Two weeks ago an article appeared in my Facebook feed with these words: You don’t realize it, but you are being programmed. It was written by a former Facebook executive, and my response was simply to shrug because, frankly, I know that. Look around you. On buses and trains, at dinner tables in people’s home or out at restaurants, everywhere you look, people have married their screen devices. Computer phones. Whatever you want to call them, these devices are “smart” in that they’re very much designed with the intention to grab your attention, and keep it.
That’s it, I thought. I’m out. It’s time. And in that moment, after skimming the article which was basically an affirmation of my own years of discomfort with humanity's screen device habits, I decided I’d take two weeks and deactivate my accounts on Facebook and Instagram.
It wasn’t the article that tipped me over. Other people’s thoughts don’t have that much power over me, or so I think. I brought that discovery into my life to help me make the tip, the lunge, the leap.
What about the joy? Oh, there is indeed joy. My top intent while spending time scrolling social media scenes is to share joy, to share love, to illuminate the beauty in being human. Openly I share my huge heart’s love for humanity, one person at a time. Openly I offer kind words to anyone who seems to need them in one post. Or another. On it goes, joy being shared, big questions asked, some useful information gathered, yet overall…
Wellness is only a slice of the feeling I get from participating in social media. For every bit of my precious life that I enjoy interacting there, in the background there’s a tension, sometimes hard to notice, often hard to name.
What could be bothering me?
Could it be that I stopped watching TV in 1993 and suddenly I feel like I got snatched from behind, tugged into a TV-like landscape that I didn’t really know I’d get so tugged into? It’s awfully cunning, the waterfall of tricks and drips of happy, hooking hormones showered upon us as we use social media.
Did someone else tug me into it or did I willingly dive? As one wise friend pointed out, we cannot be programmed unless we allow ourselves to. She’s so right, on an essential level. Yet very few people I know have actually mastered the art of having full command of their attention, very few people I know find a deeply balanced relationship with screen device use. Quite frankly, almost everyone I know -- myself included -- has become more habitually enslaved to their devices, than not. Who’s doing the programming? This is where I give both parties credit.
It’s a relationship. And a very intimate one.
We take our phones to bed. They live against our skin, in pockets and bags. They sit on our dinner tables, always ready to serve. We’ve basically married them, but never written vows, and never consciously acknowledged we were entering an intimate partnership. We tend to our phones more closely than we do to most -- all? -- people in our lives. Including ourselves.
This is the itch. Something is tugging at me, itching my skin, and it’s stronger than the tug of sharing life with friends and family on computer screens. One thing I’ve learned that I’m downright thrilled to know, is that feelings aren’t usually easy to name, especially when they’re edgy, and yet they must be honored. Feelings don't just go away because we deny them and try to pretend they're not there.
Just because I can’t articulate my reasons for leaving social media with highly sophisticated eloquence, I know for sure it’s the right thing to do. For me. I know for sure that I will find pleasure in re-routing the ways I share life and joy with people. I know for sure it feels good to be honoring this feeling, and that life outside social media will satisfy me in at least these three ways: It’s less noisy. It’s less shallow. It’s less cluttered.
When I choose quiet over noise in life outside the screen, why would I choose the noise of social media as part of my everyday life?
When my deep-feeling heart extends itself to feel big things in the collective human experience, needing close relations to listen, to witness, to really see me with their eyes, presence and words, why would I spend so much time in a landscape I find so shallow?
When I don’t allow clutter in my home space, it simply doesn’t get to live with me, why would I allow my eyes, ears and attention to lay in a landscape filled with clutter?
Questions, for me.
For you they may have no ring, no resonance. For you social media might be a wonderful place where you love to play, where you feel your time is well spent, with no tug to do otherwise. You might even be one of the rare ones who’s found gorgeous balance in your own engagement with screen time. To you, I bow in respect! I seek that balance. I haven't found it yet.
Even with minimal engagement on social media, implementing my own mindfulness practices including focusing on those who are dearest to me, keeping comments brief yet packed with Love’s punch, and rarely scrolling my own "Home" wall or anyone else's, I’ve found it to be too much. Even with limited engagement, the tug of irritation has persisted.
That’s when I knew it was time, and that’s when the article appeared. Ha! Don’t you love the swift-winged synchronicity of this universe?
So here I sit, with one day left before I deactivate my accounts and begin the rerouting process. One day after deciding, I already felt weight lifted off my shoulders. In my bones, I know this is right for me.
