This is a detour of the series Quid ex Machina, which examines the deep, under-explored, and Unseen impact of AI on humans and our societies. Part 1 looked into what the AI copyright legal battles are really about. See here for Part 1 and the Prelude.
Today’s theme song is Detour, supplied by Hank Thompson. Country music is awesome! And a hearty ♥️ welcome to all new readers!
Why the detour? Because I don’t chase the news cycle or the hottest trend, I can afford being a stickler for details: I comb through every word of my piece, before it comes to your inbox. For part 2 of Quid ex Machina, there are some details I still need to further confirm, and I’m still waiting for the confirmations to come in.
This may look like an over-the-top approach to writing online, but here’s how I see it: everything I ever create and share with you, should stand the test of time. News cycles never wash them out. Tech booms never blow them off. Interest rate hikes never roll them over. I hope that a year or a decade later, my writings are still worthy of reading and re-reading, despite the zeitgeist will have shifted away from generative-AI-powered-climate-change-solutions-on-blockchain-in-metaverse to another string-of-buzzwords. Newer times will come, and my creations will endure.
And speaking of time: we humans talk about time in the oddest manner, as time happens to us.
Ever since we are born, as time passes, we have all been getting older at the same rate, but our society cuts a false boundary into this process. The good part of “getting older” is called “growing up,” and kids dream about it. This one is all about glamor and beauty: proms, driver’s license, makeup, no curfew, the world is your oyster. For adults like you and me, getting older is “aging”: receding hairlines, disappearing waists, more moles, fewer teeth, we’re past our prime. This one is all about decline and fall, and we dread it.
And once you are done with “growing up”, you meet a cliff called “aging”. Then it’s all down-to-the-abyss from there; nothing will get better for you anymore. Growing up is good. Aging is bad. Being young is good. Being old is bad. These are the laws of the false boundary.
From classical arts to Silicon Valley, for millennia, this false boundary has entrenched itself in our lives. When was the last time you saw an aging person portrayed or sculpted with grace and dignity? When was the last time TechCrunch put a 53-year-old founder in the spotlight instead of a 20-something college dropout?
This false boundary exists, because it assumes that it’s the young – and only the young – who are good and beautiful. Part of this is simply the laws of nature: the young are good and beautiful. “Growing up” is part of being young, so “growing up” is good. But as soon as we start “aging,” we are no longer young, therefore “aging” is bad.
But when I look at the aging women and men of my parents’ generation and older, their loose hair strands, freckled arms, bulging joints, however curious or odd, don’t change what I think of them. At their age, they don’t and can’t count on hormones for beauty anymore. Their beauty and goodness are carved into their bones – by their memories, by their laughs and tears, by their trials and triumphs in life, and by the simple passage of time. Their beauty and goodness are revealed in who they are, not what they look like. Their beauty and goodness radiate through their aged faces and tired bodies.
I rarely look in the mirror: my good looks are imaginary, and my worries about their decay are non-existent. But today, I gazed into the reflection of an adult woman that looked exactly like me. I know that one day, the clouded mirror will not see my dark hair again, the slender toothbrush will touch my toothless gum, the soft chair will meet my slouched body; drumming melodies of the icy rain will decay in my ears, and the mist over the waters will become fog in my eyes.
But it doesn’t matter. Something in me and about me has not changed, and will not change when time happens to me, and transforms my face and body – however exhilarating or disappointing the transformations may be. I’m not only this body and this skin and this skull, but also what’s beneath and within them: the ideas, experiences, memories etched into my mind and soul by the passage of time.
I’m neither growing up or aging; I’m just getting older. Time happens to me, as it happens to you. Over time, we won’t remember the bodies and faces in a mirror. We’ll remember the souls, spirits, ideas, and memories that impress on our minds.
This must be what great artists witness and express. Rembrandt’s paintings are the rare ones that portray old people with grace and dignity, and I think that’s why they delight us.
They show us that goodness and beauty come from places deeper than skin.
They show us that time-deep and life-tested charms shine through wrinkled faces.
They show us that getting older is not a torment — instead, it is a seed of time. Its grain will grow into a leafy tree, loaded with sweet fruits of life and memories.
Be it “growing up” or “aging,” we’re all just getting older as time passes. And we all have a seed of time in our hands to sow, to cultivate, and to grow into our own trees with full shades. Then, we shall all sit under our own tress, and no receding hairlines, no disappearing waists, no loose teeth, no wrinkled faces, will make us afraid.
Thank you for reading Earthly Fortunes. If you like it, please share it. Subscribe for free to hear more about the earthly fortunes: time, dovetails, variety of life, and machines.
How would you like to plant your seed of time? Let me know in the comments, DM me on Twitter or Instagram, or just reply to the email!
I love your commitment to making your writing as good as it can be, Helen. Kudos.
AND Wow, I loved everything about this. There's so much I wanted to quote back to you and tell you I loved, but it's really just all of it.
This is a timeless piece of writing. More detours!!!
Planting a seed of time - I love this perspective. Thank you for another beautiful piece 🙏