Many people have at least a mental list of things they’d save in the event of a fire. Heirlooms, photos, pets, that sort of thing. As our lives become more tech-dependent, over the years I’ve wondered if those lists change.
Plenty of things toward which we’ve traditionally had emotional attachments, like photos and music, are often not actually things anymore. They’re data, perhaps more rented than owned, and not stored where we live.
I’d bet most people are overconfident in their assumptions of what, if anything, they could save in the event of a fire. So on that front technology can provide considerable peace of mind. Some valuables we don’t have to be responsible for saving in the moment.
I would also assert that the list of things we’d want to save hasn’t actually changed all that much. You may grab your phone in your frenzied rush – chances are it’s never far anyway – but your laptop? Nah. I’d suspect you’re still more likely to grab that decades-old photo album, maybe grandma’s pearls, and your cat, as you flee.
As more and more of our lives become digital, some tangible things still seem to hold priority with us. You may have scanned and saved every one of the pictures in that album to a cloud account (probably not), you may not have worn grandma’s pearls since that company Christmas party years ago. But still…
Is it because some things simply can’t be digitized? Or even if they could, would a 3D-printed replica of grandma’s pearls be the same? Even if indistinguishable from the originals, you’d just… know. To my knowledge you cannot yet 3D print a cat. Cloning is available, though exceedingly expensive.
It even goes beyond heirlooms and mementos to our day-to-day recreational pleasures. Bookstores are apparently doing well, or at least better. (Go visit Words Worth! They’re awesome!) Libraries still have long waitlists for the latest hotly anticipated releases, and not just the ebook versions. (Just try getting The Testaments any time soon.)
Designers I know spend their evenings and weekends staining their hands with paints. A number of photographers I know go out of their way to acquire and shoot with various kinds of film, or vintage cameras. The artistic endeavours printed and framed on their living room walls weren’t made with a smartphone. Perhaps it’s generational, but I don’t think that’s entirely so.
While more and more of the music business is centred around streaming services, vinyl record sales are actually continuing to grow, surpassing CD sales (I know, CDs?) and are selling at rates not seen for a quarter of a century. Which is admittedly still niche, as a quarter-century ago was only 1994, not 1974. But still, it’s certainly not a technology anyone needs today.
A little while back I was hanging out with friends one evening, and one of our hosts collects vinyl. She was casually DJing, popping up every so often to switch out what was on the stereo. And I would say it absolutely did affect the feel, mood and some of the conversational flow of the evening.
Now, much more hardcore music folks than I am can wax rhapsodic about the superiority of the sound and “feel” of music on vinyl. But thinking back to that evening I don’t think an mp3 playlist would have had quite the same effect.
On Christmas morning, would getting a Steam subscription in your stocking rank up there with unwrapping a gaming console, then spending the afternoon in your pyjamas down in the rec room with siblings and cousins?
And then there’s something near and dear to my heart: recipes. I very much relate to this article about cards vs. the cloud. I have 3x5 cards that Mom has written out, and one day I will insist on inheriting her collection, too. Even though these days we share recipes more often via Google Docs.
Similarly, the one thing I insisted on acquiring from my grandparents’ auction sale was a box of cookbooks, specifically to get my hands on Grandma’s copy of the Mennonite Community Cookbook. They don’t make it in hard copy anymore, you see, and the ring-bound version just isn’t the same.
One of my best bequests, when I’m gone, is a flour-dusted black binder that resides in the cupboard above the stove. In it, in some semblance of order, are the “good” recipes. As with any family’s favourites, you can tell the best stuff by how crusty or sticky the pages are. No “like” button needed.
Sure, my Pinterest account has hundreds of recipes, most of which I’ve never tried, and probably never will. If that account got deleted tomorrow, I’d be minimally upset. If my binder got destroyed? That would be bad. I’ve tried cooking by reading recipes off a propped-up iPad. Doesn’t really work for me. Can’t focus on the steps, can’t scribble notes.
Hell, I’m even considering sending Christmas cards this year, which I haven’t done in years. Few of my friends or relatives do either any more. All because of a conversation where one of my co-workers mentioned that their dog was “sending” cards to other co-workers’ dogs.
Conveniently, to blend old and new tech, I know you can order custom cards online at Costco (dog optional) and have them shipped to you. Whether I actually have people’s addresses is another story, but conveniently the internet is helpful for that. You can even sort out postage from your computer these days.
It’s fascinating, these varied rules about how and where we do or don’t weave tech into our lives.
Secondhand shops and landfills are getting ever more buried under a deluge of stuff that older generations are trying to downsize, but that younger generations don’t want. It’s more than not having room for it, or that broader social traditions have waned. (Good china? Really?)
I think it comes down to connection. To intergenerational threads. To items becoming talismanic, infused with memories and snippets of our lives.
Grandma wore those pearls at her wedding, then mom did, then you did.
That slightly scratched LP was playing at your buddy’s party when you met the love of your life.
Your best friend just showed up with that kitten after that terrible breakup.
The recipe on that card came from another country, from another time, and embodies a culture and a family’s history. Or maybe it’s just something really delicious you want to be able to share with new people.
So thank you, technology, for all the ways you’ve upgraded our lives, provided us with backups, and created opportunities. But as I have done before, if the fire alarm starts blaring, I’ll be leashing my dog, throwing on my coat and, if I’m lucky, slipping my recipe binder under my arm as I head outside.
Everything else will just have to be replaceable.
