Chapter 1: The Family Gathering

It was another lively family gathering, drenched in the July sun. Armed with Supersoakers, water balloons, and cheap water pistols, my relatives—cousins, aunts, and uncles—engaged in playful skirmishes around picnic tables and trees. Our joyous shouts drew curious glances from other park-goers, but that carefree fun was short-lived. Soon, I found myself the only adult left engaged in this water warfare, now equipped with a different kind of weapon: a camcorder, aimed at capturing our fleeting fun rather than participating in it.

Are We Living in the Present?

The question nagged at me: had we become so consumed with recording our experiences that we forgot to truly enjoy them? Were we shackling ourselves to memories we were too busy documenting to live fully in the moment?

As I pondered this, I stirred my scrambled eggs on the Amtrak's Coast Starlight, reflecting on a past trip to Vancouver. Back in August of 1994, at the age of twenty-four, I was alone on a journey reminiscent of self-discovery. I shared my table with a couple from Glendale, who were reliving their honeymoon.

Conversations with Strangers

"You've never been to San Francisco?" the woman inquired, spreading jam on her husband's toast while he remained preoccupied with filming the arid landscape. "You can't miss the view from Sausalito. Do you have a video camera?"

I replied, "No, just a 35 mm." She excitedly showcased Harold's new Panasonic Palmcorder IQ, boasting about its features. Yet, I couldn't help but feel envy mixed with pity. While Harold was focused on filming, I wondered if he was missing out on the richness of his surroundings, the meaningful conversations, and the joy of companionship.

"This brings to mind a quote from Plato, who suggested that relying on external marks could diminish our capacity for memory. Instead of cherishing experiences, we become mere spectators of our own lives."

Section 1.1: The Role of Technology

My family gatherings now required video documentation. My cousins seemed to think that every event had to be recorded, turning moments into performances. "Roll it!" they would announce, and suddenly the atmosphere would shift, making everyone self-aware of the camera's presence. Were these tapes ever watched again? Did their existence provide comfort, knowing that they were archived, marked, and stored?

The Illusion of Capturing Time

We often convince ourselves that technology allows us to defy the passage of time. My uncle once boasted about filming a carpenter building their home extension, while my aunt urged me to witness her excitement at winning a game of Monopoly.

Certainly, video cameras capture significant milestones—weddings, first steps, and even divorce proceedings—but they should not overshadow our real-life experiences. Let the skilled filmmakers handle the cameras; their vision is better suited for the art of capturing life.

Subsection 1.1.1: Sound and Memory

The unique feature of video cameras is their ability to record sound, preserving voices and emotions that photographs cannot convey. However, we must remember that the essence of these moments lies within our own minds and feelings, not merely in the technology that documents them.

The Dependence on Recording

As I approached Victoria, British Columbia, I observed newlyweds filming porpoises surfing in the ferry's wake. I couldn't help but wonder: how would they recount their honeymoon experience? "We don't know. We haven't seen the tape yet," they might say.

Chapter 2: Reflecting on My Own Journey

The first video, titled "Technology and the Rise of Great Powers," illustrates how technological advancements can alter our perception of the present and the past.

As I reflect on my own journey, I find myself grappling with similar questions I once wrote about. I’ve created a YouTube channel filled with lectures, humorous narratives, and even family recordings. My daughters have embraced technology, leveraging it for their own creative pursuits.

Are We Becoming Like Harold?

I ask myself if I’ve transformed into that very person I critiqued on the train years ago. I record countless celebrations and events, questioning whether these actions detract from the experience itself.

My daughter, Nancy, often reminds me to live in the moment rather than document it. "Do you really need to take a photo of your beer?" she queries. "No," I concede, but I still capture a quick shot to remember later.