I write this from a vacation home (not mine) perched near the top of a mountain in Otto, North Carolina, a small, picturesque town near the westernmost tip of the state. The only internet connection available is a slow 28.8 dial-up, a circumstance that has rendered any work dependent on the Web relative misery (and yes, I do remember when such a modem speed seemed blazingly fast).
My main problem right now is work, not entertainment—the lack of bandwidth is an inconvenience. Still, I feel the nagging lack of access, as though part of my cortex—my exocortex, I suppose—has been cut off. I have sufficient internal resources so that I can function comfortably within my own skull. Surely, though, the day is not far off when many people will distribute more of their identities in fragments spread throughout the net, keeping records, files, and preferences in many places. Or rather, represent themselves as clouds of preferences, drawing in data only when and as needed.
I think that we may well be the last generation to insist that our personal libraries be housed in one room, one house, one hard drive, or one head. I like being able to house such a personal collection, but my likes and dislikes will not affect the shift to a different world. But to accept wide distribution of information and data does not mean that we should accept a loss of control. Psychologists developed the term locus of control, but we might use it in a less technical way to emphasize our need to maintain a sense that we can identify some place or location that represents what we fundamentally are.
I notice that this post is a bit fragmented.
