Editor’s note: Besides tracking technological advancements and innovations, our author is a Juilliard-trained musical composer. Listen to “Dynamic Scaffolding”, an original extemporaneous improvisation by Howard Lieberman, composed for this column.
In physics, a reference frame determines how we observe and measure reality. Motion, position, and even time itself can appear different depending on where you stand and how you move. There is no absolute observation without a frame. Everything is contextual. But there is another layer that is often overlooked. Reference frames are not static. They vary with time. What we are really operating within, both in physics and in everyday life, is a form of dynamic scaffolding, a shifting lattice of context that evolves continuously, shaping what we perceive, what we consider possible, and how we behave. This is not abstract. It is happening all around us.
Consider something as simple as how people initiate contact. There was a time when dropping in on someone unannounced was normal. The scaffolding supported it. Physical proximity, shared routines, and open expectations made spontaneous interaction feel natural. You were nearby, you stopped in, you stayed, you talked.
Then came the telephone, which shifted the scaffolding. Interaction moved beyond physical space but remained anchored in real time. A phone call still required mutual presence in the moment. It introduced a new layer while preserving immediacy.
Now consider texting. Texting does more than add convenience. It alters the temporal structure of communication. It decouples interaction from real time and allows both parties to operate on independent timelines.
This is dynamic scaffolding in action. The frame has not just changed; it continues to evolve moment by moment, shaped by technology, habit, and expectation. A spontaneous phone call, once normal, now often feels like a disruption. An unannounced visit, once welcomed, now feels intrusive. Not because human nature has fundamentally changed, but because the scaffolding has shifted over time. And as it shifts, behavior follows.
The same pattern appears in how people express themselves. There was a time when communication required original articulation. If you wanted to share an idea, you had to form it in your own words. Thinking and expression were tightly coupled. Today, much of communication is based on selection rather than creation. People send links, forward text, and share artifacts created elsewhere. Instead of constructing meaning directly, they reference it. This is not simply a cultural change; it is a structural one. The scaffolding has evolved to favor speed, efficiency, and distribution, and as it evolves, it reshapes the relationship between thinking and expression. Over time, the question subtly shifts from “What do I think?” to “Which existing artifact represents what I want to convey?”
Now consider the community. Community used to be anchored in shared space and shared time. People encountered each other repeatedly, often without planning. Interaction accumulated. Relationships deepened through continuity. That scaffolding supported emergence. Now the community is distributed and intermittent. Interaction is fragmented across platforms and moments. Continuity is no longer implicit; it must be maintained intentionally. As the scaffolding changes, so does the nature of the connection. This leads to a paradox: communication is more abundant than ever, yet connection often feels thinner. The system is more efficient, but less dimensional.
Nowhere is this more evident than in a single shift of behavior: people used to drop by each other’s homes. Not scheduled. Not negotiated. Just an extension of shared life. You showed up, you were included, and the evening unfolded. And even if you happened to show up at dinner time, room was made for you at the table. That behavior has largely disappeared. It is not that people no longer value connection; it is that the scaffolding no longer supports that form of interaction. Time is segmented, access is coordinated, and presence is negotiated. Spontaneity has been replaced by structure. Over time, this has secondary effects. Skills that depend on spontaneity begin to fade. The ability to host informally, to adapt in real time, to participate without a defined plan becomes less common. Confidence shifts as well. When interaction is typically mediated and curated, unstructured presence can feel uncertain. This is not a failure of individuals; it is a consequence of dynamic scaffolding. As the structure evolves, it reinforces certain behaviors and allows others to atrophy.
But there is a deeper layer. Dynamic scaffolding is not just about what changes; it is about how change accumulates. Small shifts in context, repeated over time, reshape norms. What was once optional becomes expected. What was once expected becomes unusual. Entire modes of interaction can quietly disappear from the active repertoire. Yet the process is not one-way. Because the scaffolding is dynamic, it can be influenced. When someone makes an unexpected phone call and has a meaningful conversation, they are temporarily shifting the temporal frame. When someone expresses an idea in their own words instead of forwarding a link, they are recoupling thought and expression. When someone invites another person over without overstructuring the evening, or accepts an invitation without requiring precision timing, they are restoring conditions under which interaction can evolve in real time. These are small acts, but structurally they are significant. They reintroduce dimensionality.
Highly structured systems optimize for predictability. Dynamic systems allow for emergence. Both have value, but they produce different kinds of outcomes. The current trajectory of technology has been toward increasing control, efficiency, and flexibility over time. These are powerful capabilities, but they also reshape the scaffolding in ways that reduce spontaneity and compress dimensionality. If we are not aware of this, we adapt passively. If we are aware of it, we gain a degree of agency. We can choose when to operate within the dominant frame and when to shift it. We can allow time, space, and interaction to remain partially open. This is not about rejecting technology. It is about understanding what it is doing beneath the surface. Technology is not just a set of tools; it is a generator of scaffolding, and that scaffolding is dynamic. It evolves over time, shaping how we think, how we connect, and what we consider possible. The question is whether we recognize that we are living inside it and, from time to time, are willing to shift it.
The ability to shift reference frames is not optional; it is fundamental to adapting to reality. When the scaffolding changes and we remain fixed, we lose alignment with what is actually happening. We misread signals, cling to outdated expectations, and experience friction where none inherently exists. But when we can recognize the frame we are in and move fluidly between frames, we regain coherence. We see more, not less. We respond rather than react. In a world where the scaffolding is continuously evolving, adaptability is not about working harder within a fixed structure; it is about knowing when the structure itself has changed and having the capacity to shift with it.
And this brings us to the present moment. When people are uncomfortable with AI and large language models and dismiss or pretend they are not relevant, they are not just avoiding a tool; they are resisting a shift in scaffolding. This may be one of the most significant changes in reference frames they will encounter in their lifetime. To ignore it is to remain anchored in an outdated frame while the environment continues to move. The opportunity is not simply to use these systems, but to recognize how they reshape context itself. Those who can shift their reference frame accordingly will see new possibilities. Those who cannot will find the world increasingly difficult to interpret.
