Fondness

Fondness - noun  /ˈfɑnd·nəs/

A great liking for someone or something.

I've been contemplating a concept whilst reading an old book of mine. It was one of the first gifts I was given when I became an herbalist at an apothecary at an ashram. And it was Hat ha Yoga Pratapika, and I am so fond of it, for having not opened or engaged with the literature in some time.

When I did, I found little pieces of paper, notes in the margin, dog ears, beautifully pressed petals.

Looking at each little delicate item reminded me of 15 years ago, over 15 years ago.

And the concepts that I had about the practice then, my views on meditation, my thoughts on hatha, my concepts, it was so endearing to look at all these little knick-knacks that I had left inside of this little book, and smelling the pages of it.

It wasn't merely the enamoring scent of an aged book, but it was infused with the incense that we would burn every opening of the bookstore, the ashram, and the apothecary.

And I say all of this, this is a very long-winded way of saying that I've been meditating on the concept of fondness; and is fondness a love that grows with time over memory? And in that, I think about our technology...

I was once gifted a Kindle and I wasn't using it, and the person was like, oh, do you not like your Kindle? And I thought, well, how do I use this?

I cannot highlight, I cannot dog-ear, keep my place, yes, but I truly am a person who loves bookmarks. I love them. Bookmarks from wherever I am, when I buy the book, I treasure those because they're little markers on your journey of life, right?

These little stages, the gecko leaf that I found in the Hatha Pratapika was when I would go and have tea, and there was this gecko tree outside, right? And it reminded me of that, and oh, the little tea stain on this page, oh, fondness of a time in your life, fondness of where you are today in your life, and the journey in between.

And so, this Kindle, as a utility of holding a hundred books for me, and I'm just carrying around my little Kindle, sure, but that is consuming literature instead of enjoying it, instead of learning from it, and learning about myself with it.

And in that, I think of how I used to have a Tamagotchi, but I don't have it now. And so with technology, you have it, but you don't keep it.

And its software is always updating. And so even with AI, right, you have one version, we make fun of chat GPT, and then they scrap it and make a new one.

Technology, as it stands, is a zero-sum game.

For every game that it has, it's offset by, it can always be scrapped.

And so then the question is, can something that is made to be thrown away be valuable? Can something that at any moment is scrapped, can you become fond of that?

And if you're not fond of it and you don't have an endearing quality in which you desire to use it again and again, though it is old, it's incorporated into your life.

It reminds you, it gives to you.

There are so many things I think about when I personally think of technology. Because it cannot grow in the society, with the society, it grows on top of it. Which is what we're seeing now, it is a tool, but it hasn't integrated with our life.

And I think that that desire for integration into the human experience will always be lost because it doesn't grow over time to create an integrated memory or fondness with us. Your Kindle cannot fray its edges. You do not carry it with you through a journey in this life because that is what the human experience is: it is a journey.

The iPad that I have right now sitting in front of me is not the iPad that I first got.

The phone I'm holding is not my first iPhone.

So then I think about that deep question of if it doesn't integrate with our lives, it is on top of the human experience.

And that's just what I've been pondering on this beautiful and bright morning.