Technology and Me

My son sent me a text yesterday with a picture from his hotel room in New Orleans. He is there on business and wanted me to know that he was in my old stomping ground. I lived there for three years from 1965-1968 while my Dad attended Seminary. I started thinking about the old cramped two bedroom apartment where all six of us lived back in those days. Just in case Patrick got a chance to do some sightseeing I thought maybe he would like to visit the place to check out where his dear old dad used to live. So, I FaceTimed my older brother and asked if he remembered our old address. Of course he did. My brother has a photographic memory for useless information, but can’t remember where he put his car keys...it’s a family trait!

A little later my brother sent me the following text:

Nice seeing you just now. Have we lived to see almost unimaginable tech advances since our youth? At Bluefield there was one men’s dorm, one cafeteria, and 1 pay phone on the wall entering the 3 story hotel. Now, every kid in grade school and even kindergarten has an iPhone, with more computer power than the ones used in the Apollo program! Unbelievable!

Unbelievable indeed. We are all beneficiaries of these technological miracles. We enjoy their conveniences every day. They have made our lives infinitely easier and more efficient. I wouldn’t want to go back to the way things were fifty years ago and neither would you. 

But, I feel so disconnected from technology. Yes, I use it, but I don’t understand it. In many ways, I am intimidated by computers. I don’t understand the language that tech people use when discussing it. Younger people seem to swim gracefully in the currents of technology, while I flail around gasping for air. Nothing I’ve done better illustrates my technological limitations more clearly than recent experiences trying to self publish my book. I will not bore you with the details, partly because that would be unforgivably boring, but mostly because...the details...escape me. That’s the problem. I don’t understand the details. Even when I think I’m beginning to grasp them, fifteen minutes later they vaporize and I’m back to being dazed and confused. If my writing is ever going to see the light of day in any substantial way, I will need someone else—possibly multiple someone else’s—to take over the details. Apparently, I am incapable of anything other than conceiving and writing the story. After that I turn into a bumbling idiot.