Digital memories are so nice in many ways (backups so a fire doesn't destroy them, with care they'll more or less never degrade, they take up little space, and

Digital memories are so nice in many ways (backups so a fire doesn't destroy them, with care they'll more or less never degrade, they take up little space, and so on) but they're also burdensome—they seem to multiply endlessly since storage is dirt cheap and takes little space, so that it becomes difficult to sift through to find what you want, favorites that you look at again and again (as in the case of photos) rarely arise because there are just so many, ensuring it's all backed up, finding a way to make it organized, and doing those things without handing all your data to private spy agencies all take time and ongoing effort. It's difficult even to find time to edit the record so it's manageable—and can you, anyway? Can you delete 95% of the photos of your kids, or that loved one you lost, or whoever? Even if you know the idea of looking through them for pleasure or nostalgia brings on anxiety because there are so many, and you never got around to tagging everyone in them or adding those notes you wanted to, and oh no you've forgotten most of what you were going to write, and so on? Looking at them becomes or reminds one of work and you'd actually enjoy them more if there were far fewer of them, but can you delete them? What about your email archive from 20 years ago? You know there are emails you'd love to read again in there, but now you need to find a program to read the file, and go through deleting the 99% you don't care about at all, and there's still a lot, so now you're going through one-by-one to decide whether "hey, wanna meet for lunch?" from a now-dead loved one is worth keeping. And you've got several "misc/laptop_backup/documents/old_files_from_zip_disks"-type directories to go through one of these days when you find the time (will you, ever?). All this for a bunch of junk that will plummet in value to anyone as soon as you die and have nearly zero value to anyone in the world (except maybe as raw data for some damned machine learning program) at most 150 years from now. And when you die you'll burden your friends and relatives with the same data management mess you've mostly-failed to deal with—on top of their own.