Finding the Flow

Never before in history has it been so easy to communicate with our fellow human beings. In the developed world, the majority of us carry an internet-enabled cell phone in our pocket wherever we go. At home most of us have wireless access on our computers. Through our phones and computers we surf the web, read blogs, watch videos, listen to music, and email and socially network on sites including Facebook, Twitter, etc. Meanwhile, our digital technology is radically changing the way we communicate: people spend less time talking face-to-face, more people choose to text instead of talk on their phones, short format written messages are more popular than long format, and overall quality of communication is declining. Finally, given the accessibility, variety, and redundancy of information technology, many people are feeling overwhelmed and tuning out. In short, improved technology does not necessarily mean improved communication.

When I lived in Granada, Spain, I didn’t have a phone, nor did I have internet access at home or at school, and there were no internet cafes. Yes, it sounds incredible, but it’s true. At the time, the internet was a fairly new phenomenon, and though cell phones were popular in Europe a decade before the United States, they were far from ubiquitous; I didn’t have one and neither did anyone I knew. In order to remedy these barriers to communication, I did the incredible: I paid spontaneous personal visits to my friends. While I know this is shocking and extremely faux pas in the contemporary United States, where you wouldn’t want to bother anybody who must be extremely busy by stopping by unannounced, in Granada that was what you had to do if you wanted to have friends. So when I wasn’t attending class, studying, working, etc. I would walk around town and visit people. When a friend wasn’t home, I would often hang out with and befriend a roommate; when they were, we would do the same: sit and talk, listen to music, eat, or go out to a bar or café. From there we might visit someone else and repeat the process, this time maybe substituting the bar for a park or plaza, or a sports activity. Since we all spent a lot of time hanging out face-to-face, we knew each other and our schedules pretty well: who was working where, who was at their favorite café, and who was meeting up for a volleyball game.

Socializing in Spain

Even though Granada was a town of 230,000 people, there was no need to have a phone or internet connection to locate anyone. Everything we did happened in person or by word of mouth. We all lived in shared apartments so our network was large; Groups formed organically, people would come and go depending on their obligations, and one event would transition seamlessly into the next; a day of sport would segue into drinks at a bar where someone would suggest dinner at their flat, and someone else would stop by with news of a private party or show that night. We were living in the flow, which meant embracing chance encounters and spontaneous events, and being open to and inspiring each other. This creative lifestyle opened the door to numerous positive experiences and opportunities to learn and grow as a person. While we all had our obligations, we did not neglect our social lives, and we never considered an impromptu visit an interruption or an imposition. While some aspects of that lifestyle were characteristic of being a young student, in our adult lives we still desire and deserve to be part of a dynamic loving community.

A Flamenco Community

Unfortunately, in the United States today community is become increasing harder to find and maintain. Part of this is cultural: we subscribe unquestioningly to the flawed notion that time is money, which makes it so that we are always in a hurry. We are horrified by the idea of wasting time, so we move through our lives like a train, each on our own track, making the necessary stops, and squeezing activities in where we can: grocery shopping or a visit to the doctor on our lunch break, the gym after work, dinner on the go, always for a fixed amount of time, always in terms of “How long will it take to do x, y, or z?” Sometimes our trains cross paths but most of the time they don’t. When they do we seldom stop to say hello; consequently, we have difficulty making new connections.

We take the same approach to our social lives, planning things with a sense of urgency that is self-imposed and often unnecessary. We schedule our free time like work, one hour for this and two hours for that, often overcommitting ourselves and consequently reducing the quality of our experiences with others. We do this because we mistakenly believe that if we don’t try to do it all we are somehow missing out. Ironically, by always being overbooked and in a hurry, we miss out anyway because we have eliminated spontaneity from our lives. We have forgotten that life is organic and the best experiences and encounters are those that are not planned or expected. But instead of adapting to and embracing the moment, we cling to our schedule, telling ourselves that something exciting will happen again, later, and this time as a part of our plans. But we are only fooling ourselves. In our embrace of the corporate ethos of productivity and efficiency we have lost sight of the concept of life as an exploration where value and meaning are created through quality communication, personal reflection, and informed action. It is not enough to merely act busy, make an appearance, and look the part.

Communications technology exacerbates the problem by providing us with twenty-four hour access to an ever-growing network of friends and colleagues. We are connected to so many people that it becomes harder to communicate with them all in depth or with sincerity. The number of events we hear about has grown exponentially and we feel anxious over having to choose between them. We are past the point where it is possible to delude ourselves with overbooking; there is no way we can do it all, which means we have to miss out. Our reaction to this phenomenon is two-fold: we spread ourselves too thin, thereby neglecting and straining our close relationships, and/or we begin to block communication, particularly the in-depth time-consuming variety, thereby isolating ourselves. Because we wish to stay connected, we spend more time online instead of meeting people in person, while our phone ultimately becomes a logistical device.

Sometimes I imagine how life would be in Granada if I were studying there now. I would likely spend a lot of time updating my profile for my global network of friends, while seeing those nearby less. I would know everybody’s whereabouts, and would plan my visits accordingly, never stopping by unannounced. Instead of calling people, I would text them to set up a meeting time; we would likely text back and forth several times to find out a mutually convenient time to meet at a mutually acceptable location. We would text other people and suddenly it would become too complicated and no one would go. Being informed of all the events happening on any given day through my network would ensure that I seldom went anywhere without a specific plan or purpose. Showing up or not wouldn’t matter because the invitation would be generic. If I did show up, I could pose for a couple of pictures and leave, thereby checking the activity off my to do list, because somehow having been there would become more important than being there. Alternatively, I might not go at all, after having seen no new names on the guest list, and given my familiarity with the location and the predictability of the event. When someone posted their pictures the next day, I could just imagine myself in them, write a comment like “Whoa, you’re such a crazy dancer (insert name here),” send a thumbs up and feel like I had participated, thereby maintaining my online visibility without the work of actually socializing. As a result of this more structured isolated life, I would meet less people and have fewer novel experiences. Ironically, I would feel more connected than ever while being less so.

While email, social networks, and cell phones can be useful for keeping in touch, they are not a substitute for face-to-face communication. If world leaders still insist on meeting in person, we should, too.