Disconnecting to Connect

by Angela Sanford

As I move through my daily tasks, I often find myself thinking, “Are you serious?”—though, to be honest, there’s frequently an extra qualifier in front of serious that I won’t print here. I’ll let your imagination fill in the blank.

   These moments—the ones people call “WTF moments”—are happening far too often for my liking. Many stem from observing how people interact with each other—adults to adults, and even more disturbingly, adults to youth. Sometimes I want to scream (though I realize that would be inappropriate): How can you expect young people to behave the way you think they should when you, as an adult, clearly can’t model that behavior yourself?

   One of the most disheartening things I witnessed this week, on vacation, was the sheer number of people glued to their devices. I watched a family sit through an entire meal, each on their own phone, without exchanging a single word with one another. Worse still, they were outright rude to the server, barely looking up from their screens as they barked orders and grumbled about the service. Around the pool, it was no better—dozens of cruisers lying in the sun, scrolling aimlessly on their phones, oblivious to the people around them both in respect to engaging in conversation with those with them and in recognizing that they were not alone int heir space and not everyone might enjoying or appreciate the volume of their device. It struck me how disconnected we’ve become, even when physically together. The irony of being surrounded by paradise while still tethered to a screen wasn’t lost on me.

   When I logged into my social media accounts for the first time in over three days, my first thought was to delete an account on one platform altogether, which I did. Taking a break from social media had been long overdue. While I enjoy using it to stay connected with friends and family, both near and far, I’ve recently been “unfollowing” people regularly. Some of them are acquaintances; others are people I’ve known for a lifetime. But based on their recent posts, I’ve realized I don’t really know them at all—or at least not as well as I once thought.

   We clearly have different views on supporting one another, on building others up for the common good, and on showing empathy toward our differences. So, for now, I’ve stepped away from seeing their posts. I don’t dislike any of these people—if I did, I wouldn’t have accepted their friend request in the first place. I also don’t intend to offend anyone I’ve unfollowed. But I have no desire to entertain their stream of thought anymore.

   Just as the heightened posts were stirring up discord in my mind, I gently stepped away from social media to enjoy a real-life experience with my mother. Sure, I could have paid for data to stay connected to the “real world” while on vacation. I could have had instant access to global news, community issues, and family updates. But what a peaceful state it was to sit and listen to the ocean waves crashing against volcanic shores, to hear our tour guide, Francisco, share the rich history and culture of his city, and to engage with new people face-to-face—no technology in hand.

   On, Monday, March 10th, when I wrote this blog (with pencil in hand in a coil scribbler like I do each first draft of my works) I had had 24 hours without a screen. I hadn’t spoken to anyone who wasn’t directly in front of me, nor had I heard a single news headline. I felt refreshed, calm, and grounded—fulfilled by conversations that didn’t rely on technology for connection.

    Maybe this break will have been enough to recharge my tolerance for social media when I return to Nova Scotia—or maybe, and more likely, it will convince me to step even further away from the constant noise of social media. After all, I’m growing tired of having to constantly discern truth from falsehood, value from drama, and genuine connection from mere obligation.