Uncanny Valley

It is amazing, no matter how hard you try, nothing remains the same. We live our lives chasing the intoxicating feelings of nostalgia, never fully accepting that it is impossible to recapture that same exact feeling from our memories. We journal, take pictures, record every moment we can on our phones and social media, desperately trying to enshrine those moments of the past, all the while the world around us keeps flowing. Maybe it is the memories of those moments that are important rather than the experience itself. Then again, those experiences are pretty nice.

I have been thinking a lot about nostalgia lately, focusing on all of its intricacies and power. It all started one day when I took a trip down into the valley, down to the frozen pond of my youth. The sun was bright, the trees and hillsides perfectly dusted with white caps like a Ross painting, and the ice glittered with an inviting sheen. The banks of the pond were covered in an untouched blanket of snow, smooth and unblemished. It looked perfect.

The pond had always been the source of my entertainment growing up. In summer I would fish the pond and in winter I would head out everyday to slap a puck around with the neighborhood gang. It was the center of everything, the village square, at least amongst us kids. I first learned to skate on that pond, had my first kiss while looking at the stars on a raft on that pond. It was X-Box, Facebook, and Instagram all wrapped into one for us, and we couldn’t be happier.

I stepped out onto the ice with curled toes, waiting for that dreadful slip under my feet. Smoother than I remembered. No trace of the bumps and dips of the uneven freeze. I pushed off with my back foot to slide along the glasslike surface, sliding to a stop midway to the center. I glanced around from my new vantage point, looking to see anything else that would feed that exciting feeling of my memory.

Not too far off, a group of kids circled around each other, passing a puck back and forth. They were pretty good, keeping an even rhythm and not missing a beat. When we would play, we always had that one kid that could never stop the puck, or that other that would always try and show off there slap shot, causing us to have to chase the puck to the edge of the pond. This group seemed not to notice me and continued their hypnotic passing circle.

I took the time to pace around the area for a bit, taking in all the beautiful sights: the lights of the houses around the perimeter, the deep green peeking out from underneath the snow on the trees, the families that were gathered on the banks. Everything was so peaceful. Too peaceful.

I shook myself from my reminiscent reverie and took a closer look around me. The kids with their hockey sticks continued their same pattern without error; the families on the banks never seemed to move from their place, just smiling and laughing; the banks looked pristine, with no footprints in the snow. It was disquieting; it wasn’t how I remembered it.

I needed something to spark that familiar feeling, to bring me back to my childhood. I glanced around and spotted a hockey stick laying on the ice near the kids. Perhaps passing the puck around would spark that old feeling. I slid over to the stick and reached down to grab it. My fingers wouldn’t grip the stick. I continued to pluck at it and eventually started to kick at it. Nothing. No impact, no movement, nothing.

I dropped to my knees and began to beat the ice with my fist in frustration, part of me hoping that the stick had somehow gotten frozen under the surface. Nothing. No tearing of my knuckles, no blood, no cold sting. With a sigh, I pushed myself up and began to move my way back to where I had come from. I slid between the kids, who made no notice of my presence, and made my way back to the bank of the pond. I took one last glance around. It was almost perfect. Then I lifted my hands to my head and removed the VR headset.

“If there is going to be an item, like a hockey stick, it needs to be able to be interacted with,” I sighed. “And is it possible to add footprints in the snow”?

“Sure thing,” my partner said. Jessica’s fingers ran out a quick ratatat on the keyboard before spinning her chair to look at me. “The hockey stick is no problem, but I’ll let you take care of the footprints. Anything else”?

I rubbed my temples, attempting to mask the disappointment in my face. “Reactions for the kids. At the very least, have their puck passing set on a randomizer so the pattern isn’t so easy to catch; and the families need to have a wider range of motion, something more organic. I know we are in early stages, but we should definitely work in better A.I.. The point is to design something that feels real”.

Jessica could read the tension and frustration all over my face and in my voice. She frowned and nodded slightly. “I’ll get on it right now,” she said with a soft tone. “You should take the rest of the day off. Relax a bit. We have plenty of time to get this right”.

Her consolatory tone hit me like a brick. I could feel the frustration and irrational emotion rising up into my throat. I glanced up at her, sensing the burning in my eyes. “I can overlook the footprints, I think, as long as I can just get that sense of familiarity. I just…” I could hear the cracking starting to form in my voice and knew that this was more than just frustration over an incomplete VR program, more than just an unattainable hockey stick in the ice. When I noticed the look of solace and sympathy on Jessica’s face, I swallowed hard and got out of the VR rig. “Thank you,” I managed to push out in a quiet voice as I passed her on my way toward the door.

“Any time,” Jessica responded in a calming tone.

I walked down the long hall that led to the dorms. I thought deeply about the pond, about the memories that were born from it. I glanced out at the scorched land through the windows in the hall, which only proved to deepen the depression I was feeling. The pond was gone, long since dried up from climate change and receding water levels. It was never coming back.

I reached my dorm and sat down on my bed before bursting into tears. I cried that whole night. It was remarkable to me that I didn’t suffer this much grief at either of my parents’ funerals. I had time to come to grips with the reality that they would be gone, that it was just the course of nature, the circle of life. I knew that I would never really be able to get them back, but with the pond, it never occurred to me that it would be gone. I was never concerned that one day, something as enduring as nature would be lost forever, that the life and energy that existed in that place would be irreplaceable. They say you never know what you’ve got till it’s gone. They never said how bad it would hurt.

The next morning, I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, coming to a level of acceptance that the best I could do now is work to create the closest simulation I could so that this generation and every generation after would at least be able to experience a shadow of what I had. Just like pictures, journals, and posts on social media, I could do my part to capture a moment to say “see what once was”. I took a deep breath and let out as much of my grief as I could. Maybe I could make some new memories, and maybe I could figure out how to add footprints in the snow.