I’ve often wondered what my ten-year-old self would think if he could travel through time and spend a Sunday morning with me in October of 2026.
For starters, he’d probably be disappointed to find out that I don’t own a flying car. After all, when you’re growing up in the 1970s watching The Jetsons, you naturally assume that by the time you’re pushing sixty, you’ll be commuting to work in a spaceship while your robot maid takes care of the house.
Instead, we’ve got self-checkout machines that accuse me of stealing groceries and dishwashers that can connect to the internet.
Which leads me to this question – if you can tell a dishwasher remotely to begin a cycle via an app, why didn’t you just start the cycle when you were standing in front of the machine?
Progress.
My younger self would certainly be amazed by my nifty iPhone. The idea of carrying a device in your pocket that lets you watch movies, listen to practically every song ever recorded, and communicate with someone on the other side of the planet in real time would have seemed like something straight out of Star Trek.
Of course, he’d be considerably less impressed when I explained that I mostly use it to set an alarm, argue with complete strangers on Facebook, and get pissed off watching the screen when someone calls and having to wait until their call goes to voicemail before I can check the weather.
Then there’s music.
I’d tell him that in 2026, you can listen to virtually any album ever recorded without having to visit a record store.
He’d probably think that was incredible. Until I explained that half the time, I spend twenty minutes scrolling through thousands of songs before deciding I don’t feel like listening to anything.
But perhaps the biggest surprise would be discovering that growing up doesn’t necessarily mean figuring everything out. At ten, I assumed adults had all the answers. At fifty-seven, I’ve discovered most of us are still making shit up as we go along. And maybe that’s perfectly fine.
Because despite all the technological advancements, changing times, and occasional aches and pains, I’m still that same kid who loves music, cartoons, a fluffy white cat, and a good giant monster story.
Only now I have a mortgage.
Happy Sunday, folks. The future may not have given us flying cars, but at least we can watch Ultraman beat the crap out of rubber monsters whenever we want.
I’m sure my ten-year old self would be absolutely delighted knowing that!
The Seventh Echo is available now from
Adverse City Publishing
© 2026 James Wood
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