There’s an old adage that says, “Distance makes the heart
grow fonder.” People used to offer me this slice of unsolicited wisdom when I
was in a long distance relationship. It was their way of introducing optimism into
a difficult situation. My response was often to smile and nod—not because I
agreed with them, but rather because I knew how rarely distance actually
strengthens a relationship. In my case, distance was a constant challenge. It
was an obstacle that we learned to overcome. Thankfully, we eventually found
our way to the same city, and we’re still together today.
I share this personal reflection because, as someone who
lives far from my family, I often think about distance around the holidays. It’s
an almost inescapable part of this time of year. Friends are talking about
travel plans over dinner. Post offices are bustling with business, as people
hurry to ship gifts to loved ones. I even get a few out-of-state holiday cards.
Most of us, it seems, contend with the fact that those who matter to us are not
ideally located. We go to great lengths to throw ourselves back into their lives
around December, even though we may not have seen or talked to them in months.
What this means, to me, is that when the festive lights come
down and trees are carried to the curb, proximity once again governs our everyday
relationships. Those who really know our story experience it with us in
real-time. They are the people we turn to in times of need. They are our
weekend plans. They are present not just for the milestones, but also for the pebbles
that collectively constitute day-to-day life. For me, many of these
relationships are with friends, some of whom I’ve only know for a few years.
We like to think that these people will be with us forever,
and, if we’re lucky, they are. However, if either you or they move, the
relationship fundamentally changes. Think of those high school or college
friends who now live in a different city or state. They were a commanding part
of our lives for four or more years. Yet without some sort of sustained,
physical presence, the relationship is transformed into an occasional phone
call, visit over the holidays, or Facebook status update.
There’s nothing remarkably new about this observation. The
very definition of a relationship is that it involves at least two people
relating to one other. Closeness makes the ability to relate all the easier.
What intrigues me is that many people seem to increasingly think we are capable
of overcoming distance with technology. We see Skype, Twitter, Facebook,
FaceTime, and similar communication innovations as ways of connecting with
people, irrespective of the space between us. In reality, technology will never
be able to replace what can only be achieved by being there with someone.
I’ve been thinking through a few reasons for this.
Skype and FaceTime are amazing applications, and the former,
in particular, has been indispensable to me. When I travel abroad, it is the
best way I can communicate with my wife. However, we do not greatly enjoy
talking to screen projections, or putting up with frequent disconnections. We
are able to tolerate Skype because we know it is a temporary fix. After a
month, I return home, and Skype won’t be opened for another year or more. For
those who use Skype to talk with loved ones in a more permanent way, it comes
to function in much the same way as the telephone. Conversations may be
frequent, even daily. And they are surely enhanced by the ability to see our
friends or family members’ emotions. Nevertheless, at their core, these
conversations are most often recaps of daily or weekly experience. In the
process of explaining our lives to other people, we summarize, censor, and
suffer from the inherent shortcomings of memory.
Twitter and Facebook offer even less in helping us overcome
distance and maintain our relationships. Twitter is designed for rapid, regular
bits of information. At its worst, Twitter is a conduit for vanity—a 21st
century journal that supplants introspection with spectacle. At its best, it is
a tool of the 24-hour news machine: just consider how many Twitter handles the
staff of The Huffington Post manage.
Facebook gives a sense of intimacy and knowledge about
others. However, this intimacy is an illusion. What we share on Facebook is a
carefully crafted version of ourselves. Some even term our individual collection of
“likes,” “shares,” and “posts” the “aspirational self”—not who we are, but who
we desire to be. No matter what name you give it, our relationships on Facebook
are shallow. As Malcolm Gladwell has correctly pointed out, such widely
dispersed, loose connections are precisely the purpose of “The Social Network.”
These days, I turn to Facebook to sate my thirst for information, not because I
think it presents a viable alternative to in-person interaction.
This does not mean I intend to delete my Facebook account or
stop using Skype. Rather, I advocate recognizing the limitations of technology,
better valuing proximity to those who matter to us, and taking stock of the
consequences of mobility. We need to think critically about what has caused us
to be so distant from friends and family in the first place. It is sometimes the
case that we have no control over our separation from others because of
obligations or cruel circumstances. However, more often than not, it is the
product of choices.
We live in a society in which it is common to move multiple
times, often in search of proverbial greener pastures. Simply put, mobility is
a defining feature of our generation. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the average worker stays at a job for 4.4 years. We hopscotch from city to city—job to
job—and look to technology to help us feel close to the people that we left
behind (or the people who left us). When it inevitably fails to live up to expectations,
we fill the void by starting new relationships with people close to us. Relationships
seem to fall into a cyclical pattern as we respond to frequent movement.
As I drive to my hometown for the holidays, making the
seven-hour car trip to reinsert myself in the lives of my family members after
months of being apart, I can’t help but think about how much of my life they have
missed. How difficult it is to catch them up to speed, to help them understand
my challenges and triumphs. I try not to get frustrated when they don’t know
what I really do for a job, or can’t place the names of the new friends with
whom I regularly spend time. All they know is what can be gleaned from social
media and the synopsis I deliver over the telephone. Most importantly, I don’t
blame them for the distance between us. I own that distance, and the decisions
that created it.
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