The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values in absolute, relative and intrinsic ways.
We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life. We’ve added years to life not life to years. We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not found inner peace. We’ve done larger things, but not better things. We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted our collective hearts. We’ve conquered the atom, but use that accomplishment as a threat. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less as defined by the boundaries of Twitter.
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, overweight men and undernourished character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality and pills that do everything from elevate, to quiet, to end lives. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and little in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring my musings to you from a boat anchored on a distant island, and a time when you can choose either to pay attention and perhaps learn something or delete what I write and silently or loudly admonish the author.
Mark J. Grant