by Jason Ohler
Not to take the fun out of the holidays, but I thought it might be a good time to revisit the topic of "trash." We created mounds of it this holiday season, as we gave loved ones gifts of new technology, forcing them to pitch what they had (which was probably working just fine) onto the trash heap of history.
Let's face it. After the giddy unwrapping of presents comes the guilt-ridden discarding of digital detritus, like Kindle 2s, and iPad 1s, and other instantly obsolete pieces of technology that amazed us just a year ago.
You can try giving these away, but it's almost insulting. "Hi, there. Here's yesterday's technology that's slow, impotent, and certainly not cool enough for me anymore. I want you to have it!" For most of us, accepting new technology involves a long journey that roughly follows Kübler-Ross's five stages of grief, and ends at a nearby landfill.
First, there is denial. You put your old gear in an inaccessible cabinet as an act of supreme avoidance. You know you are going to throw it out, you just don’t want to deal with it right now.
Then there's anger, at not being able to figure out how your new stuff works, at the bugs that emerge as you transition to your new technology that is supposed to make life easier. And you can’t believe that you were sucked into the upgrade vortex yet once again. You’re better than that! But it’s not your fault. It’s those wretched tech companies who keep making this stuff, and keep making us have to have it. Why don’t they just leave us alone?
Then there's bargaining. Maybe some twenty-something wunderkind entrepreneur will come up with some really cool way to refurbish the original Kindle, or your first iPhone you haven’t managed to toss out yet. After all, there's that guy who turned the iPod Nano into a wrist watch. So you secretly wait for news from the bleeding edge of innovation that will turn your trash into tomorrow's must-have tech toy. But news never comes.
Then there's depression. It's a silent depression, the kind Thoreau described as he observed society moving too quickly and consuming too much for its own good. Your obsolete cell phones and digital cameras that huddle silently in the recesses of your cabinet start whispering to you. “Please let us out,” they seem to be saying. “We may be old, but we’re still useful, just like you.” And there’s your eco friends. What would they say if they knew you were caught up in the cycle of conspicuous consumption? Your sense of self-worth plummets.
Finally there’s acceptance, which is code for rationalization. There’s nothing wrong with upgrading every year. After all, it’s good for the economy. And it’s your private revolution against the stagnation of yesterday’s ideas. You’re such a rebel as you reach into the cabinet, grab whatever vintage gear you’ve been avoiding, and toss it into the waste basket with a flourish. Heck, you’re more than just a rebel. You’re an iPerson.
The great new gadget that is this season’s gift beckons you to come play. As you head out on to the Web to find out why it isn’t working as advertised, you try to be content with the world of possibilities that it represents. As you watch others fumble with technology that is so last Christmas, you are confident that you are ahead of the curve. And you are! Until next year.