The Speed of Obsolescence

I am astounded by the current speed of obsolescence. Today I began the slow and arduous task of incinerating about four feet of eight and a half by eleven-inch paper. The combination of typed and handwritten notes, documentation, and many other things represented by those millions of black letters on white paper were all, at one time, very important to me. Most of the work represented by these reams and reams of paper was wrought with considerable perseverance, industry, and with no small amount of midnight oil. It’s hard to believe that so much paper, magnetic media and other things that once seemed so important could have so quickly become totally unnecessary.

I have always been so glad to get things set up neatly, effectively, and “finally,” as if once arranged in this manner, nothing would need to be changed. For example, a number of years ago I purchased a new IBM AS/400 computer, and I badly needed to preserve the option of running some older programs on its predecessor. The AS/400 was one of a series of extraordinarily-dependable, multi-tasking processors known as midrange computers. They ranked just below the gargantuan IBM mainframes in processing power and could easily support a pretty large business or bank. At that time I owned two legacy peripheral devices which were very important to me. One was a huge reel-to-reel tape drive and the other, an eight-inch diskette drive. I was so happy and relieved when I learned that the new box would accommodate a processor card by which I could connect both of these media drives. And so I was all set. I could continue to connect both my new and my old machines to these two indispensable auxiliary devices. Everything was “up to date in Kansas City!” What more could a person want?

Now years later those two old computers are still sitting quietly in a corner. They have been retired for many years now and replaced many times with the latest of their descendents. But I still hold on to both of them, and they are still connected to those old media drives though neither the computers nor the drives have been needed for a very long time now.

And yet, there is always that slight chance they might again be wanted for some task only they could accomplish. And then, like old men, now largely overlooked by the world, they would hear that nearly-forgotten call to battle, and with heads erect and backs as straight as age permitted, they would once again proudly suit up and swing into action.

I used to think these venerable old computer would have a much longer useful life and that they would always retain at least some of their former glory. Perhaps the older ones could be passed on to charities or ministries. Or, like someone who drives and works on old cars, maybe in years to come, I could accomplish all I needed to with these ingenious machines even as newer ones became available. But it was not to be.

In addition to all of this, and in spite of our best efforts to the contrary, we face an emotional struggle as we attempt to unload this baggage for which we find no useful purpose in this strange new land we now call home. As we wrestle with these obsolete objects, we are sometimes confronted with a purpose they seem to hold beyond the simply utilitarian. We are tempted to wonder if in disposing of them we are also disposing of our own life and usefulness to the world. Although they are no longer of practical use, we wonder if somehow it is not irreverent to toss them away so glibly. After all, if we were moving to a strange new country where so much of life and language had to be unlearned and relearned, would we not want to take as many artifacts as possible from our old country to remind our new friends, as well as ourselves, of our former country and of what our life used to be like while living there?