I pinpointed my little internal itch on this joint subject by two separate, totally innocuous-seeming experiences. Firstly, I've been podcasting obsessively for the last few weeks. I'm a Radiolab junkie in particular, but after exhausting the episodes and "shorts," I began lurking the web for other nerdy-type voices to put in my ears while I commute to various places. I stumbled on Note to Self, which is a techy podcast that focuses on how humans live and interact with all the technology that has besieged our daily lives. I find the host to be hilarious, and I want to get a beer with her someday, but the content is also so interesting. For example, the host loves going on about FOMO (fear of missing out), and how that concept has pervaded our digital presence and usage. For most, it seems that we must all stay connected at all times to Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, email, and whatever other apps kids are using these days that I'm blissfully ignorant of. And there's the ever-present question of how to put down our techy gadgets and just be with other humans in reality. They look into why we hate voicemail, why having a conversation over text is so much more preferred than face-to-face, how the glowing screens of our devices literally keep us up at night, etc, you get the picture. As I listen to more of these podcasts, I find myself cringing in recognition of many of these anti-social behaviors. I hate voicemail. I hate the stupid icon at the top of my phone that won't go away unless I listen to the damn thing. I HATE talking on the phone. I will go so far out of my way just to have a face-to-face conversation if texting or email isn't an option. Ben will tell you that I live on my iPad, phone, and computer. I'm thinking of switching gyms because the cell service at my current gym is less than desirable, and the only way I can stand the bike or elliptical for 30 minutes at a time is with Netflix or a good podcast. I even use YouTube to practice yoga (god forbid I shell out money and go to a class and be around other people).
I could ramble on forever about how much I like to be left to my own devices (pun intended), but I'll make my point. What are the value of friendships and relationships in a physical capacity? How do we conduct polite, genuine interactions with people, and then transfer those interactions to a digital platform? After a year of physical and linguistic isolation, I've sensed that my already weak interacting capabilities are really suffering. I used to love to raise my hand in class when I was the know-it-all in middle school. Somewhere along the way, I stopped doing that, even though for the most part, I still got all the right answers. I'm terrified to speak up in class. That started in high school after I was bullied, and then got worse in college when I completely lost any sense of my own identity. At age 26, I have a much better grasp on who I am, and no one is bullying me anymore. But I still don't want to talk in class because a.) it might make me look like a know-it-all, and no one wants to talk to that kid, or b.) I might say the wrong thing, and no one wants to talk to the stupid kid in class either. Catch 22 of introverts in class. I'm so used to staying mute and relying on my technology to keep me company, that raising my hand in class produces an effect similar to singing onstage for most people. It's paralyzing, and it's not ok.
Here's the thing. I'm not looking to make bffs in my classes now. I'm probably not going to be in Lyon or even France for that long a duration. Most of the students I meet are either also foreigners, or in life transitions themselves, thus probably not hanging around for too long in one place. I just want to be able to strike up conversations in any language just for the sake of having a little human interaction and acquiring a friendly acquaintance. The key is that I'm not looking for names to add to my Facebook or phone contacts. I want friends that don't need anything from me, and I don't need anything from them outside the few hours a week I see them in class. It would be awesome to meet a soul-mate type friend, but I fear I don't click with people very often, so I don't want to heighten my expectations too far and get disappointed regularly. So now I'm doing something that scares me: I'm talking in class! I'm saying hi to people and asking questions before class starts. I'm trying to be social, locking myself out of my comfort zone for at least a few minutes. After a few attempts at this, I realize that talking to people isn't so scary after all. Most people are pretty nice, and it's awesome to be in a French class at one of the most prestigious universities in France with a lot of the smartest foreigners in France. I guess I don't need to rely on my phone so often.
