The short answer – I don’t know. So, let’s look at what I think I know.
I’m a network engineer. I’m not sure what you think that means. I just know that no one has guessed it yet. Honestly, I’m more of an IT director these days than an engineer, but my day-to-day responsibilities vary greatly and I still get my hands dirty. For the most part, though, I’ve spent the past twenty-five years designing and physically building communication systems from the ground up.
I’ve worked for phone companies setting up dial-up service in people’s homes and have designed and deployed fiber networks. I’ve had a hand in building several wireless internet service providers. I could easily fill pages talking about the different technologies and noteworthy projects I’ve been a part of over the years, but that’s not really the point here. I just want to establish that I’ve spent my entire career helping make this world a little more connected.
But I’m not sure I’ve helped make it any better.
Let’s be clear, I’m not suggesting that I’m suffering from Robert Oppenheimer-level guilt. I’m not quoting the Bhagavad Gita. I’m not taking or denying credit for anything. But this question has lingered in the back of my mind for several years now.
So, are we more connected?
I suppose we are in some ways. We have automated inanimate objects. My refrigerator sends me text messages, and my thermostat tracks my GPS on my phone to adjust the temperature in our house. We’ve removed the chance that you will feel left out with automation. For example, you get a notification any time I post something. We have Facebook and Instagram and TikTok and Substack and text messages and WhatsApp and so many other ways to stay in constant communication. Yet we never seem to say anything at all. And more concerning to me still, my sense of wonder about what may or may not be going on in your life is virtually dead.
So how is this better?
I have a small group of friends, and at this point in my life, a small group is fantastic. My time is at a premium with four kids, so small and undemanding is essential. We try to meet regularly for breakfast and just talk about whatever we talk about. Maybe it’s music, maybe it’s recovery, or work, or family, or literally anything. The topic does not matter, just like the food; it’s secondary. We meet because we want to know what’s going on with each other, something that can only be discerned face-to-face. I suspect people were built that way.
My favorite takeaway from these meetings, however, is that it satisfies my sense of wonder. Wonder I wasn’t even aware I had. My friends certainly have social media accounts, most of them at least. And I see the typical pictures of their kids and major milestones there. But personal knowledge unfolds organically. Questions lead to answers, and inflection and tone lead to more questions. Subtle cues that are lost on a phone screen. I can send you a text and say something like, “Hey, how’s it going? I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope you’re okay.” Which I do from time to time. And if you write back, “Hey, I’m doing good, thanks for asking,” or something to that effect, I can only assume things are good. However, when you’re sitting at a table in front of me, your body language and facial expressions may tell a different story.
So, I’m not sure we’ve made the world a better place. I think we have created a false sense of connection and quietly, in the process, we have killed empathy. We haven’t killed empathy with a full-frontal assault. Rather, we have flanked it with digital indifference and dulled our senses so we no longer look for the cues that empathy is warranted or needed. We’ve broken the most basic and needed sign of respect when talking to another human: the need for eye contact.
It’s one of the first lessons I’ve taught each of my kids: look me in the eye when we are talking. Not because I’m the “authority,” but because you are not my subject. You are worthy of eye contact, and your thoughts and opinions matter to me.
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