For me, the modern world started in the early 90s with the arrival of the fax machine. It had been around for longer, but I ignored it for as long as possible, plodding on as usual, writing pieces with a fountain pen in a notebook, typing them out, then nipping to the Guardian once a week in my car to give my piece of paper to the women’s editor, with free parking. Easy.

Then came the fax machine, so I had to keep up and learn to use that, although I didn’t want to. No more lying in bed writing in attractive joined-up, no more pootling little stress-free drives, in no particular hurry. It was a good thing, really, because by then meters were spreading everywhere, parking was tricky and the air more polluted and stinky.

But no sooner had I got to grips with the fax when in came emails – along with cold, sweating panics because, with one wrong click, your day’s or even life’s work could disappear. I couldn’t say I really embraced it. I just did it because that was the way the world was going. Scary, but so much easier in some ways, and miraculous.

And there was I, still thinking television and landlines were magic. I could talk to someone on the other side of the Channel or even the Atlantic; moving pictures came straight into my living room. Now I have almost every bit of knowledge in the world a few taps away. Astonishing discoveries and inventions are churned out almost daily.

The trouble is, it’s all a bit much for me. This doesn’t really matter because I’m not the future. I’m on the way out, but I’m not alone. There are lots of us, capable of keeping up, but browned off with the imperious and impatient nature of progress. Its cheerleaders don’t give us much choice. They sneer if we dither, balk at the latest development, don’t fancy Netflix, WhatsApp or Twitter, get a bit overwhelmed or suggest that the past wasn’t total crap.

And there are lots and lots of us who can’t keep up, even if we’d like to. My friend Mary, who lives in sheltered housing, is getting frightened. She has all her marbles, can get about and helps the residents who can’t help themselves. They have dementia, are alcoholics, or cannot read or write. Now she is going to have to help them even more because the housing association is threatening to sack most live-in and daily staff. Then, if residents have a problem, they must contact management on an iPad. They don’t even have enough bedding, clothes or furniture, never mind an iPad. Or an iPhone or a credit card.

So, innovate as much as you like. Just don’t make life impossible for the people left behind.

• Michele Hanson is a Guardian columnist