Version 7.3

The other day I read this:

This year, in January, I turned 73. I’ve decided to reframe my age as Kath Version 7.3

This has led me to wonder about all the versions of myself I’ve been up to now. 

When I think back, most of these versions have been tied to roles I’ve played or jobs I’ve had. 

For example, Kath Version 2.0 was a college student, Version 3.1 a mother. 

Version 5.0 was a yoga studio owner, and Version 6.6 was released on this very date back in 2020, when I had to close my studio due to the pandemic and become a videographer.

“The next few decades of your life should include versions of yourself that don’t exist yet.” 

I think I believe this, but how does one do it? How do you create a new version of yourself? Can you just write some code and roll out a whole new version of your personality and your life, like Apple updates your iPhone? 

Maybe..

When my phone updates its version, it usually involves bug fixes or new features. There’s no question I have a lot of bugs to fix in this current version of myself: sadness, fear, and rage over the state of the world, to name a few.

But in addition to fixing bugs, I’d also like to program in faster brain processing, deeper insights, and more joy and play in a future version. 

And if we’re going to do it, how about building in a snazzy new creative adventure, or some exotic travel (once the world-fuckery bugs are fixed).

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and here’s what I think you might have to do to develop a new version of yourself. 

1. Risk being bad at something. That’s what I had to do in version 6.6 when the studio closed, and I was forced to make videos or close. Man, those first videos were bad, but I accepted the suck, and by video 50, they sucked a lot less, and I had a lot of fun making them. I often think someday, I’d like to revisit Kath Version 6.6.
2. Cultivate a willingness to “not know.” Not just not know what the next version of yourself should be, but even not know what you would look like being it. Since this new version doesn’t even exist yet, how will you know you’re morphing into it? Does the caterpillar know it’s being born into a new version of itself? No. It sits in the chrysalis and waits. This waiting is especially hard for those of us driven by to-do lists, calendars, and goals.

Even though being bad at something and not knowing are hard, I believe they are what it will take to grow into new, improved versions of ourselves. We need to fix bugs and add features constantly for growth to occur. I would be disappointed if next year Kath 7.4 looked and performed exactly like Kath 7.3.

My iPhone is running IOS Version 26.3.1 right now. The number 26 represents the major version. This is the big yearly release: new features, design changes, major system updates.

The number 3 represents smaller new features, such as refinements.

The number 1 is the fix update—stuff like security and safety tweaks. 

When you think about your birthday, your first digit represents your decade. For me, that number is 7.

The next number represents any refinements you make. These will accrue naturally as you add years onto your base decade. 

On an iPhone, the third number represents fix updates, but I’m going to switch its meaning to represent my version history. 

So, for instance, say, I decide to jet off to Paris for the weekend. That decision would signal a significant departure from my present conception/version of myself, so my new number would change to Kath 7.3.1

See what I’m doing here?

I’m tracking my versions as adventures, self-knowledge, and learnings occur.

I like this “version” way of thinking about aging more than simply ticking off the years.

It incentivizes me to take risks, tweak, and fix bugs.

What do you think? Do you think the next decades of your life should include versions of yourself that don’t exist yet? Let me know.