On Christmas day several years ago, I opened a package from my father. It was a Fitbit, with a Walmart gift receipt taped to the packaging. My dad had mailed it to California because he is a dad born in a certain year, when the latest electronic was always the most covetable gift.
At the time, I couldn’t tell you why the thought of using the Fitbit rankled me. But years later, it’s become clear. To my well-meaning father, it didn’t matter that I’d tracked my body’s functions since I was diagnosed with Type I “juvenile” diabetes at 14, siphoning blood from my finger into a test strip five or six times a day. We were entering an age of optimization, and he wanted to give me access to those insights, as effortlessly as donning an ugly silicone bracelet. As I’d moved from glass bottles and syringes to preloaded pens, from a beeping, Tamagotchi-like blood glucose monitor to a sleeker version in a molded carrying case, I’d discounted tech’s entrée into the health…
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Source : fastcompany.com
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