To list a few, technology promotes education, helps keep us safe, provides a closer reach to those who were once out of reach, saves lives, keeps us connected with instantaneous communications, and most importantly, allows a virtual window for some (you know who you are) to peek in on an ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend…just in case you find yourself curious as to how they’re doing.

However, in light of all of the advancements, “Houston, we have problem.”

According to Nancy Colier, author of The Power of Off: The Mindful Way to Stay Sane in a Virtual World, the way we use technology is negatively affecting the relationship we have with ourselves.

“Our lives are filled with more possibilities than ever before to connect, consume, and discover-all good things-but in the face of these possibilities, we are also feeling less connected, less centered and…

Read more… (click on picture)

The post Breaking up the Dysfunctional Relationship with Technology appeared first on Nancy Colier.

We all know that teenagers text—a lot. But as the mother of a teenager, I am sometimes shocked by how much a lot can be, and more to the point, the impact that all this texting, virtual relating, is having on our children’s real life relationships. Many young people are now experiencing their first “romantic” relationship on their phones. Teenage couples begin texting each other intimately and voraciously often before they are even friends, texting things to each other that they would never (ever) say in person. Having a real life relationship with your boyfriend is no longer a prerequisite for having a virtual relationship with him.

These days, when a girl says she is “dating” someone, it generally means that she has someone with whom she texts around the clock.  It doesn’t however, mean that she talks to that person more (or at all) in real life.  It is not uncommon for a girl to have a boyfriend whom she never actually talks to in person but spends most of her day texting with.  Being part of a couple also doesn’t mean that you do anything in the world together, like go for ice cream or see a movie.

On their own, texting relationships might not seem like a big deal, but the problem that they create is indeed a big deal. Virtual relationships stunt real relationships (and the skills they require).  The pseudo intimacy of the texting relationship preempts real intimacy, which then creates a divide that is difficult to cross.  The virtual romance happens at a pace and rhythm and with a hipness and ease that has little to do with real life romance or, for that matter, the emotional maturity of teenagers.  And furthermore, the closeness that has transpired over text becomes imprisoning; what has been experienced in the device is not appropriate to the real-life relationship, which then becomes reason to avoid one other in actual life. The real relationship not only can’t catch up with the virtual relationship, but also becomes its hostage.

This is not just a young person’s issue.  Adult relationships are also getting caught in the chasm between virtual and actual reality. After a first or second date, it is common for would-be couples to begin texting with a frequency, casualness, and intimacy that doesn’t fit the level of the relationship; they share their thoughts, feelings, and everyday experiences as if communicating with a best friend or maybe more accurately, a part of themselves. They share their lives, as well, without the discomfort or effort that a phone call or in person exchange might require. This false and immediate intimacy then impedes the possibility of the relationship blossoming into something more real as the connection gets waylaid in a kind of texting purgatory: a fast-paced, uber cool, pseudo-sexy, nowheresville.

It’s also not just romantic relationships that are being transformed as texting becomes the first language of human relationships.  In some friendships, even those that are long-term, texting allows for a creative, exciting and newfound conversational dance, a verve that is often not possible in the face to face familiarity.  So too, texting feels easier and less stressful than real life relating; the conversation pauses or ends when we want it to and can happen in bite size, manageable chunks, with no awkward silences.  Texting relationships feel in our control while real relationships often don’t; we can be who we want in text relationships but not always in real ones.

I know people who now get anxious when they meet their friends in real life because they feel that the actual interaction can’t possibly be as fun or entertaining as the text exchanges. As one woman expressed, I can’t be as fabulous in person as I am on text.  And our friends can’t be as fabulous either, which means that the whole real life relating experience can become a kind of disappointment—ultimately lacking what the texting relationship can offer.  Once again, the real can’t compete with the virtual.

I wonder, will the gap between our virtual and real life relationships grow so wide that we will opt to give up real life relationships altogether. Will there come a time when we no longer even pretend to want or need face to face interaction?  With the help of procreation technology, will future generations consider romance and courtship to be activities that happen entirely inside their devices?

