A ‘significant’ birthday looms this week – ooh! I can’t quite get my head around the idea of being this old. I’d somehow assumed that by now I’d know all the answers and feel responsible and capable at everything, and I don’t.
Thinking about it reminds me of a primary school lesson when we talked about life in the future, specifically the year 2000. Back then, in the early '70s, it seemed so far away and so momentous a date. I thought about how old I’d be – 37 (ancient!) – and presumed I’d be a different person, i.e. not just a more mature version of who I already was, somehow. I’d be sorted, complete, a proper grown-up. Life would be less ‘complicated’. Ha!
The class discussion concluded that the future would be easier for everyone. The main belief was that there’d be robots, of course, to do all the boring chores. Nobody would have to do anything they didn’t want to do. Actually, nobody would have to do anything, because in our futuristic robotic Utopia our one ambition was to have as much leisure as possible. Mind you, I don’t recall any suggestions about how we’d really use all that free time (apart from day-trips to the moon when we craved a change of atmosphere). We certainly wouldn’t be spending time eating and drinking, because all nutrition would come in pill-form. Two tablets three times a day would provide all dietary needs - so convenient! And quite how this lifestyle would be funded, I’ve no idea, because no-one went to work – except for the robot programmers, I guess.
Funny how, in 2013, everything I used to think of as futuristic now just seems so old-fashioned and retro. Including me at 50.