Still, leaving social media when I’ve been engaged with it intimately for nine years is no small thing. It’s 2018. Come on. Social media is, like, life. Right? Riiiight?
How will I reroute regular contact with my teenage nieces and nephews? Will it be arduous, like that one time I tried to dump my new computer-phone for an old phone, and realized it just made life more difficult? Will it feel effortful to engage in causes I care about -- like Raffi’s Centre for Child Honouring, the Free Range Learning Community, Wild + Free, or simply hearing about fabulous things my friends are doing, parties they’re having, prayers they’re calling for?
I am left with trust that all will find its way, as I know I’m the one person alive tasked with taking great care of me. And as I age, I take this job more seriously and find it more and more delicious.
When my daughter looks around and sees people plugged into their screen device most of the time, I want her to have another example.
I want her mother to be one of the people who offers a way that’s more real-touch, real-time. More based in pleasure, the sand, the light of the sun not the screen. Ultimately I’d like to offer her and me, a way of using screen devices that is balanced, moderate, engaged, while not being tethered. I haven’t found that yet, and stepping out feels like the best way to rewire my own brain’s engagement, while rewriting the story I tell about sharing life and joy with those I love.
You’ll find me most easily via email, through the articles I soulfully write for a number of international publications, all of which are posted on my blog, and through my newsletter (sign up!) which will contain all the goodies I produce including news of my first book, coming out in the fall of 2018, and the podcasts I’m about to bust out.
With love, I salute you and your choices.
With love, I salute me and mine.
See you ‘round the way!
Tricky, tricky, tricky. Life keeps doing its thing, keeping us on our toes.
Twenty-three years ago I stopped watching TV. For me, life outside the screen is just more interesting.
I don’t experience FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I still stay tuned to enough news stories. I still live in the modern world, lacking nothing that TV offers. As a matter of fact, I have seen my quality of life largely enhanced by this choice.
Yet clever ol’ life has outsmarted me once again, depositing the next big challenge right in the palm of my hand. A computer phone — commonly called a smartphone — and it’s packed with sweet social media temptation. Two decades after I’d stopped finding any allure behind the screen, now I can blast my love-note-rockets across the planet instantly, to family and friends 200 or even 5,328 miles away. What’s fabulous about that? My husband’s family lives in Sweden, and it is really nice to so easily share photos of our daughter with them.
From not-even-a-little-bit-tempting, to suddenly delicious. Oh, boy.
We’ve all got ways our life is made more meaningful and fun with social media. Entirely shutting ourselves out of the joys of modern technology is neither reasonable nor very productive. Years ago when I tried to go back to a call/text-only phone, it clogged my ability to do many things I enjoy. That wasn’t the answer for me. And it’s not the answer I seek for the problem we face as a society: a mass addiction that we rarely discuss and barely even see.
Tricky, tricky, tricky. Not cut and dry. Not black and white. And not One Size Fits all.
Enter, Screenagers the movie.
Produced by a concerned mother who’s a Stanford trained MD, the movie explores screen life among teenagers, children and families. Impacts on the brain of adolescents, tendencies of boys to play violent video games while girls take selfies and aim to look “good,” the importance of role modeling by parents and how families can benefit from the use of structures like agreements around smartphone use.
The film features Sherry Turkle, Director of the MIT Initiative on Technology and Self, who has rigorously researched and explored the use and impact of screens in our time.
As I watched the film, it was like I’d walked thirsty for miles and finally reached water. Bothered for many years by our societal lack of mindfulness around screen time, I have initiated some conversation around it and taken my own strides toward a more conscientious relationship with the screen. When we’re bothered, we need to take personal responsibility first and foremost. If I’m picking up the phone-computer or laptop-computer every time I sit down to relax, what does that tell my daughter? Children mimic what we do, and I don’t want her to treat the computer like a best friend.
Isn’t this what we do? As with a best friend or lover or newborn baby, we tend to our computer-phones with utmost devotion.
Like keys, wallets and lip gloss, we know where our computer-phone is at all times. It buzzes or beeps and we tend to it within seconds. Hundreds of times a day, we interact with it. It sleeps next to us and sits on our dining table top like a precious jewel. Last week, as I sat at my favorite cafe planning my week, I noticed a screen at every table surrounding mine — and I took these photos. Surely they’re not unfamiliar to anyone reading this.
Perspectives on screen use vary widely. With this issue as with life itself, we are best off when we discover and honor our own values, allow others to do the same, and don’t take it personally when people don’t feel the way we do.
