Disconnect

Are you okay? 

I am intermittently laid out by the intensity of being a human being in these days.

I have a high suspicion we will find that cell phones slowly dismantled community, decency, and an individual sense of self worth. I suspect we will find this version of technology has taken more from us than it gave. I think, already, we find ourselves lonelier and more isolated than any generation before us. As I type now, I sit in a room of adults, each at their own table with their own device, utterly ignoring one another and scrolling from one thing to the next with eyes crossed. It is not the way we were meant to live. It is disorienting. It is isolating. It is addictive. And I think it robs us of precious moments of connection with strangers who would have been friends, with our children, and with our spouses.

It is so easy to stare at a screen; it is much more difficult to truly connect, express curiosity, and show up for the people we most love. Living is brutal. It is full of risk and grief and failure and disappointment and gut-wrenching tragedy. Engaging with other humans is tiresome work; we are often a naughty and ridiculous and selfish species.

And yet, to bemoan these sorry characteristics is to miss the beauty of being a human being on the planet Earth. But to witness that beauty, we must put down the device, notice the gleeful smile of a child flying down a slide, and notice the small glimpse of sadness that crosses a friend's face when we ask how their day has gone. We must take time to pause, to listen, and to witness the last petals of a flower as summer heat turns toward snow and darkness.

When I am here, writing in this space, my heart and my mind are calm. When I lay my fingers on the keys of our piano, I am ethereal. When my aunt Judy and I finally connect after months of distance, I am witnessed. When my child comes running into the room and soars into my arms, we are simply atoms returning home. These are true and authentic human experiences. These are the marrow of our precious, fleeting moments here. This is the elation and exuberance we will remember as our cells wind down and march us slowly toward the precipice. These are the moments that will define the very quality of our seconds in this moment and in this place.

And yet, we wile time away in an abstract electronic space where long-term connection feels fairly impossible. We spend hours chasing away pain only to find it exacerbated upon leaving an online space. Living life is uncomfortable. Recognizing change as the only constant is painful. Being hopeful, being engaged, and witnessing the pain of our fellow humans is exhausting.

And yet, in the silence of our grief and the grief of others, we see ourselves reflected. In moments of calm, we hear the whispers of our drowned-out soul. In solitude, a voice tells us we are worthy. In boredom, our creativity is born. I don't want to live a life of distraction, in pursuit of instantaneous pleasure. I don't want to live this thing halfway.

My molecules were born in a gigantic blast at the dawn of time; I want to spend these precious, fleeting moments with the same intensity, vitality, exuberance, and commitment to feel it all in every breath I am fortunate enough to exhale.