LITMIR.BIZ

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That figure comes from before the pandemic. As Covid-19 shut the world down and forced us to stay in our homes, it also illustrated just how far technology still is from effectively replacing face-to-face relationships. Unlike other kinds of disasters and heartbreaks, the pandemic was cruelly well-suited to threaten our relationships. Shared spaces, from schools to gyms to community centers to restaurants, shuttered. Many haven't and won't return. Weddings, funerals, and bedside consolation for the sick—age-old rituals of connection—became impossible. A huge number of jobs became remote positions. It's important to reiterate this particular torture of the pandemic: on top of all of its monstrous tolls, it exponentially accelerated the trend away from communal, face-to-face experiences and toward physical and emotional isolation. What the smartphone created, the pandemic amplified.

As we dive deeper into our own personalized digital worlds, social and political polarization continue to rise and threaten not only our social institutions, but also our sense of common purpose. And, of course, understanding and adapting to technological innovation is hard because technology just keeps changing. With the convergence of both the overstimulation and pandemic crises, we're beginning to appreciate in vivid detail just how much 24/7 information overload has affected us.

It's disingenuous to present the problem du jour as both terrifying and unprecedented. The old “kids these days …” quip highlights the very real phenomenon of recency bias—as humans, we tend to overstate the importance of what just happened, and the threat of technology's intrusion into our personal lives is no exception.⁷ Without panic or hyperbole, we want to convince you that the conditions of modern, plugged-in life pose a powerful but nonetheless addressable threat to creating and growing relationships. The average American already watches TV four times longer each day than they spend socializing and communicating with others.⁸ Our everyday interactions and pastimes are filled with devices and systems that didn't exist even 15 years ago, and compelling new inventions hit the market more than ever.

      The history of humanity is rife with challenges, many of which we've overcome. We're not interested in fear-mongering or hand-wringing. These particular challenges to relationship-building, though, are new and distinctly ours. We can surmount them, but first we need to understand and define them.

Connecting in the Digital Economy

Modern connectivity has also muddied the border between work and personal time, as many workers experienced during the pandemic lockdowns. We don't switch off our psychological attachment to digital distractions when we walk through the office doors or begin a Zoom meeting—we love to check our devices, whether we're in the bedroom or at our desks. That becomes a serious problem when it hurts our ability to do the complex work of communicating with our colleagues.

      Remember the dinner story at the beginning of this chapter? Let's think about the work version now. Recall a typical one-on-one conversation from your working life. How often is the conversation interrupted by you or your co-worker checking a device?

      Willys worked with a senior executive who scrolled on his phone throughout conversations with his direct reports, and even with people who'd just received offers to join the company. There are few better ways to imply that you couldn't care less about the person you're talking to. The leader who doesn't diligently avoid distractions will, however unknowingly and with whatever generous intentions, sacrifice strong team relationships for the illusory thrills of a smartphone. That's a recipe for compromised performance in the short term and an isolating lack of meaningful relationships over time.

However you feel about talking to someone who can't be bothered to put down their phone and look you in the eye, this kind of distraction-addled talk is simply less effective than focused conversation. Information is lost, and so are potential relationships. In the early years of the iPhone, the late Stanford communications professor Dr. Cliff Nass pioneered research on the psychological effects of multitasking. He began with the hypothesis that people who did lots of things at once—like switching between browsing Facebook, scrolling through Instagram, scanning the news, and writing a research paper, all with music streaming in the background—became good at doing lots of things. Like most activities, those who practiced regularly would build skill. His research, however, convincingly pointed in the opposite direction:

      The people we talk with continually said, “Look, when I really have to concentrate, I turn off everything and I am laser-focused.” And unfortunately, they've developed habits of mind that make it impossible for them to be laser-focused. They're suckers for irrelevancy. They just can't keep on task.

      This phenomenon wasn't fleeting, either:

Our brains have to be retrained to multitask and our brains, if we do it all the time—brains are remarkably plastic, remarkably adaptable. We train our brains to a new way of thinking. And then when we try to revert our brains back, our brains are plastic but they're not elastic. They don't just snap back into shape.⁹

      Nass wasn't sure whether this frenetic, lack-of-focus effect was permanent or just a sticky flavor of temporary. He did find that the self-proclaimed multitaskers weren't really multitaskers at all: they were just constantly distracted people, and they never did anything with full concentration. Much of Nass's research came before 2010. Constant distraction as a sociological phenomenon has skyrocketed since, with more powerful devices, more hypercolorful screens, and more years of fully funded attention engineering.

Distracted people are a fixture of the modern workplace, but the structure of work itself has also changed dramatically over the past generation. The kinds of work that exist, the skills that fetch the highest pay (or any at all), and the physical environment of the average workplace all look very different than they did even in the early 2000s.

      Many of the changes to professional life are clearly positive, and that's partially thanks to a slate of creative, productive, and diverse new jobs. The artist who creates in geographic obscurity until they find a niche following online didn't exist until very recently. The same goes for people in economically ravaged places: the decentralization of work and the democratization of creative tools have exponentially increased the number of people who can develop and display their talents. Any forward-thinking firm can now make a tempting offer to a skilled person in a faraway area: work for us and stay right where you are. Keep your home and lifestyle, and collect the high compensation that we'd pay to a similar candidate who lives in a much more expensive city. Just make sure that you have a fast and reliable internet connection, and enjoy the benefits of remote work.

      But pandemic lockdowns showed us that the liberation of remote work also makes everyday sociality much more difficult. Early in the pandemic, the health journalist Jamie Ducharme talked to people frustrated by how inadequate video chats felt:

Jessica Pflugrath, a 27-year-old freelance writer and editor who lives alone in Brooklyn, New York, has been relying on video chats to stay connected with her friends, but she says they bring a nagging feeling of unease. The ebb and flow of an in-person conversation doesn't always translate to video, and she doesn't like the pressure of having to be “on” all the time; she also doesn't like how easily digital conversations lend themselves to distraction. “There's a lack of feeling present with people, in general,” she says.¹⁰

That's not surprising. For thousands of years, our species evolved around close interaction with each other. Our ancestors studied each other's body language, tone, and energy to understand their social standing and the subtle cultural information that was necessary for everyday survival.

The richness of an in-person interaction depends on the innumerable factors we perceive from our companion's cadences, facial movements, posture, smell, touch, and proximity. This is true throughout the animal kingdom, in fact: as we learn more about both ourselves and our relatives in nature, we

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