I remind myself of myself, here, solid, living, human, but only after a turbulent ten mile hike with the shenanigans of ‘take over’, which I meet around AI. I wanted to book a train ticket. I also tried to purchase an online voucher from a clothing company, done before, many times with all the birthdays in my life. It isn’t straightforward now. With my train booking thing, I do remember, with a pastfull wistful sigh, calling Steven in the Oban Office, having a catchup with him and his life, asking about his mum and dad, great friends whilst he found me the best deal, felt me safe. Those days are definitely gone.

Talking to my son, he recognises that his generation, is it X or Y, I don’t know, is the one which is going through the greatest change, and I agree. As the eldest daughter of a father who returned, somewhat intact from the 2nd world war, I’m not sure that the X or Y generation is more of a changer than we experienced back then with silent fathers who weren’t the dads they might have wanted to be. I know there’s no comparison. One was trauma after war. However…..there are many who see AI as invasion as war. I don’t and it thinks me. Of course it can and will be abused. Even in my ordinary booking of a train ticket or my attempted purchase of a gift token for my granddaugher, or in the writing of my blog, or even as I choose music to suit my mood, AI invades. I decide to live with it. Many, oh so many of my generation, refuse and go hide in the dark cupboard under the stairs, as if that ever helped anything, which it doesn’t. I learned from an early age that the only way through is through, not around, not blind, not hiding, because what comes in such force, comes anyway, and those who hide just stay hidden. Even if I don’t know my way through the force of an ‘invasion’ I still won’t hide, because, and I realise this as I write, I want to be seen. It thinks me.

There grows a division between my generation and the X or Y of now. I’ll tell you what that means and what that invites. The first is an incremental division, a pulling away, a retreat back. Ok, you linguists, I just repeated myself there. A retreat is obviously a backward step. I’m leaving it here. But what happens is that the older ones, the ones you find hidden in a cupboard under the stairs are someones who have a lot to say beyond their fear of the way the world is now. They have stories. Has anyone asked them, taken the time, met them in their old and foggy memories and shown interest? Chances are you will learn something astonishing, pivotal to your own life and your own unanswered questions, for they have truly lived.

There was a wedding today at Calgary. I was delighted to meet the young bride and her son as they bought ice-cream yesterday. I looked in her eyes, felt her delight and her energy. It might rain, yes it might, but it didn’t and the day is beautiful and warm and sunny and I am thinking of her on such a special day. It seemed to me as she talked with Lou, the owner, that nothing and nobody could spoil her day. I also saw life lived already in those lovely eyes. It matters not her generational letter. She was a woman in love and excited and, I believe, being true to herself. I remember being that woman many decades ago and regret nothing.