Rethinking relationships in the digital age

Relationships are hard. On top of a fairly demanding career that often leaves me feeling like I’m running on fumes mentally, there’s the additional pressure of establishing, maintaining, and evolving relationships with the various people in my life.

Whether it’s coworkers, old university friends, that one person that I hooked up with one time that I would like to see again, or my mother nagging me to call her because it’s been three weeks and she hasn’t heard a peep from me, there’s a common desire to allocate and spend time with them.

Whether it’s simply exchanging messages on your platform of choice or – heaven forbid – actually spending time together in person performing a shared activity, every relationship needs some level of investment in order to keep it alive lest it wither and, in the worst case, die.

Sometimes I will fondly recall memories that signify these relationships at their strongest. Memories of seeing extended family as we gathered for our annual Christmas celebration; going to birthday parties and having sleepovers, talking about our favorite video games or movies and what we wanted to be when we were older; dancing and singing along to our favorite songs until 3:00am when we were hot, sweaty, drunk and ready to go to bed; or simply snuggled up on the sofa in front of the fireplace, glass of wine in hand, pretending that what’s playing on Netflix actually matters when in reality all I care about is present company.

That’s not to say that my life has become devoid of these experiences – absolutely not. However, it feels like the frequency at which I have these experiences has decreased drastically. Naturally, I find myself asking what has changed to allow this to happen.

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I’m not saying it’s Facebook’s fault, or that it’s indeed anyone’s fault really. However, as I look at my own behavior, I feel it all the time: an obsessive impulse to constantly refresh my feed and see what others are contributing, sometimes liking or sharing content, and less often commenting.

The content I share myself is often done without a great deal of thought. Although sometimes I like to think it sheds some light about me – for example, a movie or an album that I really enjoyed, or a place I visited – I suspect that, more often than not, it’s just another drop in a sea of content. Yet another voice crying out into the echo chamber for attention.

Granted, there are times where I do get enjoyment out of some of the content that is shared. In those brief moments, sometimes posts will elicit a wry smile or a great guffaw that will draw the glances of those around me. However, when so much of the content I see even myself post has turned into sharing memes that will be but a distant memory by next week, or another BuzzFeed article about five hundred and seventy two flavors of potato chip you won’t believe exist, it’s hard to feel like there is any merit in this shared experience.

With platforms like Facebook, Instagram and Twitter taking over so much of how we communicate and interact on a daily basis, it’s hard to not feel like we’ve traded in authenticity for convenience at times. Relationships have been turned into a game, morphing into a quantitative experience instead of a qualitative one. We measure and compare ourselves based on the number of friends or followers we have, or the number of times someone likes or shares the content we contribute.

At particularly low ebbs in my mood, as I lie in bed at night with nothing but the glare of my phone screen to illuminate the room, I can only imagine that my expression reflects my feelings: ones of isolation, and loneliness.

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If I’m being completely honest, I hate texting. I find it exhausting. Sentiment is easily misconstrued – when something is intended as light and jovial, it can be interpreted as rude or offensive. Our expectation of receiving a response can waver simply based on whether the recipient chooses to respond now or later (often without conveying their decision on such matters), leading to worst case scenarios running through one’s head: did I say something wrong? Why aren’t they paying attention to me? What if they died?!

Don’t even get me started on the one word “Hi”s, “Hello”s, and “Hey”s on the dating apps of your choice.

With the introduction of email, SMS and other forms of digital communication, the floodgates have been opened. We constantly tell ourselves that these are great inventions – how now, we are able to communicate much more easily and quickly than ever before. As a result, we often hold the same expectations of in-person communication to these other formats.

When I intentionally engage in communication with someone, it is a different experience. There is purpose to it. I find it easier to express myself. There is a tangibility to it that provides depth and substance. In that moment, we as individuals are choosing to connect with one another, to give each other our attention, and to listen. There is someone else on the other end who cares about me, even if only for a brief moment, and sometimes that is enough.

On the other end of the spectrum, however, it is a completely different story. When I am barraged with emails and text messages across applications and from numerous people, I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I have already fallen behind before I’ve even started. When sometimes I just need a moment to myself to stop, breathe and think, my phone buzzes once more to serve as that ever constant reminder that something – someone – requires my attention.

“Pay attention to me,” it screams. “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”

Far too often, I find myself freezing up at the sheer thought of responding. Fear of judgment for being too slow to respond, or failing to provide something when I said I would, or other such thoughts. I just put my phone down, and I stop. I do nothing. The cost of respite from an overwhelming volume of communication? Damage to a relationship. Sometimes, in the early stages of one, that can be deadly.

I dread to think how many relationships I have damaged this way.

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My experiences are my own, as are my perceptions. However, I can only imagine that if I am feeling this way, then something – anything – of my experiences must be felt by at least one other person. Someone who is also feeling isolated or lonely. Someone who is waiting for someone to say hello back.

If I reflect on how these experiences make me feel, I can only think of how I also contribute to this problem. How many times could I have acted differently to reach out to someone and make them feel heard, or invested time into our relationship?

Behaviors aren’t unlearned overnight. It takes time and effort to make a change. However, as I inch ever so closely to my 30s and think about what I want out of life and the relationships that mine is comprised of, I realize that this is something that I must do.

I want to be someone that spends more time getting to know people in person, sharing experiences and learning more about who they are as an individual. I want to be someone that gives my time to reach out directly and ask someone how their day was, or what they have been up to, or what’s on their mind. I want to be someone that chooses quality over quantity.

Does this mean that I’m going to delete my Facebook account altogether or stop engaging in social media, or that I’m going to start responding to messages as soon as they are received? No. Swinging too far in that direction would just be the polar opposite on the same spectrum.

Does it mean that some of my relationships will suffer, or that some may even disappear? Most likely. After all, simply expecting to maintain an equivalent level of relationship with each and every person in my life would be naive at the very least. It seems almost counter-intuitive after having allowed my brain to be fooled into thinking that a larger number is better. And yet, deep down I know that it is necessary.

I choose quality.