If the question is how to survive the tsunami of information in the age of AI, the answer is simple: learning not to read

This morning I counted the open tabs on Day, my browser. Twenty-five.

There was a Counterpoint analysis there that I opened five days ago to read “as soon as I can” but that I haven’t touched yet. A very good looking thread from X. Three newsletters to medium scrollwaiting for me like half-done homework. And so on a few more things.

I’ve been writing about technology for fifteen years. My job is literally to read, filter and think about what I read. And yet, or precisely because of that, it is increasingly difficult for me to distinguish when I am informing myself from when I am simply moving my eyes.

We have been treating reading as a virtue in itself for centuries. “Read more” has always been the universal advice, the automatic response to almost any shortcoming. AND tmade sense when the problem was the scarcity of sources. But the problem began to be different and we continued the same, with the same reflection.

The mistake is that we have transferred the respect and moral inertia that we had for a good book to formats that do not deserve it. We read an endless thread of X, a marketing PDF or a newsletter inflated feeling that passing your eyes over that text is a meritorious act by default. It is no longer. Or at least, not always. I know this goes against me.

AI has broken the equation in a way that borders on absurd comedy. Today anyone generates a ten-page report on any topic in three minutes. Any creator inflates an idea of ​​a paragraph until it fills a thousand words without adding a single new piece of information, just trash. And the great paradox is something we saw coming a long time ago: Our best defense is to use that same technology. We live in a loop where A machine lengthens a text to make it seem important, and we use another machine to summarize it for us in three bullets and thus save us the procedure. Some give the badge and others neutralize it.

The amount of text available is no longer related to the knowledge it contains. There are more words than ever because it is easier than ever to generate them, but It is not at all clear that there are more ideas. What is growing is the pressure to consume them all. I feel like, often, that fear of being left out seems like intellectual curiosity when what’s underneath is simple FOMO.

Traditional functional illiteracy consisted of deciphering the letters but not understanding a word of what they said. The new one looks more like the opposite: We understand each text perfectly, but we have lost the ability to decide if it deserves to be read..

We don’t filter. We do not rule out. We don’t say “this is bullshit that doesn’t give me anything.” Not enough. And we don’t do it because discarding information is something that we continue to feel like a loss, like an act of laziness that gives us away. But it is just the opposite.

The ability to not read (identify in three seconds that something is not worth your next ten minutes) is today an act of intelligence that contributes almost as much as reading itself. And for that you need to develop your own red flag. In my case, if a text promises a revelation but the first paragraph is pure introductory nonsense, get out. If I sense grandiloquent adjectives and filling robotic structures, out. If there is not a single piece of data before the first scroll, on the run. I don’t even mention the monoline structure so common in X and LinkedIn. There, it directly catapults.

When ChatGPT arrived, many of us thought that the risk of AI was that people would stop reading. It may be worse: that you read more than ever without thinking more than ever. Let it process without digesting. Accumulate information like someone who accumulates open tabs, with the vague promise of returning to them. We know he won’t. We never go back.

I know this because I haven’t closed those twenty-five tabs all week and in the end I will close them all at once, without reading them, with a mixture of relief and guilt. But I have begun to understand that closing tabs suddenly after having selected the most interesting thing is a very healthy practice.

In the end, the new functional illiterate is too much like my browser this morning: overloaded with tabs, full of promises to read, and completely unable to process a single more idea.

In Xataka | There is a generation working for free as a documentarian of their own life: they are not influencers but they act as if they were.

Featured image | Xataka