When I was a child my grandmother marvelled at how when she was a child she travelled by ox wagon and now we were sending people to the moon. I wondered then how the world could change in such a way that I'd be marvelling when I was her age. If I ever reached it. It was hard to believe that I ever would, she seemed so ancient. I'm not there yet, but that marvelling time has come already for me.
There wasn't any internet when I was a kid. Distance
communication was by phone, letter or telegram. Arriving by noon train stop pick me up stop don't forget stop I love
you stop.
Letters were written by hand, music was played with vinyl,
radios were a piece of furniture. I spent 90% of my waking leisure hours
outside. We didn't even have a TV. When it came and we finally got a set, we
were only allowed to watch one evening a week. And then we could have a coke as
well. Bread and milk were delivered to the door. Ice cream cost two
pennies, the cost of everything stayed the same from year to year and people
stayed in the same job.
On the surface of things, it was a simple life and a good
one. But heaven help you if you were a schizophrenic or depressed or a girl
with a sexual appetite, or one who didn't know how to say no. There wasn't a
place for you. Where you could feel valuable, that is. There was a place
alright; society's garbage bin. Not that it was openly acknowledged. Racism,
slavery, abuse of women and children were rampant, but nobody spoke about it.
The have-nots were hidden from the pleasant surface of society's fabric. Ah, the
good old days.
Now nobody writes anything by hand, radios are either
streamed or ugly little boomboxy things. Vinyl isn't dead but mostly it's music
by download, books by download. TV on your laptop.
Conversation happens by tweet or
text. Impersonal, no risk, no real connection. Fast, though. Ice cream costs
anything from R5 to R20 and the price of everything rises every day. Employees
are nomads scrabbling to find work in broken economies. The world is at war; so
much of mankind a well-oiled killing machine. Polar ice-caps are melting whilst
people still debate if humans are destroying the environment. Women get stoned
to death for wearing the wrong clothes and wanting to be educated. Child
pornography and the slave trade still flourish around the world.
Sure we've sent men to the moon and found cures for all
sorts of diseases but 'experts' can't explain the outbreak of violence amongst
seemingly peaceful communities. And we still don't have anywhere close to an
understanding of schizophrenia and depression. Children and adults commit
suicide and everybody says 'I had no idea they were depressed'.
Very few say 'if I'd been a better friend, a better parent,
a better sibling, I would have noticed because nobody gets to that final moment
of despair without there being plenty of signposts along the way.'
Has the human race really progressed much since my
grandmother was a child? The way it expresses itself has changed, that’s obvious.
But the percentages of different types of people are probably still the same.
What also hasn’t changed is the human capacity to find joy and pleasure within,
no matter what’s going on in your life. That’s a good thing. That’s a remarkable
thing.
And we've identified concepts like entitlement and self esteem. We know - or some of us do - that if those two aspects are fragmented it doesn't matter how talented a person is, they'll never make any progress. If they don't get help. And help is available. We know that we can learn to say no. That we're allowed to pay attention to what we need. That what others think of us matters a whole lot less than what we think of ourselves. That if we want others to treat us with respect we have to treat ourselves with respect. We know a lot more. We haven't necessarily learned how to put it into practise, but that will come.
An even bigger difference between when I was a child and now is that
the underbelly has been exposed, that's clear. We haven't been able to keep that
lovely smooth surface unruffled by the reality of society's inequalities and
injustices. It’s uncomfortable to see but uncomfortable isn't necessarily all bad.
The good thing about it is that the
have-nots have finally found their voice. And that makes me marvel as much as
my grandmother did. Just learning to get our ducks in a row.
