There are moments in life when you realise you are no longer keeping up with the times—you are being gently but firmly dragged behind them like a well-dressed woman who didn’t sign up for this level of nonsense.Mine happened the other day. In an Uber. Naturally.
The app told me, very casually, that my ride was a Ford Mustang. Now, if you grew up in the 70s and 80s like I did, that name doesn’t just sit there quietly. It arrives in your mind loud, low, and unapologetically cool, probably with a soundtrack and a bit of attitude. So yes, my eyebrows lifted. I was ready for something dramatic. Something nostalgic. Something that smelled faintly of petrol and poor decisions.What arrived instead was a sleek, silent, fully electric car that looked like it had opinions about my lifestyle.
For the first five minutes, it beeped incessantly. Not gently. Not helpfully. No, this was the kind of beeping designed to make you question your competence as a human being. My seatbelt was on. I checked it twice. The driver looked confused. I looked innocent. The car remained unconvinced.
Eventually, the driver pulled over and, with the seriousness of someone negotiating with a higher power, told me to buckle the middle seat. I stared at him, thinking something was lost in translation I could not possible have understood him saying to buckle the middle seat. But I did, because life has taught me not to argue with machines that clearly think they are in charge, I buckled the far seat as well. There I was, strapping in two invisible passengers like someone who had either completely lost it or was preparing for a very unusual group outing.
The car immediately fell silent. Peace was restored, albeit dignity slightly compromised.
Later, I realised the issue. My handbag, which I had placed on the seat beside me as any normal person would, had been identified by the car as a fully-fledged passenger. The system had assessed its weight, made a decision, and concluded that this “individual” needed to be safely restrained. My handbag had been granted personhood.
Meanwhile, I was just there to follow instructions. And that’s when it hit me. The artificial intelligence in these cars may be advanced, but it still has some very strong opinions and absolutely no sense of context.
I grew up in a world where things made sense. If you wanted to open a car door, there was a handle. A shiny, obvious handle that required no interpretation, no intuition, no emotional readiness. Windows were opened with a crank, not a software update. Doors were unlocked with keys, not a quiet prayer and a touch-sensitive surface. This Mustang, however, had no handle. None. Just a discreet little black button sitting on the edge of the window like it didn’t want to be noticed. I stood there for a moment, staring at it, fully aware that I was in a silent standoff with a vehicle. Because nothing quite prepares you for the moment when you are outwitted by a door. And yet, here we are.
We have reached the age where cars don’t just drive, they have the audacity to think for you. Public transport exists without human drivers. Deliveries arrive via machines that glide, roll, or hover depending on the country and the level of ambition. We used to watch cartoons like The Jetsons and laugh at how absurd it all seemed. Flying cars, automated lives, a world that ran itself. It turns out they weren’t being imaginative. They were being prophetic.
We are living in that world now, just without the courtesy of a proper instruction manual. And perhaps that’s the most extraordinary part of all this. We are the generation that grew up turning handles, dialling phones, rewinding tapes, and somehow made the leap into a world of touchscreens, sensors, and artificial intelligence that occasionally mistakes handbags for human beings. We didn’t just grow older. We transitioned between eras. We adapted, adjusted, and learned, sometimes willingly, sometimes under protest, but we are still here, still figuring it out.
Ageing gracefully, it seems, is not about resisting change. It’s about maintaining your sense of humour when the change is slightly ridiculous. It’s about standing in front of a handle-less door, taking a breath, and thinking, “Alright then, let’s see how this works.” It’s about recognising that the dreams of cartoonists from decades ago have quietly become our daily reality and choosing to laugh instead of panic.
Because at the end of the day, while the world may now be powered by algorithms and silent engines, we bring something far more valuable to the table. Perspective. Resilience. And just enough sass to buckle in two empty seats without losing our sense of self.
Although, for the record, next time I get into a car, my handbag is going on the floor.
It has had far too much authority for one lifetime.
FrogDiva Thoughts 