I unplugged Alexa yesterday.

Not because she stopped working, but because I started wondering why the hell I needed her in the first place.

A few Christmases ago, I was gifted an Echo Show. I was hesitant at first, but thought it could be a great way for our parents to see their grandchild. All they had to do was “drop in” whenever they wanted.

As I ran through the logistics, I had flashbacks of all the conversations that ended with me angry after trying to walk someone through resetting a Facebook password. Absolutely not. I didn't want to become the on-call troubleshooter, so I pivoted.

Maybe Alexa could be our household command center. And for a while, she was. I asked her about the weather while I got dressed. I had her add things to the grocery list while I cooked. She played podcasts and alerted me when my Amazon packages would arrive. I liked this new convenience, or so I thought.

Eventually, Alexa, Google, and Siri all became regular names in our household. My three-year-old started commanding Alexa to play Kidz Bop. She even had a toy phone she'd yell “Hey Siri” at whenever she couldn't find it. It was adorable. Until it wasn't.

As her speech developed, Alexa couldn't always understand what she was saying. A simple request for a song could turn into a meltdown because Alexa kept playing the wrong thing. So I'd jump in and repeat the request for her. Then Alexa wouldn't understand me, so I'd say it again. Slower.

ALEXA. PLAY. KIDZ. BOP.

Suddenly I'm irritated with a machine because it can't understand me, my toddler is irritated because the machine can't understand her, and I'm trying to teach both of us breathing exercises because Alexa won't play a song.

My first thought was that maybe it was time for an upgrade. Certainly the newer Alexa would understand us better. But that would mean researching which one to buy, ordering it, setting it up, connecting our accounts, learning whatever new features it had, and figuring out what to do with the old one. I was about to give myself more work in the name of convenience.

And that's when I started wondering why I needed Alexa at all.

At some point, I had accepted that asking a machine to add milk to a grocery list was more convenient than just writing down “milk.” And sometimes it probably is. If I'm cooking and my hands are covered in something, yelling “Alexa, add milk to the grocery list” is pretty useful. But I started wondering about all the work required to keep these little conveniences working.

The apps, the accounts, the updates, the troubleshooting, the subscriptions, the upgrades. How many things have I brought into my life because they promised to make it easier, only to give myself one more thing to charge, update, organize, replace, troubleshoot, or remember?

Maybe that's the part of convenience I've stopped questioning. Not whether something can make my life easier, but whether it actually does.

For now, Alexa is sitting unplugged in our living room. I haven't decided if I'll plug her back in or donate her. I'm curious to see how long it takes before I actually miss her.