Retiree finds days without computer have upsides, downsides

Family and personal links used to take genuine effort, writes Alice Lukacs.

Windows was about to open … but it didn’t.

Richard, the computer expert, came by — I have a desktop computer — but, after several hours, he could not fix the damage. Finally, he unplugged the tower, picked it up, and left, hoping to repair it in his shop.

The next few days were spent in computer-withdrawal mode. Every so often, I would jump up to rush to the computer, as I usually do, only to realize that things were not as usual.

While the screen, keypad, modem, with lights twinkling, and printer were all in place, the main part, the soul of the whole thing, was missing.

Not knowing when the computer would once again work, I was overtaken by anxiety. My whole world was turning upsidedown. I could see myself losing contact with family and friends, here and overseas, with whom I kept in touch via email and Facebook.

In so many other ways, too, the computer saved time and effort. Ordering things, booking trips, was a breeze. Doctors’ appointments were noted. World news and gossip, information of all sorts, was always at hand. Various organizations and groups I keep in touch with — from theatre to seniors groups, my parish to travel groups — kept me up-to-date with their latest newsletters.

And what about Facebook? It not only brought up-to-the-minute news about friends and relatives, sometimes overwhelming in their detailed descriptions and photos, but also a hodgepodge of information on everything from the side-effects of statins to political upheavals. I realized that the computer had become part of my life. What now? All of a sudden, I had time to myself. A benefit of computerless days was peace and quiet. Now, instead of running to the computer, I, a retiree, had to find ways to entertain myself. Now there was time to read piled-up articles, do unfinished chores around the house or, yes, for just sitting and doing nothing in particular.

Also, on my computer-less days, another thought struck me. Yes, the computer makes things easy. Perhaps too easy.

Contacting friends or celebrating festive occasions like holidays, birthdays, marriages; or sending expressions of sympathy or of support during times of illness — all it takes are just a few words on the computer to acknowledge the situation. A few clicks, maybe a picture or two, and the job is done. That’s it. Replies read or unwanted messages? There is always the “delete” button.

It used to be that being a relative or friend took some effort. To celebrate an occasion or just to keep in touch, there were cards and stamps to buy, letters to write, phone calls to be made, meetings to be arranged.

A former co-worker of mine reported that, in retirement, “one day you buy the card, the next day you write it, the following day you mail it.” Those were the good old days.

Since the advent of the computer, my circle of friends has widened. Some are only “computer friends,” whom I have never even met in person, yet who are among my most thoughtful, diligent correspondents.

Still, the face-to-face meetings, the long chats, the handwritten letters and signatures, even phone calls — unless you use Skype or FaceTime — are things of the past.

Something is missing here, gone, never to be recaptured. Is it that personal touch?

Yet, conversely, I feel that friends who do not have a computer are also missing something, are being left behind.

After a few days of computer-withdrawal, the buzzer announcing a visitor woke me from my reveries. It was Richard, the computer man, arriving with my newly installed Windows.

All is well again. Documents backed up. Address list and favourites transferred. Things are back to “normal,” the new normal.

Or are they?

Something is missing here ... Is it that personal touch?