The larger problem is that virtual relationships don’t nourish us in the same way that real life relationships do. After a full day of connecting through our phone, we don’t feel connected, satisfied and heart-full in the same way that we do after physically sharing a meal or taking a walk with someone.  We integrate interactions in which we share a physical space differently than we do those that happen in our phone; we absorb them at a deeper and more cellular level. Our real life relationships change us in ways that our virtual relationships do not.

I hope that our children don’t forget what real life relating feels like, or one day believe that texting offers the full expression and rewards of human connection. I hope that future generations will not forego real relationships just because their virtual relationships may feel sexier, easier, cooler, and, in the short term, more pleasurable. It is, after all, through the real and sometimes more challenging aspects of face to face relating that we build social skills, emotional intelligence, empathy, and character, and consequently, reap the nourishment and satisfaction that real life human relationships provide.

The post Is Virtual Relationship Sexier Than Real Life Relationship? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

This is by no means a criticism of my friend’s daughter (or anyone else). What was concerning, at least to me, was that in between being photographed and posting, my friend’s daughter had no interest in the artwork, a fact which didn’t seem to matter or have anything to do with wanting to post herself as someone enjoying the experience.  The only time that she looked at the artwork in fact was when we were photographing her looking at it, and even then, she was mostly gazing in the direction of the art, with a soft focus that didn’t seem to take in the art itself.  When I asked her why she wanted to put up pics of herself in the museum since she pretty clearly didn’t want to or like being there, she smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and asked me to take another photo of her.

Now when I was her age, I had no interest in going to museums either, and when I did get dragged there, I couldn’t wait to get out of the building.  Having no interest in art at her age (and any age) is completely normal and not disturbing in the least.  But what is disturbing is how much of a young person’s energy these days goes into creating an image of the life they’re living and the character they “are” in that life.  While creating a self-image has always been a big part of growing up and figuring out our identity, social media seems to have changed the rules of the game.  Social media has not just intensified the pressure and possibility to create a self-generated self-image, but also distorted the process by which we become who we are.  Young people now seem to be creating an image of who they are in place of becoming who they are, posting their life rather than living it. The effort that goes into creating an identity and getting it noticed or “followed” has replaced the effort of actually getting interested in the life that they are posting.

Social media has turned life and its experiences into an exercise in narcissism.  No matter what the experience is actually about, it becomes about you, the person who is living it.  A concert is not about the music, a restaurant not about the food, a sporting event not about the sport, a funeral not about the loss; it’s all about you, the doer, and what the event says about you.  Life experiences are not lived directly so much as they are used as opportunities for announcing what kind of person you are.  Life now is a product through which to promote your image, but (and here’s where it gets really strange) with little connection to whether that screen image accurately reflects the inside you.

Our relationship with social media: the fact that posting where we are and what we’re doing is often more important than being where we are or doing what we’re doing, is one of the most disturbing ways that we are changing in the wake of technology and its offspring.  Our experience has meaning only in the way it says something about us–how it helps create our self-image.  As a result, we feel more separate and disconnected from our life; meaning feels harder to find.  The more we use life to create an identity, the more cut off from life we feel. Instead of being part of it, in the flow of life, we feel as if we have to keep generating new life material, more life stuff, which will announce, establish us, and ultimately, prove our existence.  In the meanwhile, the chasm between us and life grows wider and wider.

An invitation: the next time you are inclined to post your story and all that goes with it, pause for a moment and experience where you are, feel what it feels like to be live what you’re living, sensing what you’re sensing, without doing anything with it—without using life for your benefit, or for anything at all.  Just live, without the narrative.  While it may feel like this exercise could pose a threat to your identity, cause you to miss an opportunity to establish your value, in fact, the benefit it can offer to your true self, to that within you that longs to be part of and not separate from life, will far outweigh any loss incurred.  But don’t take my word for it, try it out for yourself… I look forward to your reports from the field.

The post When “Posting” Your Life is More Important Than Living It appeared first on Nancy Colier.

The problem is that anyone with a brain who knew anything about Manhattan would also know that the street the GPS was telling us to cross was a terrible option and the last street on earth one would want to choose in good conditions, much less the conditions on that particular day.  A human brain with intelligence and life experience, that could factor in the context of rush hour, pouring rain, construction, and a bridge set at the east end of exactly that street, would know that any other path would be a better option to get to where I was going.  But alas, technology told us to go that way—and so we did.