Some parents say computers are “the future” and want their kids using them as much as possible to keep up with technology. Some parents — consciously or unconsciously, the whole range exists — use computers as babysitters, either for an hour a day or even 6 hours a day. Some families don’t allow screen time at all in the household, because they feel the society will provide enough of that and they want to be sure their children are sufficiently exposed to things like outdoor play in nature, music and human interpersonal connection. As shown in the Screenagers film, some parents have established boundaries and practices like Tech Free Tuesdays where dinnertime is screen-free and conversation centers around sharing with each other about screen habits, what’s working and what’s not working, concerns and joys. That’s just a sampling of how screen-life looks in families. You might have a situation that’s totally different from any of these.
What works for you? Have you found a healthy balance for your family or household, one that honors the desires and freedom associated with computer use and also has a solid tone of mindfulness around use, risks and benefits?
Striking a balance around device-use requires self-awareness, mindfulness, and a desire to have your impact in the world be more intended, than unintended. This doesn't just happen. We have to step in and step up.
For our family, with two parents who have strong preferences in most areas of life and one three year old daughter, it’s absolutely a work in progress.
Mama Bear Rio will now give myself permission to share passionately about my perspectives on the issue, for the sake of my own clarity and expression, and for any others who find it helpful as you consider yours.
From my maternal instinct and personal sense of human responsibility, I approach screen-time with the eye of a skeptic. I smell with my primal mind the addictive nature of screen-time and I’m on to it; it will not have power over me. If I am going to depend on something so much, and let it be close to me so often, then I’ve got to have a really clean, beneficial relationship with this thing.
We are, after all, engaged in an intimate relationship with our phones — are we not?
Boundaries and agreements are an essential part of healthy intimacy.
My phone doesn’t sleep next to me; it sleeps on the kitchen counter.
I do not respond to texts or calls right away unless I want to in that moment.
We do not bring our phones to the dining table; that’s a sacred place for gratitude and presence, above all things.
Once the sun goes down, the screen stays off.
I trust myself and my ‘inner meter’ of awareness, to tell me if any given day — or road trip, or week, or morning — has had too much screen time and not enough play, music, reading, eye contact... or just being.
When I’m with my daughter, unless I’m engaged in something timely or on a roll with writing, or otherwise genuinely needing to tend to whatever I’m doing on the screen, she is the priority. When she needs something, the screen waits. There will be no hazing and dazing out in La La Screen Land when my greatest spiritual teacher is in my company.
How does this work? I simply try to power-out my screen use when she’s not around, taking care of things in a more productive and condensed fashion. Her presence holds the bar high for me in this area, and I’m the last person who’ll deny her invitation to step up my game. Every few days she might glimpse something on my screen, like a Facebook photo or a music video, and that’s fine.
For us this isn’t about extremism. It’s about finding a reasonable, authentic balance for our family.
And these aren’t hard rules I am chained to. They are principles that guide what feels like a healthy relationship, between myself and the computer screen, for the sake of our family.
In his February 2015 post The Device Diet, Mindfulness Based Health Founder Pete Kirchmer writes, “Five years ago I’d never had a client request coaching around social media compulsion and device addiction. This is a phenomenon that has been around for awhile but is more recently emerging as a relevant topic for all of my clients, despite demographic or the primary coaching goal they came with. It seems we are all united by this common distraction and our desire to gain control over it.”
Anytime I contemplate the relationship we have with our screens, our devices, at first it all seems a bit daunting. Then I remember how useful it is for us humans to face challenges — spiritual, physical, emotional, mental — so that we can practice all the great things worth practicing.
Presence is one of these great things.
Mindfulness has become a very popular subject in recent years and I can’t think of a better challenge to set the bar high, than the allure of these handy little pocket-computers, with all their little charming emoticons and customizable alert sounds, the ability to take and share photos and videos in a split second… It’s all pretty snazzy.
Yet we’re made for these times. The huge success of the movie Screenagers gives me hope that we may be facing quite a jewel of a challenge, in actuality — one that’ll “call out” humanity in a compelling enough way to bring us far-more-fully into the present moment. The "precious present," as it has been called. The place where mindfulness leads.
For now, it’s dark outside and I need to shut down this screen.
If you're like me, something intense happens when you see a fluffy slice of flan (my mom's is the best) topped with vanilla bean ice cream, or a dainty pot of crème brûlée. It's not only your mouth that waters; your soul drools. Inside that first bite lies a seduction of the senses, a taste of heaven's gate, pleasure not only for your taste buds but for your eyes, tongue, the tissue on the insides of your cheeks, your throat. All of you is lusted.
