As a society, we create more documentation and information than at any other time in the history of mankind. The majority of it is neither permanent nor tangible.
I am guilty of limiting my voice to series of electrical impulses, controlled by an on/off circuit.
I entrust my most cherished images to these same set of impulses, combined with a drive or a stick or a cloud.
And, I’m worried.
There are those who will never know the joy of walking to the mailbox, in anticipation of a letter, from a loved one.
Or receiving a delightful postcard, sent by a dear friend on vacation.
Or kissing a picture of your boyfriend goodnight, and tucking him safely under your pillow.
In a world, where the mantras of “keeping it real” and “being authentic” continuously resonate within our ears, we are leaving a legacy that is both tenuous and ephemeral.
The question may no longer be “How will we be remembered?” but “If, we will be remembered?”
This is the item at the heart of my rant. It is a postcard, circa 1912. It is the Rosetta Stone for genealogical research of my family.
Without this postcard, I would have struggled to move past what little I knew of my grandparents. Because of it, I have a fairly complete picture of my heritage, back to when my ancestors first came to America.
In this day and age, words put to paper, photos you can both touch and see, could be considered an endangered species.
No doubt, this “lol” is pretty, flashy, colorful and attention grabbing. It is also fleeting. In 100 years, it will mean nothing. Because even today, it does not truly exist.