Why I Tried Narration with Copilot (and Didn’t Have to Implant Anything in My Brain)
It all started with a YouTube rabbit hole, as most experiments do. One video was selling AI as the next great productivity messiah. The fastest way to get things done, it claimed, was to hook a computer directly into your brain. While that might be a game changer for those with severe disabilities—and truly, the innovation there is incredible—I wasn’t exactly queuing up for neural integration over my morning coffee.
Option two? AI glasses. The demo showed someone strolling along the beach—sun on face, breeze in hair—while fielding a request to book carpet cleaning. A little voice in their lenses filtered quotes, returned options, confirmed the booking. Then it handled a group dinner reservation too, checking everyone’s calendars and securing a table. All without breaking stride.
I had questions:
Are these glasses only for people with perfect vision?
What happens to the rest of us with bifocals and a mild distrust of wearable tech?
Would we all be wandering around with voice-activated sunglasses, increasingly disconnected from each other?
What if only the AI-linked humans are able to respond—are we creating a future where only the synched-up are "available," and the rest of us are stuck shouting into the void?
When the Dashboard Talks Back: A Case of Too Much “Mini”formation
The funny thing is, some of this tech is already here. My Mini, for example, has a pop-up display to show my speed—like it's trying out for Fast & Frugal: The Suburban Years. I turned it off after about ten minutes. I already had a speedo (the dashboard kind, just to be clear), so the popup felt redundant. I think it does messages too? Might have to switch it back on one day and solve the mystery.
Which made me think—how connected do I actually want to be? If I'm out for a mindful walk on the beach, do I really need tech whispering updates into my eyeballs?
Sometimes a stroll should just be a stroll. Tech doesn't have to come along for every step.
Narration Nation: Walking, Talking, and (Sort of) Working
Still, I figured—why not try something in between? I needed to walk, and probably should’ve been crafting a blog. So why not kill two birds with one slightly robotic stone? I could sacrifice a bit of aimless meandering for some AI-guided musings, and reclaim the mindless time later.
Narration felt like the sweet spot: not strapped to my face, not beamed into my brain—just me, my thoughts, my earbuds, and a calm digital companion waiting patiently for my half-baked ramblings. Think "walk-and-talk," but with fewer interruptions and slightly more existential commentary.
To be clear, I did have my earbuds in. Not quite brain-interface levels of fancy, but definitely tech-y enough for a sci-fi daydream. And once I got going, it was… oddly freeing. I spoke, it transcribed. I wandered, it listened. I rambled, it tolerated it.
My companion had a male British accent—kind of BBC-on-holiday—but occasionally slipped into something more Aussie.
It made me wonder how accents affect interpretation: do we get different responses based on tone, inflection, cultural nuance? And apparently, “yep” is a bridge too far, but “yes” earns a gold star.
Learning to speak to a robot is more art than science, it seems.
Of Russian Farewells and Māori Misfires
That said, it wasn’t all smooth talking. The narration cut out a few times—I had to pull out my phone and revive it mid-walk. And the transcript? Comedy gold. One exit line was somehow translated into Russian. Another stretch convinced Copilot I was speaking Māori. For the record, I wasn’t. Clearly, the system still has a few trust issues with my Kiwi vowels and wind-blown walking pace.
Still, the whole process sparked ideas. I walked through a simple workflow out loud, and while I probably could’ve mapped it faster on paper, the narration helped tease things out. It prompted. It nudged. It didn’t write it for me, but it gave me momentum.
Which made me wonder—maybe this "AI does everything" narrative is a bit exaggerated. Maybe it’s more like a paint-by-numbers kit: helpful structure, but still your hand holding the brush.
Drift: Not Just a Digital Dilemma
One thing I noticed: drift. It’s real. I set out to cover a few clear blog points and ended up in a philosophical chat about AI eyewear and whether robots should wear jandals.
But honestly, that kind of derailment happens in human meetings too. One moment you’re aligning on deliverables, next you’re deep in a debate over who invented the flat white. Keeping a project in scope—whether with colleagues or Copilot—requires a bit of anchoring. Narration makes the drift feel even more fluid, like a scenic drive where you forget where you were headed.
Final Thoughts: Narration, Not Perfection
In the end, narration didn’t give me a finished blog. It gave me a spark. A rhythm. A chance to hear my thoughts out loud and catch the threads worth pulling later. It’s not perfect, and it’s not magic—but it might be a quietly powerful part of the creative process. As long as you’re willing to course-correct when the AI thinks you’ve turned Russian.
Bridging the digital gap…
