By Natasha Josefowitz, Ph.D.
LA JOLLA, California — I just faced my own mortality head on. A few days ago I met my new twin great-grandsons—all of four months old—and realized I will not know them as teenagers! They will have to see me on old DVDs which may in fact not be playable by then. My 90th birthday is looming around the corner and living much beyond 100 is really not a realistic expectation. My mother died at 96. So I will miss so much fun like everyone having driverless cars and Amazon packages flying in via drones through an open window. I will probably not get to print my 3-D sandwiches in what will be a common household appliance, nor use a robot to clean my house, nor be privy to dozens of other not-as-yet discovered wonders that will retool our brains, change our DNAs and make our lives easier (hopefully). I’m truly sorry I will miss out on all these wonders coming in the next decades!
On the other hand, I was born on a street paved with cobblestones with milk delivered in glass bottles with the cream rising to the top by means of a horse-drawn carriage. A large block of ice was brought to the house to be placed in the aptly named ice box to drip quietly into a tray at the bottom. Doctors made house calls and now do the same via Skype. My mother’s lace tablecloths have been replaced by plastic place mats. The good china, crystal and silverware are on the top shelf of a cabinet inaccessible without a stepladder and not used in many years. Things that were not invented yet are obsolete now—like pantyhose, VHSs and electric typewriters.
I, indeed, am part of a generation in transition between the old, tried and true, still around, still usable—like landlines and actual books—giving way to cell phones and Kindles. CDs and DVDs will be obsolete; we will stream. Siri is already in our pockets replacing the old 18 volume encyclopedia set, and Echo will be standing vigil in the homes of the future all knowing about everything. “Knowledge at our fingertips” is indeed an apt metaphor. We will travel the world in virtual reality and attend university classes remotely in real time.
So ninety years from now the world will be as different, if not more, so than ninety years ago. As the galaxies are moving away from us at an ever faster speed, so will the new inventions arrive at a faster and faster rate with discoveries being made at increasing velocity. Yes, there is some nostalgia about the times of a less constant bombardment from the latest newscast or always being available via our smartphones—a time of a slower pace with fewer people in our lives to interact with, with longer letters to distant friends… But I admit, I like the unknown people who want to be my friends on Facebook, or my columns reaching untold numbers on Huffington Post.
I like the easy way of reaching friends by emails and texts, receiving a photo from a grandchild within minutes of it being taken, sending kisses via Skype or Facetime to a grandbaby. I like the whirlwind of my life, but not the mass of papers that seem to copulate endlessly, not ever allowing me to be caught up. My file cabinets are bulging with information I have not looked at in years, with the mindset that it might be needed again some day. Some day… some day I will become a minimalist and live in an environment devoid of clutter. In the meantime, I really should take everything out of my freezer and see what is still there as leftovers from a party too long ago. As long as I’m that doing that, I should also give away all the shoes with heels that I shall never wear again, unless I plan to possibly twist my ankle.
So, dear reader, you can see where my musings of my own mortality have taken me: declutter—simplify my life to make room for whatever will come next. What good advice. May be some of you will take it. If so, please give me a gentle shove.
© Natasha Josefowitz. This article appeared initially in the La Jolla Village News. The author may be contacted via natasha.josefowitz@sdjewishworld.com. Comments intended for publication in the space below MUST be accompanied by the letter writer’s first and last name and by his/ her city and state of residence (city and country for those outside the United States.)