Middle Aged = Digital Native?

subnetworks-space-invadersIt’s been a busy few months with a pretty full social calendar, a dissertation to finish before the end of September, and a landslide of work-based projects, all of which have conspired against me to stop my blogging.

And, to be brutally honest, despite the aforementioned social life outside of work, I’ve been feeling listless, unenthusiastic and devoid of mojo for a couple of months.  And, it goes without saying that when you feel as if all the pleasure you once had for all things learning technology-esque have buggered off, it’s pretty much impossible to think of anything to blog about.

However, an office move, a couple of work-based quick wins, an invitation to sit on the advisory board for an international conference and a couple of speaking engagements have all pulled me out of my temporary rut.  The icing on my ‘happy cake’ was provided at a Jisc event yesterday when a delegate approached me to say how much they enjoyed reading my blog nposts. Well, clearly, I have a public to entertain!  Which is why I was rather pleased when, whilst floundering in the bath last night I had an idea for a post that captured my interest.  So here it is.

At yesterday’s event, one or two common themes cropped up across the day.  One of these was the notion that the digital native did not exist.  As some of you may know, I hate pigeon-holing, and am frustrated at the notion that ‘anyone under 25 is a digital wizard, and anyone over 30 is a digital dinosaur.’  You may as well say that anyone with a shoe size larger than 8 will only eat pepperoni pizza while those with smaller feet will always stick to spaghetti. Nonsense.

Yet it appears that putting every aspect of one’s behaviour, personality, abilities and preferences into clearly labelled boxes is here to stay, so I’ll add my two penneth and posit that people of my age (I’m 45) are probably at the BEST age to understand technology and to ‘get’ the concept of digital literacy. And that’s because we know when to use if to enhance what we are doing  and when to stick to ‘old school’, non-techy methods. And that’s p[robably got something to do with the fact that we were there at the start.

When I was 7 I played my first ever video game.  It was 1977, it was Space Invaders, and yes, I was very lucky because my parents were publicans who were fortunate enough to have one of the very first arcade gaming machines in the country in their pub. I remember being fascinated and terrified in equal parts – after opening the doors of the pub for the evening I was happy to watch my dad zapping that curtain of crab-like, pixelated blobs moving down the screen, terrified that a customer might come in before he lost his three lives and the joystick would be passed over to me to finish his turn.  (Before being sent upstairs – not  good for business to have a 7 year old running around the public bar demanding ‘gimm and tommics’ at 6.00 in the evening).

Soon it was the 1980s and the first rudimentary home computers were making their mark. I remember getting a scorchingly average grade in my CSE Computer Studies exam in 1986. Thing is, as much as I liked trying to programme in BASIC, I was entranced more with the Commodore 16 my parents had bought my brother and I for Christmas in 1986 and had become obsessed with playing Mercenary and those text-based ‘choose your own adventure stories’, so had never really practiced coding.  But with a Commodore at home and a suite of BBC B models at school, I can say that I was there, right at the start of the digital revolution.  We had a top loading video recorder at home too.  And a microwave. Ha!  Who are the digital natives NOW then?

Thing is, because I was there when technology started to become mainstream but before it became an established part of daily life, I still have a heap of non-digital skills that I use regularly.  Note taking, when done with a pen and paper, is much more meaningful than simply taking a photo of notes on a whiteboard, or recording a lecture to listen to or watch again later.  That act of putting pen to paper – of having to think about forming the correct shapes in the correct order – commits the word to your brain in a way typing never will.

And books!  Yes, those proper, smelly books, with their cracked and bent spines standing proudly on shelves – nothing can beat that (other than wandering into Waterstones and browsing for an hour). And yet it feels incredibly liberating to go on holiday armed with 16 books on a Kindle that weighs less than a bag of ‘Monster Munch’.

I was there when the Internet started to become popular, so was able to navigate it while it was still constructed of 16 pages. On the way, I learned about how I projected myself online, and how best to manage my growing digital identities (professional / social).  I did this just in time for Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn to start making their mark.

I know instinctively when technology will make a difference and, vitally, where it doesn’t. I have learned as the Internet has grown how to be secure. My parents did not post photos of my achievements all over Facebook, so my childhood was very secure and totally private. I played outside, developed social skills by talking to my friends and see the value of disconnecting and living as I did pre 1995, with no telephone, and no tethering to the digital. Indeed, once a year I purposely stick all my gadgets in a cupboard and take a tent to the middle of nowhere so that I can have one of those ‘digital detoxes’ that seem to be trendy amongst Guardian readers.

I had a Walkman when I was a teenager and a Discman in my 20s so getting an iPod in my 30s felt like normal progression rather than something new. Developments in technology don’t scare or overwhelm me, but neither am I on the eternal hunt for an upgrade to my smartphone or 1,000 more Facebook friends.

So today I will copy and paste this document from my OneDrive to my blog site,  I will have a quick blast on Witcher III on my PS4 when I get home, check Facebook on my iPad after dinner and go to bed with a cup of tea and a book. Made of paper. With smells.

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Posting Neurosis

ImageIt’s a tough life, being a blogger.  It makes you neurotic.  You see, there are others out there blogging about the same things you want to write about.  They ‘get in there’ before you, they know better words, have a tighter, more cohesive writing style – and importantly, they know far more about the subject in question.

On two occasions this week I’ve decided to write a post – and both times somebody else has beaten me to it.  It makes me feel like the bingo player who only needs one more number to get a full house…and always gets that magic number just after somebody else has cried ‘BINGO’ and won themselves a pocket full of cash or a nice tinned ham.

The neurosis increases when I read through these posts, and I realise that compared to them, my own entry would have read like a ‘Dummy’s Guide to…’ rather than something informative and illuminating.  Bright side?  At least I didn’t put fingers to keyboard and look like a twit.

I then fall foul of ‘Bloggers’ Dichotomy’, a known side effect of what I shall henceforth refer to as ‘Posting Neurosis’ (PN).  I want more people to read my blog. I feel like a loser because I’ve been blogging (intermittently) for years and, as far as I know, have been the sole reader of my own posts.  Rival bloggers – and they do feel like rivals rather than peers: that’s one of the benefits of PN – have JPEGs of glowing rosettes and gold medals on their sites, because they win industry blogging awards every year.  And quite right too – their blogs are superb.  They make me envious.  And neurotic…

…so what’s the secret?  How do I get more people to read my blog?  Do I really WANT people to read it?  Aren’t I,  by offering it to the world, making a rod for my own back?   My first attempts at blogging back in 2008 resulted in some pretty hurtful comments from online trolls, a hastily deleted account with Blogger and more than a little soul searching. Looking back, this could be where I first developed Posting Neurosis.

Or is this behaviour normal but unspoken?  Are even the really successful bloggers secretly worried that they’ll lose their magic touch, that people will ‘unfollow’ them?  Do they worry that their blogging star is on the wane? That they can’t top last year’s awards, or think of anything new to say?

Of course, I have no idea what the answer is.  I guess people like these are so well-respected, so firmly entrenched in their field that they don’t need to worry about anything.

And yes, to paraphrase my favourite Timelord, I’m on WordPress now.  WordPress is cool.