Conflicted

If you haven't tuned your radio dial to NPR recently, you're missing out.  I mean the topics covered rival all printed material bundled together worldwide.  It's an amazing journalistic accomplishment which keeps me apprised, enthralled and in step with local and world events.

 I don't subscribe to the printed or online editions of newspapers, magazines, blogs or what have you.  I don't own an iPod, iPad, tablet, Bluetooth, Apple watch or curved HD television.  And yet, I survive.  My kitchen appliances are mostly second hand and the recipes which have been passed down don't need changing because the new and improved appliance is incapable of just whisking or stirring or sifting.

And now…I have learned that my last physical day on earth will not be my release. Techno-blunder. The memory of my earthly existence will not only remain with the living but my ashes will not absolve the universe from an eternal digitized unauthorized biography. I do not own, outright, the legal right to terminate my cumulative digital images and thought processes.   Unless I opt for my electronic signature on some document (an apparent option within my chosen social media account)-WHICH I DO NOT OWN, YOUR images and written accountings of MY life will be FOREVER preserved in the cloud. The retrieval of any and all digital likenesses will be left to the thoughtful executor of my vast estate.

Yes, I am conflicted and really pissed off.  Do I need technology to chronicle my contributions?  Oh hell no.

I am trying not to leave a legacy.  You can't find me on any of the more popular social media pages.
Go to google search and try.  I'm not easily located unless you know my family tree and then you'd just have to be satisfied to read that my name appeared in the obituaries of three close family members.  I suppose my high school yearbook is downloaded, but that was me before me and I really don't care.

There are, of course, attempts to detail my existence through public records, but again, that search is akin to a paper doll likeness; no real depth.  Nothing tantalizing, not even sufficient content for a grade school report on "your favorite person". My latest photograph is on my driver's license.

I never scrapbooked, didn't keep my own school pictures and my children's school pictures are in their possession. I am not the caretaker of the family history.

Well back to my tirade.

My life is chugging along, somewhat predictably and there is little fight left in my soul.  I don't want excitement.  I'd rather a quiet revelation, nothing to cause ripples against the shore.  Just let it be, John Lennon.

I heard a quote today on that favorite radio station, during their broadcast of the TED Radio Hour.  "The digital world cannibalizes time".  We are existing in string theory; real-time AND that experience which defines coexistence at your convenience.  Delayed tapings, texts which interrupt the moment, replays and such are tools which we think are necessary in order to extend the twenty-four hours which used to regulate our daily life.

Pair that with all those free-floating, in the cloud images of yourself and try to live your own life without commentary.  Not possible.

Footnote:  My husband just offered his understanding of this article thus far and said: "You are pissed off because you are not author to your own biography." THAT'S EXACTLY RIGHT. The possible imagery out there redefines me. It's a manipulation. It's catfishing on steroids.

I am trying so hard to gain a new perspective on how my life affects the universal energies…and now this.

I don't want my soul's journey to navigate the highlights and lowlights of this particular timeline. If my purpose is still undefined, let me continue in the shadows without reflection, without pausing to consider the "what ifs". And to that end…

I give full permission for all who own images of me, to release them into the universe. Give me the freedom to create and allow my gift to light the path I am on.

There will be no grave marker on that final day.  After the fireworks, my remains will fodder a young white birch sapling, high in the mountains of Colorado.  Come there to find me when the Aspens turn and know that I am with you. Preserve the reunion in your heart, where memories belong.