Dispatches from the Metaverse

(Not from the Metaverse)

I have neither a smartphone nor a laptop. It has now been four days since I’ve been able to access the Internet. My news comes from a static-filled FM radio, with a jury-rigged antenna; I’m trying my best to get the NPR station out of Seattle as there are no other signals.

I don’t know the price of Ethereum. I don’t know the floor price of a Doodle, a Bored Ape, or a Cryptopunk. My ego wonders if the metaverse can even exist without my participation. Actually, from my perspective at the moment, it doesn’t exist, and it won’t for another three days.

Being plugged into Twitter and Discord, day in and day out, sometimes for 18 hours a day, had taken a toll. I started to recognize a baseline stress level that would not subside, a discomfort in my chest, and seemingly permanent bags under my eyes. My relationships with my wife, my friends, and my own body, were suffering at the expense of my relationship with the metaverse, which, for all intents and purposes, barely even exists yet.

And that’s the scary part. We haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of the potential of the metaverse. At this moment, in early 2022, it’s a hodge-podge of realms (Decentraland, Cryptovoxels, the Sandbox), a volatile economy of competing blockchains, layers upon these blockchains, DAOs, DeFi, and of course, NFTs.

In an effort to save my mental and physical health, my wife and I rented a cabin in a quiet corner of Vancouver Island, in British Columbia, Canada. We’re here for a week, and during this week, not only am I completely disconnected (not even a cell-phone signal), but I’m also fasting - lunch only - 1000 calories a day. It’s a recipe for mental healing, introspection, and an exercise in being absolutely present.

This is the first time in a year that I’ve had the ability to concentrate enough to write something longer than a tweet. How sad is that? I tried to convince myself that I stopped writing my newsletter because it was a dying form of media, when the reality was that I was no longer mentally capable of mustering the concentration needed to do so. Tragic.

But here I am, after four days of healing, putting pen to paper (literally), and I’m asking myself, if this nascent form of the metaverse can be this compelling, addictive, and even destructive, then what dangers might its future form hold, and how might we protect ourselves, going forward?

I’m not here to FUD your bags (I’d be FUDding my own as well). I just know that so many of you have experienced the same symptoms that I have: a lack of sleep, poor concentration, and an incredible change in how we perceive the passage of time.

The metaverse is going to be a reality. We know this for many reasons, not the least of which being the fact that a trillion-dollar company has changed its name to “Meta.” That’s not a bet you make without near-100% certainty.

On the way to our cabin, we listened to an interview with the former CEO of Google, Eric Schmidt, who warned of the future of social media being so immersive and addictive that it could drive us all insane; I believe him.

Some of us are more prone to addictive behaviour than others. The fact of the matter is, the current iteration of the metaverse is a bounty of dopamine hits in the form of positive feedback to tweets and discord comments, and quick (and large) financial returns in the crypto and NFT markets. All of this can add up to fame and fortune in a virtual reality for someone who had neither IRL. How can that not be addictive?

And as the metaverse matures and our online lives become more important, how we take care of our physical selves and manage our mental health may quickly lose priority. Is that sustainable?

What is it that we’re building here, exactly, and is it a good thing in the long run? I’m reminded of the council meetings in my city that pondered the idea of building a new casino in an area where the population was already suffering greatly from addiction and homelessness.

I’m not saying that good can’t come from this technology. How we learn, share, and work, can all benefit from living in an immersive, online, global community. But like the casino and the liquor store, there will be aspects of this new world that will capture the addicted, deliberately or not.

Going forward, I know that I will be taking greater care to ensure my interaction with the metaverse is not driven by addiction, and instead is constructive and beneficial, both for myself and others. For me, reviving this newsletter is a good first step.

Please, if any of this is relatable, maybe it might also be worthwhile for you to take stock of your relationship with the metaverse and how you can find more balance.

In three days time, I will re-connect. Will the crypto and NFT markets have collapsed? Will this newsletter be moot because everyone has already checked out? Or will the boom and inevitable march forward have continued, as I expect?

Maybe, like Schrödinger's cat, I just won’t open that lid. Instead, I’ll just choose to remember the early metaverse as the vibrant and exciting community that it was before I disconnected. Maybe, if I just stay here, listening to the waves crash on the rocks, sipping my coffee, I can pretend that none of it really mattered.

Nah… who am I kidding? I’ll see you in Discord.