To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognised need of the human soul. — Simone Weil
One of my most cherished possessions is this brass letter opener. It’s made from a propeller off the U.S.S. Olympia, a 19th-century U.S. naval cruiser that sailed in the Spanish-American War. My great-grandfather was a submarine captain in World War I and, later in life, dedicated himself to the preservation of the ship, which now sits as a museum in Philadelphia’s harbor.
This simple tool sat in the entry of my grandparents’ house; after they both passed, it came to sit on my own entry table. It has the accumulated wear of decades of use, yet I’d never clean it. The wear (that polished thumbprint!) roots the object as generations of my family have held it to open mail both mundane and special. I cherish it for that connection to a shared past (and for how it slices through an envelope!).
Its imperfections make it meaningful. The smudges, the grime, these tell a story of how (and for how long) it was used. They remind me that well-crafted tools can be polished without being clean, and that the accumulated oils of our lives can be cherished just as they are.
Good tools have roots. Good tools show their age. I wish software did the same. We’ve traded weighty, patina-rich objects for tools that, if we stepped away, would show few signs of use. We’ve swapped stable tools for ones that disorient people with new interfaces driven by the need to market something “improved.”
We need more software that wears in as the years pass. We need more software that allows for consistency, as without it there’s no chance for familiarity. Unfamiliar, ephemeral software cannot accumulate the patterns of wear that create meaning and that give a tool its roots.
Thanks to Akshay for the initial prompt and reflection that spurred these thoughts.
