Y2.02K

December 30, 2019

Greetings from the edge of tomorrow,

On a morning just like this one, not long ago, twenty years, many people were terrified about the end of the world as we know it.  If you suspect exaggeration, ask an honest person about that week; see if they were in a long line at the grocery store, loading up on essentials.

A few people just assumed that the experts were taking care of everything, but the experts were on TV saying they didn’t know what to expect.  The decade was going to flip from 1999 to 2000 and for all anyone knew, Y2K would be a catastrophe.  No one knew if computers understood calendars well enough.  Yes, the same calendars that hang from repair-garage walls, might stymie Hal 9000.

The cities would go dark.  Computers would stop talking to us, stop processing our credit cards, managing surgeries or running our elevators.  Planes would fall from the sky.  Our PC would not be able to get anything to print, even if you turned it off and back on again.  The big fear was that technology would stop, and that civilization, such as it is, would grind to an agonizing halt. 

But it didn’t.  The hands on the clock turned, the magic that is all ones and zeroes didn’t fall to hysteria when the nines turned to zeroes.  Another year flipped, and another, and technology shrugged.  We sighed with relief; the catastrophe had been avoided.  Well, my PC still won’t talk to my printer.

What occurs to me is that, as Y2K loomed, everyone was afraid that technology would stop.  No one was afraid that technology, with all of its wonders, would continue, and in startling ways.  Almost no one said “Oh no, what if tomorrow our phones will get more attention than our children?” 

No one wondered if two decades would pass, and the computers would play such an important role our lives that we would have traded time with friends, and experiences of the world, for a shiny virtual replacement.

I’ll pause here and say I am not a Luddite, and no, that is not someone from Ludington.  I am not afraid of technology and gadgets and conveniences.  I am not against the progress that this age has brought.  Some of it is lifesaving, some puts knowledge and access in the hands of people who never would otherwise be able to reach their potential.  In fact, I am a proponent of all of the advantages that The Screens have brought us.

When I learned to drive, there were rules and limitations applied, to make my life, and those around me, safe and pleasurable.  I enjoyed the convenience and advantage of being able to drive, but some experienced person first said: “Before you begin, here is how you can best use this innovation in your life.”  Also, there was a balance in my life, eventually, that said that the best way to get from one place to the next was not always by car.

One of my favorite technology helps is the directions my phone gives me.  But one of the few bits of wisdom I have held onto is that occasionally it is good to get lost.  Therein is the discovery, the surprise, the adventure, if rightly considered.

I have this book, one of my favorites.  It’s really old, and in the fashion of bookbinding in those days the pages have ragged, irregular edges.  If you hold the book slightly open and riffle the pages, the book presents you with a different place to read each time.  It falls open to this scene or that, and I feel a sense of the mystical, mixed in with the irreplaceable tactile experience.

What happens in that moment is random and a surprise.  I already know the words but as they are presented it is a magical occurrence, one that, even in the telling you, feels whimsical and warm.  Here is what appeared for me. “We find after years of struggle that we not take a trip; a trip takes us.”― John Steinbeck.   

There is no equal to this in the digital publication of the book. 

I can turn on this screen and see the peaks of the Dolomites or a sweeping prairie, or be transported to the redwoods, or marvel at the Sphinx.  It is amazing that the world can be brought to my little den.  And yet, there is no equal to standing in a forest, feeling the dampness, smelling the things growing and dying, hearing the nok nok nok of the woodpecker, seeing the deer move among the oaks.  There is no experience in a screen or VR that can compare to running under a summer sky, or the squeak of the first steps of a snow run.  There is nothing inside your headphones that will give you the same sensation as a child’s laughter.

I am grateful to be able to write to you, to send this around the globe and know our connection.  I love being able to call my family without hesitation from anywhere in the world.  And I will never trade that for clasping the hand of a friend or holding someone I love.

If this seems a bit dramatic forgive me.  I am trying to tell you kindly that in this new year there will be an opportunity to avoid a technological tragedy.  The end of this decade snuck up on me;  I was expecting one page to tip over and it turns out ten flipped by.  I looked up and we are at the edge of another decade.  It seems like a good time to resolve for balance. 

With no apologies I offer this suggestion for Y2.02K.  We can choose, being the sentient beings, to silence Siri, to darken a screen, to trade a moment’s efficiency for the color and texture and warmth that is the real gift waiting for us when we opened our eyes this morning.  And for the next decade.

It’s possible for us to create our own catastrophe, so to speak.  It’s a good time to show the world, and whoever is creating the next shiny thing for us to fall in love with, that we understand how to use technology, and how to not use it.  We can choose the richness each day, the real world as it was created for us. Life is meant for more than watching, it calls to us to be part of it, to create and love and sing and feel the ache of trying and the welling joy that comes when we experience our purpose.  Walk to the hardware store instead of having a drone deliver the nails to your doorstep.  Put the phone down, close the laptop, turn off the big screen, and turn to see who is waiting to change your life.

Hope this finds you living the reality,

David

Copyright © 2019 David Smith