As a minimalist, I’ve been on a journey of letting go of things that don’t add value to my life. In most cases, I have been as ruthless as necessary, but I have had a more difficult time when it comes to books. I’ve primarily been using ereaders as my medium of choice for the past decade, but there are some books from my teenage years that were foundational to who I am today, and parting with them feels almost like a crime.
There were books that had less sentimental value to me; those I parted with quite easily.
There are some books that I feel far too strongly about, and still regularly peruse or get value out of. Those I won’t be parting with, so those are also an easy decision.
But there’s a third category of books that I’m having to learn to let go of: books that originally started out as a digital copy, but that I liked so much I picked up a physical copy for my collection. These are books that I love, but I don’t really have an attachment to their physical form. I’ve never technically read the dead tree copies in the first place. The original copies are dear to me, and will continue to remain in my digital library, but the physical copy has only ever really been “nice to look at.”
The best example of these I have are Lawrence Lessig’s books. I devoured them as a teenager, learning about digital rights and how technology shapes the world. I believe I read them all on the harsh LCD screen of a first or second generation iPad. I’ve never read their physical forms, but I bought them second-hand from an online bookstore around a decade ago just so they could live on my shelf.
Then, there’s the exact opposite issue: things that began their life in more of a physical form, but whose digital version is the one that provides value today. This applies to certain books (which were honestly fairly easy to part with and replace with digital versions), but the better example of his issue is in a different medium altogether: video games. As a child, I adored my video games, especially the Nintendo 64 I received for Christmas when I was six (for the record it was the Donkey Kong 64 edition, in transparent jungle green, and of course had the iconic yellow DK64 cartridge).
Even as an adult, I continue to play DK64 all the time. It, and others like Banjo-Kazooie, as well as a collection of SNES games, are still my all-time favorites, and I love playing them.
But I can’t think of the last time I actually connected the original console to a television to play them. I much prefer using a modern, comfortable, wireless controller, and find that emulators provide an absolutely lovely experience. I can play things everywhere I go, on any device I want. And they look better than they ever have (although there’s something to say about the glow of an old CRT display).
I have trouble parting with the consoles. I mean, Santa brought me that Nintendo 64! But what value are they, really, beyond very happy memories? The games, the things I still value, have a new life as a digital file that I play on any device I please. Maybe one day I’ll show my kids my old consoles, but that’s really just a novelty, and furthermore, I don’t think they’ll care that much. Maybe they’ll love DK64 as much as I do. But I don’t think they’ll give a rip about the green plastic box from my childhood.
With the passage of time, things change. Sometimes I think we place value on the physicality of things, even when the thing we appreciate was never really a physical thing in the first place.
It’s time to let the vessels go; it was never about the machine, it was always about the ghost inside.