Computers Don't Have Fingers

By Lauren Snelgrove

Wilfrida's Closet Staff

I am a hybrid animal. The feeling of little plastic squares under my finger tips is as familiar to me as lead stains on my pinky knuckle and calluses on my index finger. I can type 94 words a minute and write legible cursive. I use social networking, e-mail, word processors and text messaging avidly, but the handwritten word still has an important place in my heart. I can see the death threats looming over the existence of penmanship—as I rap away on my laptop—and I feel an urgency to do something about it.

As a kid I'd ask my mother after her walk to the mailbox, “Anything for me?” Pure and utter delight consumed me when I received even bank statements at age eight, with my full name on the front of the envelope! So official, so important; so personal.

I experienced equal delight when school assignments were no longer required to be handwritten but typed. I appreciate the ease technology provides me in creating documents and communicating with people, friends and strangers alike. But fond memories of childhood pen pals and the experience of total elation upon receiving packages in the mail reminds me that the effect of human touch on a message cannot be matched.

While I lived overseas I stayed connected with people at home primarily through the internet. Without the convenience and affordability of email and video chatting I don't know how I would have survived years away from my family and friends. When a package arrived for me full of Reese's peanut butter cups, new socks, family photos, and stationary with the immediately recognizable scribbles of my mom, I felt closer to home than ever. And best of all, the faint scent of my mother's house lingered on the items.

Everything from the tape on the edges of the cardboard to the pieces of paper covered in love and affectionate humor had been touched by my mom's hands. The same hands that ran through my hair when I was wasn't feeling well, the hands that helped pack the empty suitcases shoved under my bed. During my stay abroad, no email or text message from home provided the same, emotionally evoking response as a piece of mail did.

Recently, my grandmother mailed me homemade cookies and a brief note about how she spent her fourth of July holiday. It was nothing too exciting. She made dinner for the family, special dishes for my vegan uncle; my little cousin baked cookies, and helped clear the table; and oh, Grandpa is taking his blood pressure now, must go, “Love (really!!), Grandma.”

I have a shoebox full of these letters. They are records of a woman I admire, respect and adore. They are documentation of her life, her relationship with me. And just like my mother's handwriting, I could pick my Grandma's script out of a lineup without doubt. It's just so her. Had these mundane, simple notes been sent via email I probably would've clicked them away to my trash bin. But they're not emails, those things I get from big businesses and college counselors alike. They're real, handcrafted pieces of love someone special took time to create just for me.

I've gone digital but I am not a digit. I am not a social profile, a backlit screen, a commonly used font. I choose to retain my humanity, my individuality that rubs off on all things I touch with my unique finger prints. Computers don't have fingers. Though the time we spend with computers is increasing, authentic human connection cannot be replaced with technology. The work of human hands—the handwritten word—is so important to keep alive.

Humans are sensory beings; we are perhaps animalistic computers ourselves, processing information through a constant input/output via experience and sensation. My quest is not in search for a victory over computers, just balance. Adaptation is as necessary as preservation. How can we use the efficiency and expediency of technology to better our lives while preserving timeless practices that provide us with the simple necessity of human touch?

I've heard that practice makes perfect.

About Lauren

I'm a twenty-something, English Writing major. I met Rita, artist and creator of Wilfrida's Closet, at a yoga class. In short, our serendipitous connection felt like fate to me. We are creatively compatible and likeminded but we offer varying perspectives based on our unique life experiences and age difference. I look forward to receiving your comments, rebuttals and questions on our blog content.

Please don't hesitate to contact me at lauren@wilfridascloset.com