There is a certain conceit as a writer around hoping you’ll be remembered in the future.
But my reality is I’ll disappear after a single generation or perhaps two.
The transient nature of electronic media is unlike the black and white photographs of my parents, grandparents and even great-grandparents that survive multiple generations. And an ebook isn’t even close in staying power when compared to the century-old books on my shelves.
A faulty hard drive and disintegrating electrons consign my children’s, children’s memories to electronic chaff.
So while I have excellent black and white picture of my great grandparents, there will be none of me or mine to live in dusty boxes and framed hallways to back bedrooms.
My writing? Half a dozen print books live in national libraries. The other thirty-ish are electrons and when my heirs stop paying the storage, these too will disappear. The electronic books will – I’m told – degrade even with good storage.
If nothing else, this thought reminds me of the fragility of life and memory and how important it is to live in this moment, on this day.
To take the time – in the moment – to love.