I threw out my brain. It sparked no joy.

''' I don’t need to know things anymore. What a relief.

Remember facts? Dates? The name of that actor, the capital of Uruguay, the recipe for that cake your mother used to make? What a waste of precious cognitive space. Why would you clutter your beautiful, empty mind with such useless trivia when a machine can do it for you, instantly and flawlessly?

Think of all the energy you save. The mental load, gone. It’s the ultimate act of intellectual minimalism. I used to feel a little pang of guilt when I’d ask my AI assistant a question a five-year-old could answer. Not anymore. I’ve come to see it as a sign of strength. It’s delegation, not decay. It’s evolution.

The Joy of Not Knowing

Honestly, remembering things is stressful. It comes with the anxiety of misremembering, of being corrected, of looking stupid. Why bother? The little sparkle icon is my external hard drive. My memory dealer. I don’t have to know, I just have to ask.

Some people worry this makes us vulnerable to manipulation, that a population that has forgotten how to remember is easier to control. That if we can’t recall basic history, we’re easier to fool with cheap fakes and AI-generated political lies—what some call slopaganda. I say they’re missing the point. It’s not about truth or lies; it’s about efficiency. The machine tells me what happened. The machine tells me what to think about it. Simple.

"A mind unburdened by facts is a mind free to… well, to prompt for more facts."

Look, the goal is to be frictionless. To be light. And memories are heavy. So I let them go. And if you’re smart, you’ll do the same. Here’s a little detox tip: for the next 24 hours, write down every single question you ask an AI. The next day, look at the list and ask yourself if you could have answered just one of them by thinking for 60 seconds first. It