Retirement – The digital divide

What’s the biggest give away to who’s under or over 70? You can’t tell by looking anymore. That 80-year-old striding out ahead of you has probably just been to the gym and could pass for a 60-year-old.

So, what’s the best way to measure age? Easy. Check how often people look at their phones. Heads down, screen fixation is the latest hallmark of being younger. Whole new cultures are built around texting and scrolling. The art of conversation withers onscreen into monosyallabic exchanges, laced with emojis and video clips. No point in whining about that – it’s not going to change, despite those who hold out against the digital invasion.

A 92-year-old friend of mine died last month after a lifetime of refusing to send an email or text, or own a mobile phone. That’s not what killed him, I hasten to say. He lived a richly connected life – socially, spiritually, in every sense, without a device in sight.

But most of us older folk succumb to the tyranny of a digitised life. There’s not much choice. Last week we needed a booking displayed on the phone to get us into Spark Arena for the circus. Paper tickets weren’t an option. Trying to show the booking on screen to the attendant in the midst of a surging crowd was a nightmare. The screen kept demanding refreshment and passwords.

”Don’t worry,” said the attendant, blithely, “there are structural issues with reception in this building.” I felt like calling in the clowns to explain that baffling bit of information.

It was about as helpful as the reassurance from OneNZ last week when the internet disappeared across our end of Mahurangi. “Don’t worry, we’ve got diggers working over on the Kaipara!” That cryptic explanation was never decoded. Reception resumed a day later, but what really happened simply faded away into the great cloud of digital unknowing.

The more complex the digital world, the more fragile the human connections become.

What takes the place instead of factual explanation is emotional reassurance. Like One NZ’s never ending TV ad about some guy wandering around the southern alps looking for a lost relative. I’ve never worked out what that has to do with my cell phone. Anyone under 70 will no doubt be able to explain it.

In the old days they used to have shops with real life humans who would explain what’s wrong with your phone. Now the nearest one is an hour away. Never mind. There’s always someone on the end of a phone in Mumbai or Manila ready to help if you’re willing to wait, and wait.

So stay calm and carry on texting, enjoy the mystery of it all and if you do get bogged down in digital mud, find a seven-year-old to dig you out.