A fact of life, of our human existence, and something that we all have to accept is that time, conditions, and lifestyles don’t ever stand still. We all likely hope that change doesn’t happen faster than we can recognize and adapt to it, to ease into something new. Sometimes, though, change does happen fast. And then we may learn much about our outlooks and philosophies, as well as our character.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve become embedded in patterns of taste, behavior, and intellectual outlook. I’m comfortable with my routines, but it’s not just about comfort. Sometimes there’s fear of what I don’t know and don’t understand. Is my rightful place as No. 1 eroding? Am I powerless to stop it?
New technology has vastly expanded what we do and how we do it, but it hasn’t come without upheaval. Who envisioned that I’d never have to balance a checkbook again, because online banking replaced that need? Or that I’d never even need to go into the bank to deposit or cash a check? Or that roadmaps would be obsolete, because our cars and even our phones will tell us how to get somewhere?
It’s all so much easier, faster, and more efficient. But do we truly trust it? I can’t envision a time when we’ll have a self-driving car, because my wife doesn’t even let me use cruise control. But it’s coming faster than I think, and will most likely make driving for many seniors much safer. It will allow older folks (like me) to continue getting out and about.
Years ago, my late father-in-law, a wonderful man who was a friend to me as much as anyone I knew, had returned from his winter home in Florida to a summer camp on a lake in southwestern New Hampshire. Out front was a cinder-block planter that he’d built many years before. He’d found it a bother and a difficulty to put in the flowers as he’d done for decades. So, as the family gardener, I volunteered.
I didn’t tell him, but I was making some changes.
As I brought back the plants and started to install them, he stood in the living room overlooking the front pointing with his cane and telling me loudly, “I always put geraniums in the back, and a row of marigolds in the front.”
I smiled pleasantly at him and said I was “doing it differently this year.”
He turned and shook his head in disbelief. I could tell he wasn’t happy.
I had added several new colors, and a few spikes for height. Later he divulged that he “hated spikes.” and adding insult to injury for him, a neighbor came by and told him how much she enjoyed the “new look,”
Disavowing all responsibility, he said it was all “Tom’s idea.”
But that story isn’t about rearranging flowers.
I enjoy those commercials with older children sitting on the porch in rocking chairs lamenting that they “never had high-speed internet” and lost a game because of it. And I particularly like the younger ones inside responding, “We can hear you, you know.”
That’s marketing gold.
It’s also a reminder that things weren’t always perfect, no matter how we remember them. Those golden ages never existed, except in our minds and memories. And we need to remember that the Renaissance wouldn’t have happened without the Middle Ages; that new ideas are shaped by the old ones.
The face mask that so many people hated during the recent pandemic was actually “invented” during the Black Plague of the mid-1300s. Despite its lack of popularity, along with vaccines, masks helped to save what was likely millions of lives.
Trusting the new has always had its detractors. In the 19th century, a movement called the Luddites tried to resist mechanization of the textile industry by staging protests and damaging weaving machines. And that’s because changes are scary. They take a leap of faith.
Is climate change real? The vast majority of climate scientists tell us it is, and we see evidence of it most nights on the news when we hear about 100-year floods, tornadoes, forest fires. Yes, centuries of burning fossil fuels are at least partly responsible. We spray chemicals on our lawns so they look great, and then wonder what happened to the bees and the butterflies and the birds.
(Wait – didn’t I see a bee just a few months ago?)
New ideas and technologies don’t ever come without downsides. The Industrial Revolution generated great wealth, employment opportunities, and a higher standard of living for many. But it also launched a new era of environmental problems: air and water pollution, workforce injuries, loss of animal habitat. It accelerated wealth inequities and patterns of migration that exist and still frighten us today.
Is immigration good for the U.S. or bad? I think it’s both. Actually, we have to appreciate its good while also working to correct the unintended consequences that have come along with it. Many are doing just that.
People are working to develop new and innovative medical treatments for newly identified illnesses and conditions. They are developing new technologies, like applications of artificial intelligence. They are developing new energy sources to transport us and keep us warm in the winter and cool in the summer.
People are working to clean up the environmental messes, and making us aware of the dangers we’ve created. They are working to create new building designs and materials to resist catastrophic weather events. Many in the media and on the internet are working to separate truth from fiction. And many are helping to protect us from those who would take advantage of us, mislead us, or cause us harm.
I don’t deny or protest the development of new technologies that make communications more versatile and efficient, or new cars safer and more energy-efficient. I’ll support what I can, manage the new to the extent that I can, and embrace the future with its infinite possibilities – even when it’s uncomfortable.
Once again, as the T-shirt says, “Don’t look back. You’re not going that way.”
Tom Walters is a retired music teacher and school arts administrator. He retired as fine arts director for the Methuen Public Schools, and is a past president of the MA Music Educators Association. He lives in Londonderry, and has a blog: imthinkingno.com. Reach him at tomwalters729@gmail.com.