If you spend time in nature, one thing you’ll quickly notice—at least here in my corner of the world—is how abundant human traces are. Churches, small chapels, monuments, cabins, shelters, ruins of old buildings, dry stone walls. The list is endless. Even in the most remote location, you can usually find some traces of previous passages, a sign that another human being was there at some point in the past.
Not long ago, I started paying a bit more attention during one of my hikes, and I discovered various World War bunkers, hidden in the now overgrown forest. Remnants from a not-too-distant past, when these quiet places I now walk were a front. Traces from the past, a reminder that things are always changing, always evolving. Sometimes that change is for the better; other times it really isn’t.
The advent of modernity has had a profound impact on the lives of those who inhabit places that are somewhat remote. Almost a century ago, these valleys were filled with life. People were spending their existence up here because there was no reason to go elsewhere. But then people started abandoning them, looking for work (and a more comfortable life) down in the city, or sometimes even abroad. Decade after decade, the population dwindled to the point where now only a third of the population is left. And depopulation is a spiralling process, unfortunately. As more people leave, those who are left find themselves more isolated, with a reduced community around them, and that becomes another reason to leave. It’s understandable, though—nobody wants to live in a ghost town. Or, well, maybe not really nobody. I’m sure some people would love that. But most people don’t want that. And so they leave, leaving behind buildings doomed to rot away and crumble down.
But I don’t think all this is an irreversible process. Because people are slowly starting to come back. This time, rather than moving to look for job opportunities, they move to find peace and an escape from the chaos of modern life. Old houses are getting renovated, and improved internet connections are making it possible for remote workers to leave the city behind and move back up to the mountains. A trend I am sure will continue in the future because, as far as I can see, people don’t seem to be less stressed these days. Quite the contrary.
What I’m wondering is which traces will these people leave behind, fifty or a hundred years from now? And I’m also wondering, which traces am I going to leave behind me? Everything I do exists in this immaterial digital space. This newsletter is a fine example of that. In less than 48 hours, all these words will be deleted, never to be read again. Maybe I should leave the keyboard behind at some point and learn how to stack stones on top of each other, to build walls that will stand for centuries. That’s for sure one thing AI will not learn how to do anytime soon.
— M