This morning I became concerned about the future of history. Perhaps I am not alone and others have thought this, but I realized that we are in the midst of a mass extinction. In one generation the classic bundle of love letters wrapped in a pink ribbon on fading parchment has been relegated to the annals of myth. No more will future historians find treasure tucked into boxes in attics or in secret compartments of antique furniture. Five Hundred Years into the future how will the love affairs real and imagined of the human heart be discovered. How long will our descendants keep the semi secret text messages and e-mails and blogs so that future historians can search for bits and pieces of ideas that haven’t made it into the official history book.
How much of what we discover is based on serendipity by digging in the physical stuff of our past. By deciphering the flowing script that fades on the shadows of tear stained paper. I cannot see the future. I cannot change the inevitability of our bits and bytes but I can wonder what type of history will be written, what stories of heroes past will be told.