Tag Archives: memories

Technology vs. memories

“Remember when we would get picture prints and the first print off of every roll was your ‘goofy-face’ test picture?”- Angela to me.

Yes, I do. And I miss them. A lot. How did I forget about those? It’s weird how some of the details of your own life can fade over time yet you don’t recognize that they have faded.

Wait. They didn’t fade. They were replaced. By this.

Fun destroyer.

Thanks to technology, I don’t need to take a goofy first-of-the-roll-test-pic to make sure the film is advancing properly. Bummer.

I wonder what else I am going to miss out on? Yeah, goofy pics aren’t a huge thing to miss out on, and I won’t miss the pics themselves (at least not too much). What I will miss is the 30 seconds of laughing with my wife over how ridiculous I look.

I also miss photo albums. Real photo albums. With actual photos. Sure, I have a gigantic collection of pics on my PC, and I can view them anytime. But, I never clean them out. They’re unorganized. There are just too many. Plus, I have to be logged on to my computer to have other people view them. It would be kinda weird for a friend to just pick up my laptop and start looking through my digital libraries. But somehow it would be okay if I had a photo album filled with all my personal memories and people could thumb through that.

So what else does technology accidentally replace? Hmm . . .

-Face to face conversations. Because, either they’re not face to face anymore (i.e. Facebook, which I try to avoid for many reasons) or if you are face to face with someone, they’re looking at a screen and texting someone else.

-Music. Yeah, music got a lot of benefits from tech, but it also loses something (see this CNET article). Also, anything with ‘auto-tune’ involved should not also be labeled music.

– Your social life. Especially if you are an online gamer. Especially if that game has anything involving dragons.

– Your marriage. Especially if you are an online gamer. Especially if that game has anything involving dragons.

– Seinfeld. Well, not directly, but this should explain it.

– Your memory.

Currently Angela and I are working on re-building our photo albums. I want to have something physical to pass down to my kids one day. Somehow I imagine handing over a hard-drive with a hearty “Here ya go, son.” Just won’t be as meaningful as hard-copies of pictures.

The picture I found that started this whole thing. Circa 2005.



You’ll Get Worked . . .

The more I pay attention to my own experiences the more I realize that some of the most relevant moments of my life are actually in between moments. As I set about at my first “real” day at my new career/job, I was pretty busy doing all those job-like things. Making phone calls. Scheduling appointments. Managing my schedule. Throughout all of these tasks I had a vague sense that I was living and breathing, that I was entering into some portal of adulthood that, hitherto, had not been breached.

At an unintended pause between tasks I caught myself looking outside of my office window. Nearby a tree was barely moving in the breeze. The yellow sun was making my left side sweat. In that brief moment I felt like a single thread had been plucked, and I could somehow feel the vibrations resonating throughout my life. Suddenly, there was a flash of a memory nearly forgotten. I was playing in my front yard, about 9 years old, with some Lego’s and a Micheal Keaton Batman action figure. I felt a direct connection between that boy that I used to be and the man that I am now. In the same moment the thought was both heartbreaking and heartwarming. I realized that those were good times. I realized that I could never return to that boy. Yet I was content to move on. I was content to be there working toward some unknown future.

When I came out of my momentary trance I took brief inventory of my new office. Strewn about were markers, crayons, some children’s books, some children’s games, and Lego’s. The only thing that seemed to be missing were action figures. Standard issue for a child and adolescent therapist. In a way, I guess, that little boy still lives on.