In 1970, Alvin Toffler published Future Shock, a prediction that the rapid pace of industrial and technologic development would overwhelm us. Toffler’s definition of future shock (according to Wikipedia) is “a personal perception of ‘too much change in too short a period of time.’” Toffler’s book also popularized the term “information overload.” I remember reading the book and marveling at some of his predictions. And now, I have seen his prophecies materialize; I am a participant in a culture of frequent and rapid change.
I am learning that the only consistency I can depend on in this society is change. Sometimes this change is symbolized by the disappearance of what appeared to be established parts of our lives. In downtown Denver, there is a structure, the Daniels and Fisher tower, that is the only remains of a once vibrant department store. When I was a child, Daniels and Fisher merged with another store, the May Company, to become May-DF. Now, that store is gone, replaced first by Foley’s and now by Macy’s. In Texas, Joske’s became Dillards, and Woolsworth has been replaced, attesting to inflation, by dollar stores. These were only stores, but when they were vibrant places, I believed they would always be accessible. Now they are gone, reflections of the constant shifting of places and even beliefs that we have witnessed in our lifetimes.
Of course, the most rapid changes have come in technology. Recently, my grandchildren asked me when I first got a television, and they were incredulous that there was a time before TV, and that radio was an acceptable entertainment. I remember asking my father, not so very long ago, to show me the Internet; I had heard of it, but did not grasp what it was. Today, I visit it several times each day, and it always affords me the answer I am seeking, to random questions, directions, latest news.
I seem to have adapted, even embraced the availability of information, hardly suffering from “overload.” And yet, I yearn for things that were a part of my childhood, and that have, apparently, vanished forever. I yearn for the slower pace, for the simplicity of only 2 channels on television (and two major news sources), for the security of life where I could ride my bike to school and play outside all day on Saturday, without the fear that accompanies modern parenthood.
I remember playing outside until the street light came on, Burma shave signs, piling a family of five into a car designed for 4 and taking off on a 700 mile trip. Without seat belts. (I know, it is a wonder that we survived.) I miss 10¢ movies and Saturdays serials before the main attraction began (unable to return for a second Saturday series, I’m still wondering how Superman got out of that cave with the lava flowing in) I am worried that my grandchildren do not know Roy Rogers and Dale Evans or the innocence of our comic books and their characters (Donald and Scrooge McDuck, Nancy, Little LuLu) and that they have never heard, on the radio, Big John and Sparky. I wonder if I can still play jacks.
Looking back, all these things reflect an innocence that was part of American life. Our culture today seems so much more complex – and, sadly, dangerous – than when I was a child. When major news stories break, we hear them almost instantaneously. This adds, I believe, to the sense of danger – or perhaps, to the understanding of danger which we did not know as children.
but all of this is a choice. I don’t need to be nostaligic about these simple things, I can look back on them with pleasure and then become aware of the simple parts of today’s culture: libraries still lend books for free; music is readily accessible; old-time religion is still preached in many pulpits. I can buy a copy of a magazine and settle down for a good read. Mops and brooms and vacuum cleaners haven’t changed that much. I can still cook a good meal rather than depending on microwave ovens. I can use my computer for convenience, but I can still write by hand in a journal. I can use my phone to make calls and ignore the hundreds of apps that are offered. I can still love family members and friends, sends cards, bake (and eat ) cookies. Alvin Toffler predicted we would be on a merry-go-round with no exit. I disagree – we can choose, when we need the convenience, to ride. We can also choose when to get off.