Grateful to be here, now

Why perspective — not nostalgia — is the quiet advantage of living through history as it unfolds

I am 77 years old, and I have lived through more revolutions than I ever expected — not on battlefields, but in living rooms, offices, classrooms, and now hospital imaging suites.

I remember when television meant a half-dozen channels, an antenna on the roof, and a family gathered around a box that flickered in black and white, and my mother yelling at my brother to sit further back because it was going to ruin his eyes. I remember when color television felt like science fiction. Cars came barebones, and you ordered luxuries like power steering, a day-night mirror, or whitewall tires. Progress arrived slowly, and when it did, you noticed it.

In business, I started with carbon paper — yes, the same carbon paper I still carry in my briefcase to real estate closings. I worked with automatic typewriters that could “remember” a few phrases, as if that were a miracle. Then came the first personal computers, complete with five-inch floppy disks that held less information than a single email or photo today. Each step forward felt tangible. Each innovation felt earned.

Antisemitism existed then too — but it stayed mostly below the surface. You knew it was there, but it was rarely shouted in the streets or amplified by crowds. It was quieter, more cautious, restrained by social norms that — however imperfect — still mattered.

Fast-forward to today.

This morning, I had an MRI. Within hours, the results were available electronically. Even more remarkable, I was able to ask an artificial intelligence program to translate dense medical language into plain English — clearly, patiently, without condescension. That alone would have sounded like fantasy to the younger version of me.

And yet, this is also an age of real unease. Antisemitism is no longer whispered; it is broadcast. Technology that connects us can also inflame us. The pace of change is dizzying, and the noise is relentless. It would be easy — tempting, even — to say that things were better “back then.”

But that would be wrong.

Because for all the turmoil, this is also a time of extraordinary possibility. Never before have individuals had such access to information, to platforms, to tools that amplify ideas and preserve memory. Never before has truth had so many ways to fight back against lies. Never before have people lived this long with this much agency, curiosity, and engagement.

Perspective is the quiet advantage of age. Having lived through eras when doors were closed — socially, professionally, medically — we recognize how many are now open. We know that progress is uneven but real. We understand that history doesn’t move in straight lines, and that moments of backlash often follow moments of advancement.

Being alive today means bearing witness. It means remembering where we came from while refusing to surrender the future. It means using new tools without abandoning old values. It means telling stories — especially uncomfortable ones — so they are not lost in the digital noise.

I don’t romanticize the past, and I don’t ignore the dangers of the present. But I am grateful — deeply grateful — to be here now. To see how far we’ve come. To participate, to speak, to write, to push back when necessary, and to marvel at what once seemed impossible and is now routine.

History did not end with black-and-white television or carbon paper. It didn’t end when antisemitism went public again. It didn’t end when I lay still inside an MRI machine.

As long as we are alive, engaged, and willing to learn, history is still being written—and I’m grateful to be part of it.