Part two of my relation/friend/human-ship ponderings was prompted by an episode of The Office. I stopped watching The Office after Steve Carrell left because I thought it would suck and didn't want to waste the time. I decided to give it another shot, and I'll give the post-Michael Scott seasons a solid B+. In any case, today I watched a Jim and Pam moment in season 9 that seriously knocked the breath out of me. If you were living under the same rock I inhabited, don't read further for spoilers, but it's not really all that spoiling. Jim is working in Philadelphia on his start-up company, and Pam is stuck (by choice) in Scranton with the kids and her dead-end job. They have a fight over the phone in this scene (it's easier to just watch than to have me describe the whole thing). After watching this, I felt like all the uncomfortable, awful, desperately heart-breaking moments of my life in long-distance relationships had been laid bare before me. I know this type of fight intimately, and I couldn't believe how well they captured it in TV's most revered couple.
If anyone doesn't know me that well, then I'll just say that the last 7 of that last 9 or so years of my life have been spent in long-distance relationships. I promise I don't choose this kind of thing for myself, but the heart wants what (whom) the heart wants. Long-distance relationships aren't for everyone, that's pretty obvious, but when you find yourself in one, agree to try it, or want it badly enough because you're so head-over-heels for that person, here are my veteran words to bear in mind. I won't call this advice or even a caveat, just my words from experience. Being far away from the person you love creates a deep hole in your heart that fills with all sorts of wistful, pining, resentful, proud, resilient, angry, despondent, and yes, loving feelings that simmer and crack apart daily, sometimes hourly. Long distance creates a never-ending game of phone tag and paranoia, questioning of trust and loyalty (that may be totally undeserved), and at least for me, an interminable sense of instability. Looking back, I don't think this has anything to do with the other person or even me, but is simply a by-product of the distance itself. It often begged the question: do I want to be in this kind of relationship? Which for me immediately elicited the guilty response of, "yes, of course I do!". But it's truly a lifestyle choice that relies on (aha!) technology.
My Jim/Pam example perfectly illustrates the frustration of conducting a relationship via technology. You have a limited moment to air your grief and your daily hardship, and you're just not getting the reception you need and want on the other end. Resentment has built up, passive-agressive tones are taken, and you wish you could take back every decisively hurtful sentence you just said because you know that this fight will be remembered over every other good conversation you've had. Maintaining long distance is exhausting enough, but fighting with the person you rely on for emotional support is such stupid self-sabotage. Resentment and regret are repeated ad nauseam until someone either has to go or can't handle it in the moment anymore and hangs up. If you fight in person, you can run after your SO if they storm out, or if they need their space, you at least know that they're in the other room or will come home at the end of the day. Couples fight, it's part of relationships, and there are healthy ways to deal with the aftermath. Trans-Atlantic festering (or even trans-Pennsylvania festering) only deepens that hole in your heart. In the scene I linked, when Jim has to hang up, the mechanical goodbyes between them tug at the painful memories I've pushed to a locked closet in my heart. The link cuts out much of Pam's reaction, but I felt such an emotional kinship with her at that moment (serious kudos to Jenna Fischer for the acting). You just stare at your phone, or the ended gchat video, face hot and reluctant angry tears brimming, half hoping you'll receive an apologetic call, or at least the chance to call back and apologize without sounding insincere. You want to throw that phone against a wall, push the computer out a window, rail against the injustice of the distance that you, yourself put between you and your love. But this technology is still a lifeline, and as much as it has the capacity to hinder a relationship, it can also feel like the only thing holding it together.
Tech isn't going anywhere. It's a part of the fabric of our society at this point, and we're all still learning to harness it for its best features. What is the importance of it, truly, in our meaningful relationships? Does someone not count as a friend if they aren't added to Facebook/phone contacts/Instagram/etc.? Does everything have to be "Facebook official"? Is a long-distance relationship really a relationship if you only see each other in the flesh two or three times a year, and the rest of the time, you're glued to your phone in the hopes of text or email? I'd love to hear other takes on these questions, though for myself in this moment, I'm leaning towards the side of more hindrance than help when it comes to technology. Happy friending, everyone.
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| From years of too-short gchat sessions to nights at the bar with our new stuffed friend. |
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