The other week I sat outside basking in the glorious morning sun before it got too scorching hot out, sipping a cup of tea and letting my mind wander—I’d left my phone inside and was too lazy to go back inside and grab it.

Within the span of emptying my mug, I had thought up three things I needed answers to and made a mental note to look up when I was back inside. Sitting here now, I can't tell you what those three things were and most certainly forgot to look them up.

I tend to do this a lot.

I like to think that I’m curious and constantly want to learn new things, but it’s too easy now. Too easy to find the answer, there’s no challenge or mental energy expended—the thrill of new knowledge no longer so satisfying.

Last week my footy team was getting decimated to the point I turned the match off at halftime, and my housemate who went for the other team did the same—it was a hard watch. Later that evening, after a few painful minutes of gloating on her end, we carried on, neither of us bothering to look up the final scores.

The next morning she calls me on her way to work, rescinding her bragging rights as it turns out my team had made a mighty comeback in the last quarter. We were both in stitches and it helped add an extra shine to a Friday morning.

But it also got me thinking, what would have happened had one of us picked up our phones and fact-checked? Sure, I would have gloated, she would have grumbled and that would be that, Friday morning would have been just that little bit gloomier.

By finding the answer immediately we stifle conversation and severe connection with the tap of a magnifying glass. We become the dreaded ‘um actually’ person at the dinner table, our demand for instantaneous correctness killing possible conversations, theories or logical assumptions. Searching for an answer on Google—or worse, ChatGPT—has deprived us of rudimentary critical thinking.

We are lacking a misinformation interlude. A space between question and answer where our imagination can flourish.

Take, for example, a debate with a friend over who directed a film. Rather than looking up the director to either prove you were right or endure your friend’s smug smile at your apparent foolishness, you each argue how the stylistic choices of the film clearly align with each director, getting more passionate as the hand gestures get wilder, fighting your corner with gusto.

It should be duly noted that Wes Anderson is obviously excluded from this hypothetical, there would never be a debate if it was his film.

You learn some random tidbits about each director, somewhat against your will and the conversation moves on. A short while later—a day, a week perhaps even a month—one of you decides to look up said movie and you finally learn which of you was correct. This provides a natural conversation starter for when you next see one another that you wouldn't have had if the answer had been found in the moment.

Embrace the interlude as if it allows for a second act to start, a conversation thread to stretch. Who's it harming if we're misinformed for a short while?—an obvious caveat for serious topics where misinformation is dangerous and harmful.

I'm endeavouring to search for answers less and theorise more—ideally not in a conspiratorial way.

And if not for anything else, perhaps this will make me better at trivia, I’m deadweight on the team—from now on if anyone asks, I'm blaming Google.

Till next time xx

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