Remember us?
In retrospect, it was insidious. A subtle creeping of a new way of life, of being. One day, my eleven year old self was overjoyed when the cable man installed a TV remote – a large box with chunky buttons connected to the television by a length of cord. Not having to get up off the sofa to change the channels was dreamy. Shortly thereafter, came the first wireless remote. As new technology unrolled, we thought nothing of it, basking in the delight of their ease.
Then came cordless phones. I mean, the joy! No more stretching the rubbery, coiled phone cord to its limit, around the corner and down the hall, tugging it just enough to reach my bedroom so that I could have a semi-private conversation. (I say semi-private because at any time someone could pick up another receiver in the house and listen in – an art which I had perfected.) For many years, I lobbied unsuccessfully to get a phone jack installed in my room.
From then on, the change accelerated, each one more wonderful than the next. None of us worried about the consequences, the profound impact this digital convenience would exact. I remember when Dad brought home the first computer, parking it right under the Encyclopedia Britannica set, telling us, “this is the future.” I wasn’t impressed. Stick in a black floppy and we played a rousing game of Pong or Tetris. When I went to College, I eventually learned to appreciate the advanced capabilities of the word processor, relegating Wite-Out to the trash heap of history.
Before we’d even registered what was happening, the world as we'd known it for centuries, evaporated. My kids, even as I’ve tried to ground them in the basics, have had a completely different experience from me. While true for all generations, this feels fundamentally different. I can relate to my mother when she reminisces about spending days picking apples and working the farm. My brother and I diddled away countless afternoons, riding bikes around the neighborhood as far as we dare go, exploring forgotten creeks, creating our own shortcuts, and swiping candy at the corner store. Our parents, for better or worse, had their feet off the brakes when it came to supervision – they assumed we’d be home at dinner time and went on with their lives. That freedom is gone for most kids. Their world, contained within a three by five inch device, is ruled by an overabundance of exuberant yet often unreliable information. In some ways their world is bigger, but in others it has grossly contracted.
For those of us in Gen X (remember us), there are cultural gaps that sometimes feel more like chasms; we grew up in an analog world and became adults in the digital age – precariously straddled between two galaxies. It can be tough to reconcile; we are often left feeling like we are good at nothing. For me, the gap has become omnipresent, sometimes holding me back, making me cautious, at other times propelling me forward and pushing my boundaries. The discord, of trying to reconcile competing mindsets and struggling to be one thing or another, has become normal. It’s an alternately exhausting and enlightening place to be.