Computing Consuming

In the world as it is, computers, phones, servers, and networks are not optional extras. They sit underneath work, housing, healthcare, transport, and even the ability to attend in-person groups. A person can try to stay “offline” in one area, yet still be carried by a web of machines running in the background: data-centres, routers, payment systems, electronic records, logistics.

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A single device feels small. One laptop in a room, one phone in a pocket. But each screen is the front-end of a chain: mined materials, manufacturing, shipping, power grids, server halls, cooling systems, cables under oceans, and people maintaining all of it. Electricity runs through hardware that has to be produced, replaced, and eventually dumped somewhere. The computing layer is not free of cost, just because it looks weightless.

There is also the cost that moves through taxes. When a society leans heavily on complex digital infrastructure and large institutions, a lot of public money is drawn into keeping those structures alive: administration, buildings, systems, contracts, security, supervision, layers of management. Old wisdom has long noticed that when taxes are high and badly directed, some people starve. Today, the same pattern can be seen in a different form: heavy tax-consuming on large systems and complex infrastructures, while pressure on prices pushes down wages and squeezes those already close to the edge.

Servers and networks do not only live in the private sector. State systems, legal structures, policing, and armed forces lean on them too. That means that high consumption of computing resources and high tax-consuming can combine: more electricity, more hardware turnover, more staff-hours, more pressure to justify and expand the machinery. None of that is neutral. It shapes conditions that people have to live in, and it influences what is possible for those trying to recover and live more gently.

Someone in recovery can easily fall into two traps around this.

One trap is dismissal: “It’s just a device,” “It’s just a subscription,” “It’s just some background servers.” That attitude can slide into using tech as a quiet way to escape, over-occupy attention, or delay facing painful realities. The person tells themself the impact is negligible, while time, energy, electricity, and public and private resources get channeled into patterns that don’t heal anything.

The other trap is overload. Once the costs are noticed, it is easy to feel crushed by them. The person might start chasing a perfect operating system, the lowest-impact hardware, the purest setup. They keep reinstalling, switching platforms, reconfiguring, trying to carry the entire digital world on one conscience. That can turn into another loop: lots of activity, little recovery, and still no peace.

Between those extremes lies something more useable. Instead of asking, “Which choice is flawless?” a more helpful question might be, “Which direction does this choice move in, and what does it support?”

Some examples:

When choosing an operating system: does this system encourage constant upgrades, distractions, and heavy background activity, or does it tend to be quieter and more stable?
When choosing hardware: is this purchase likely to last for many years, or does it tie into a short replacement cycle?
When choosing hosting or services: does this pattern of use lean on huge platforms that constantly push more engagement, or on simpler tools that do the job without as much pull?

There is also the tension between physical presence and digital support. Meeting in person can look “simpler,” yet getting there may rely on transport systems, digital scheduling, card payments, GPS, and heating or lighting controlled by building systems. Avoiding all digital tools is usually not realistic, and in some cases it would actually increase the load: more travel, more time lost, less practical support, more strain on the person trying to recover.

The task is not to design an impossible life without electricity or networks, but to navigate what exists with more truth. For one person, that might mean choosing a stable, relatively light operating system and sticking with it for a good stretch, instead of jumping from one to another. For another, it might mean resisting the urge to turn every device into a source of constant stimulation. For another, it might mean accepting the need for certain tools to earn a living and stay out of deeper dependency on systems that have already caused harm.

Tax-consuming can be part of this inventory. When personal choices feed into patterns that demand ever more infrastructure, ever more management, ever more indirect costs, that has consequences down the line: less tax space for direct care and essentials, more pressure to cut wages or push prices, more justification for systems that keep people surveilled and controlled. None of this is a simple one-to-one equation, but it is also not harmless.

At the same time, taking on more guilt than truth requires does not help. No one person can repair the entire world of servers and budgets. What is possible is something more modest and more real: to stop pretending this area is costless; to notice when devices and systems are being used to avoid life rather than support it; to choose “good enough for now” tools that allow recovery work, income, and connection without deliberately feeding the heaviest forms of excess.

For someone inclined to stepwork or written inventory, questions might include:

In which ways is computing used as a support for healing and livelihood?
In which ways is it used mainly to escape, delay, or stir up more unrest?
Are there places where hardware is replaced or upgraded more out of restlessness than necessity?
Are there patterns of use that lean heavily on large, resource-hungry systems when lighter options would suffice?
Is there any area where tax-consuming or digital infrastructure is being leaned on, when a simpler, more direct path would actually fit better?