And if it isn't sugar, it might be alcohol or other drugs, overworking, shopping, gambling or pornography. There are many ways we humans seek connection, deep sweetness, a sense of freedom, outside ourselves. Not everyone tries to "externally resource" what can only be found within us, but many of us do.
It's commonly called addiction. And I'm writing letters to it.
I was a kid when I befriended sugar. Through the trauma of my parents' divorce, sugar became my go-to for facing emotional intensity. Chocolate chip cookies were always available and easily sent my tears into some other distant closet.
For at least 20 years I've made attempts to resolve this unhealthy dependency. Unlike my husband, who could eat ice cream every few months, or not, I could eat it ravenously on a daily basis.
And every time, every time, inside this cycle, guilt would follow. It has done so for all the years in my memory, at least since high school, ever since I became aware that my relationship with sugar was strikingly out of balance.
I'm not a lazy person. As someone who is highly self-determined, proactive, and motivated to reach deep within myself into the arms of Love, to heal wounds in life, it's been frustrating and discouraging that all of my efforts have tanked. Again I return to the butter and puff of a divine croissant, or the organic dark chocolate peanut butter cups that mimic my Reese's addiction from childhood. Not every few weeks or so. Habitually. Out of longing. Every-other-daily. And again, ah yes, Hello Guilt, there you are again, oh-so-reliable and anticipated.
One thing that's clear now is that I'll try another 1,000 times to clear this up, if I have to. I will do everything in my capacity -- I will call upon angels -- to not die in this dance. If it's deep sweetness I'm longing for, the kind I feel when I'm entangled in the presence of my daughter, well then I'll find that somewhere other than within a pint of Strauss Mint Chip ice cream.
Something is shifting. I can feel it in my bones. I could write a lot about this whole realm, and for now I'll stick with this: Writing a letter to your addiction is a very powerful thing.
Two mega-powers convene: 1) Writing things down. Scientifically proven to have a significant impact, writing things down is an act of listening to what's showing up and landing it on paper. Giving it a place to reside, outside the constant craze of your addiction thoughts. It frees you up. It loves what is, by putting it on paper. 2) Being in conscious relationship. Relationship is the core of life. Being self-determined, proactive, consciously engaged in your relationship with this thing -- this "addiction" -- you've given your power over to, is very powerful. Writing a letter is an excellent way to stand in conscious relationship.
It just so happens that letter writing is my lifelong art. At this point I've written two "Dear Sugar" letters and throughout this spring, I will be sharing elements of this rich process that feel helpful for others: blog readers, peers, companions, fellow travelers in this sad and beautiful human journey.
But for now, I've been told by some wise friends that it is very helpful to have a template. Not everyone loves writing letters and makes a practice of it, and even those who do can sometimes use the support.
Give it a shot. Pull out some paper and a pen. Here is a template to use for your own Dear Sugar letter. Or Dear Booze, or Etsy, or Maryjane, or Unavailable Men. If there's something you habitually turn to for consolation when you know it tends to leave you feeling guilt or shame, that's the thing.
I notice... (you're speaking up a lot these days, it's clear you have a lot to say, I feel upset by all the stuff you're saying...etc... any observations you have, just noticing...)
I am listening. I hear... (that you think I'm not a good mom/lover/wife/woman/person/friend... that you don't find me to be gifted/honest/loving/deserving/capable/etc...)
I want to honor what you have to say. Yet ultimately you won't be allowed to drive this car. To make decisions. To play a leading role in my life. I simply want you to know you matter and you're being heard. I am open to what you have to share with me. What else do you have to share? (list, list, list...)
What I want for myself is...
Yes- I want more of __________, __________, ____________... and less of ______________.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. I am here to listen until it feels like our conversation is complete. I'll be back. I'll be listening for what else you have to say.
And before I go, I will fill up my cup with some self love.
I acknowledge myself for _____________________________ and
I acknowledge myself for _____________________________ and
I acknowledge myself for _____________________________ ...
From / Love / Sincerely / All For Now / Thanks,
Our featured free recording for September is a 35-minute conversation with mailman Sean Lanham called Mailman Magic and the Power of Letters. You can listen here!
Jessica Rios, Founder of Leaning into Light, is a mother, coach, lifelong letter writer, and eternal fan of Mr. (Fred) Rogers. This deeply personal blog and our free recorded conversations are devoted to one of her greatest passions: illuminating the beauty of the human spirit.