAQs never once speaking to a human, and anxious, sleepless nights worried about the deadline, expense, and failure, my brain spinning through the options and landing way back in time with more dial-up internet, I was overwhelmed and over it. I decided to take a break from advanced tech, even experimentally.
There was plenty to do to prepare for company, so I used a Phillips head screwdriver rather than a cordless drill to repair Uncle Harvey's antique day bed. I was a boatswain swabbing the decks with a brush and bucket. I used a broom to sweep the driveway instead of the blower and stained the front porch with a brush instead of using the sprayer. I even wrote part of this blog with a pen on paper.
Next was supper. Exhausted and starving, I started to open a can of beans, but when I tried to turn the knob, my blistered hands were so sore and stiff from mops and brushes and screwdrivers, I had to stop. I couldn’t get the job done. What I needed was an electric can opener.
The electric can opener was a fixture on our Formica countertop just twenty years ago, standing at command in desperate need of a bath but always ready for hand-saving action. Press down on the lever, hear the blade crack and the motor hum as the simple machine cleverly turned the can in a circle, the magnet catching the lid as we pulled away our tuna fish or cream of mushroom soup. Can food stocked our pantry back then, so the electric can opener was a necessary and cherished technology, but unlike WIFI, I don't remember it ever causing me anxiety.
As I stood at the kitchen counter in a hunger daze, dreamily nostalgic for an open can of asparagus or Le Sueur peas, I suddenly realized my obsession wasn't with Elon Musk or the quest for his beautifully disruptive satellite technology. After all, I was okay with the slow evolution of the electric can opener in and out of our lives—refrigerated trucks, pop tops, and all that.
My discomfort with Starlink is with the speed of technology the system represents; it is lightning-fast and too smart for me. Whether it's satellite constellations, artificial intelligence (AI), autonomous vehicles, augmented reality, or toilet apps that wipe our asses (I think I made that one up), I don't understand it. Any of it. Yet, I want—NEED—to know how it all WORKS because if I don't, then how do I maintain my independence?
I know I am not alone, but we, the people, may NOT be created technologically equal. No doubt every generation has its technology challenges, whether it's the social media mental mess for our young, developing brains or the end of the landline for some of the elderly, but if I had a nickel for every time my mother-in-law holds our Facetime calls to her ear or every time my daughter takes over my phone because I am too slow pulling up an Uber, I could buy an electric can opener on eBay. The youngsters do seem to have an advantage. Or do they?
This article made me feel better. It reveals how swift the advances in technology have been in a single twenty-first-century lifetime. The graph freaked me out at first (because I didn't understand it) but then motivated me to stop feeling sorry for myself. Technology is a speed racer for everyone. It’s possible the youngsters don’t understand it any better than I do, but are more open and faster at figuring it out.
That's when I let Grammarly write my Declaration of Technology Independence, and this is how it turned out:
It is self-evident that not all people are equally adept at technology. Yet, their Creator endows those who struggle to keep up with the unalienable will to learn. Unless you can't, in which case, call somebody.
I grabbed my cordless drill and told Siri to call Charlie. The line rang, and he picked up. I pictured him in his logo’d shirt—one of the good guys. "Okay, Charlie, I will pay you to walk me through it again—just one more time. Please explain EVERYTHING so I can manage it myself."