In 1976, I used a converted IBM Selectric typewriter to produce a stack of punch cards as I "word-processed" my Ph.D. dissertation on the University of Iowa's mainframe computer. My professors wondered how I was retyping my revised copy so quickly.
In the early 1980s, I watched a blinking amber cursor move across a black screen as I typed a brief message and clicked "send." It seemed harmless enough.
In the late 1990s, I started work at 8 a.m. with three important tasks I wanted to complete by noon, glanced at my e-mail messages and looked up at the clock. It was 11 a.m.
Yesterday, after spending most of my day hunched over my laptop, I was walking along the Minnehaha Creek, crab apple trees in bloom, when I felt a vibration in my pocket. A giant hand appeared, something flashed and I was yanked from my surroundings.
Today, much of what is known by humankind is accessible to me at the tap of my finger. I spend more and more of my day tethered to a virtual world, unresponsive to what is going on around me.
I ask you, is this progress?
Of course it is. Our rapidly changing technologies are mind-boggling, extraordinary, fascinating and just plain fun.
But I haven't forgotten the voices from the past.