Not that many years ago, when microchips were just beginning to insinuate themselves into nearly all facets of daily life, I vowed to master every technological innovation that came my way.

And why not? Each new digital device came with a built-in promise to improve my life immeasurably, to make all facets of work and play infinitely simpler and far more rewarding. All I had to do was take a little time to learn how to run the newest gizmo – even a child could do it, the manuals all said – and I would be a richer man for it.

I refused to become one of those wimpy Luddites who were always complaining that they couldn’t figure out how to program the VCR so it would stop blinking 12 o’clock. How hard could that be to fix? When we got our first VCR, I eagerly uncrated the device, sat down with the 50-page manual, and spent most of an evening trying to make sense of the thing. I boldly steeped myself in the intricacies of our first home computer, too, and eventually even tackled with scholarly zeal the Byzantine functions menu of our high-tech TV.

Before long, the house was awash in complex digital wonders that demanded my attention. The last time I checked, our family had accumulated no fewer than seven remote controls to operate the TVs and the stereo system. Our clocks are digital, as is the new kitchen range. Even our new washing machine is computerized, which meant that I was forced to consult an operator’s manual at first in order to program the thing to do a load of socks and underwear.

And just as I get each clever new labor-saving device programmed perfectly to do my bidding, to make my life easier and infinitely more rewarding, along comes a power outage or another silly daylight-saving time to undo all my hard work and send me scurrying back to the incomprehensible manuals.

According to a recent story in The New York Times, I have become the unwitting victim of something called “mode confusion.” Originally used to describe the bewilderment that airline pilots may suffer when confronted with a dizzying abundance of onboard automation, the term now refers to the frustration and confusion caused by an explosion of digital options that complicate our everyday lives in a bid to make them easier.

Once simple devices that could be operated with a twist of a knob or the push of a button now boast a slew of digital commands that can take hours to master. Many modern televisions, when hooked up to VCRs and DVDs and satellite receivers, have become such complicated forms of entertainment that they can’t even be turned off without running through a lengthy array of menu choices that require the use of more than one remote control.

Mechanics who use to be able to lift the hood of a car and spot an engine problem now have to resort to diagnostic computers when a dashboard idiot light goes on. Microwaves are becoming so unnecessarily high-tech that a person can hardly heat a cup of water without first studying an instruction booklet.

According to one expert cited in the Times story, confused consumers have no one to blame but themselves for the digital tyranny that afflicts their lives. People buy needlessly complex gadgets for the sense of control they offer, said technology guru Edward Tenner, and then they wind up complaining because the gadgets are too difficult to manipulate and maintain.

“But show them something simple and rugged,” Tenner said, “and most of them will call it boring.”

Maybe so. But as anyone afflicted with “mode confusion” will attest, being bored by something simple and rugged sure beats the boredom of having to reprogram a VCR to keep it from blinking 12 o’clock all the time.