After I rouse myself from bed in the mornings, I use my phone for too much time. I eventually find the fortitude to stand and grab the remote for the light, switching it from magenta to white and increasing the brightness to its highest level.

I'll head downstairs to grab the remote, turn on First Take, then go back up to my office to wake up my laptop with my Bluetooth trackpad. After playing Wordle, entering each guess with my Bluetooth keyboard, I'll take a shower, get dressed and leave.

In order to get anywhere, living in the suburbs requires me to drive, for which I need to press the button on my keychain to unlock my car (5). I’ll come home and take the groceries in through the garage, which I can access with the remote (6) stored in my glove box. I’ll put the groceries away, have lunch, work, and procrastinate. Later, I’ll go to my bedroom, turn on the TV (7), and straighten my hair while watching something on the Game Show Network. After my fiancé has finished his work, we’ll go downstairs, turn the TV on, and press the PlayStation button in the center of the controller (8) to play Ghost of Tsushima.

My everyday life can be seen through the lenses of the various remote controls I handle. The large number of them might appear cumbersome, but I take joy in recognizing the advantages of having progressed to an advanced technological age.

The innumerable prospects my iPhone touchscreen presents are both tantalizing and perilous — it could take me to a Wikipedia wonderland, but could also propel me into a nasty corner of Twitter. With so many variables, my single-purpose remote controls offer one thing for sure — when I use them, I know precisely what will happen, and that is why they are able to evoke joy in my present day existence. When I take up my light remote and transition the room from cyan to magenta, I am truly thankful to be alive in this era where I can effortlessly modify the ambiance of my home with a small device that alters the color and intensity of the lights. My ancestors could never do that.

I adore my remotes for what they represent, not the devices themselves. I grew up in Manhattan, and I never thought I'd have a normal life with a backyard and car. But each time I press the remote to unlock my car and hear the beep, I'm reminded that life can take you in unexpected directions, which is a positive thing.

I often find myself reflecting on how troublesome and time-consuming technology can be. However, the personal connections I have formed with my various remote controls make me realize the positive aspects of existing in this time of endless devices. The planet can be daunting and solitary, but I am confident that everything is going to be alright, with me standing like a thousand-armed Buddha, each one of my hands holding a separate remote control.