After sitting in entirely stopped traffic for ten minutes and then crawling bumper to bumper for another ten, just to travel half a city block, I asked the driver if he could get off this particular street and take a different route, to which he replied, “But the GPS tells me that this is my path,” “But what happens if we know better than what it tells you to do?” I asked.  While I don’t remember his exact words, the message was that regardless of what we in the car know to be true, he has to follow the directions of the computer.  If the computer chirps it, we do it.

The fact that this path might be the shortest physical distance between the two points was irrelevant at this time of day, with this particular weather, and with the reality of urban planning.  Nonetheless, we honored the computer’s determinant, geographical distance, as if it were the only important element in making this decision.

Five minutes later, still moving an inch at a time, I asked the driver if would be possible for him to text the company and tell them that unforeseen (by the computer) conditions had rendered its usual genius inaccurate, and to inquire whether we humans could override its intelligence and take another route.  He told me at this point, 25 minutes into the street crossing, that only the passenger could text the office to tell them that real life dictated a route other than what the computer indicated. But he certainly couldn’t do that.  When I then asked him why he had not suggested that I text the company earlier, when we were talking about the traffic, he looked confused and reiterated that he had to do what the computer told him to do.

I didn’t say anything after that, but I did get out of the van and walk in the pouring rain the rest of the way.  What I knew about traffic and my city didn’t matter, but what I knew about myself did matter, and that was that I needed to be out of that black Suburban as soon as possible.

Have we gone mad as a species?  Are we so anxious to surrender our authority, to not have to think, not be in charge, that we will follow any computer that tells us what to do—even when we know better?  Do we really want to be passive lab rats?  What has happened to our respect for and trust in our own intelligence, and our ability to figure things out for ourselves?

While algorithms can decide a lot of things, they cannot substitute for human intelligence, which can factor in the wisdom of experience, context, circumstance, psychology and a whole lot of other factors too, all at once.  To make wise decisions we need a lot more than just facts, and yet, we are behaving as if data is the central key to a good life.

In truth, the expression on my driver’s face when I asked him if he could take another route, was the spookiest thing I encountered, and what made me feel most hopeless.  This grown man, who I am sure has lived a life filled with experience, and who probably has a tremendous amount of wisdom, looked like someone who had been vacuumed of his own life force, his basic humanness.  He looked, dare I say it, like a robot.

How can we regain authority in our own lives?’ This is the question that is not just interesting, but existentially urgent.  How can we stop ourselves from becoming robots, handing over our intelligence and life force to the computer?  How far are we from a time when the computer chirps us a message that is not just inconvenient, but actually destructive?

The human brain has the capacity not just to gather, store, and link data, but also to bring to that data an intelligence and wisdom of experience that is not just profoundly important, but also changes that data into something else.  We need more than information to live a good life, we need the ability to process and to make meaning, which (still) only humans can provide.

In the meanwhile, use the computer to text the head office and tell them that the human on board knows better.  Grab the reins back in your own life.  And remember, we humans, at least for now, are still the ones in charge—if we decide to be.

Copyright 2015 Nancy Colier

The post Who’s In Charge, Computers or Humans? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Eric Whitacre assembled a technological collage of sound and sight that is remarkable, but other than the fact that the project involves music and humans, it has almost nothing to do with the experience that takes place in an actual, real life choir. There is a magical and transcendent experience that happens when we come together as human beings to create music, side by side, heart to heart, an experience that Whitacre himself describes as the moment that changed his life, the first time he felt a part of something larger.

The magic and mystery of the experience is a result of living something together—co-creating and sharing an experience that unfolds before us, larger than us but containing us nonetheless.  When we come together as individuals in a creative process, we become a part of the whole, our separateness melting into the experience itself, into one another, as we become vehicles for the universe to express itself through our seemingly separate embodiments. When our body experiences this, we are fundamentally changed.

When we omit the together part of the experience—when the process no longer happens together, is no longer shared, we cut out the key ingredient in the experience, entirely change its nature—extract its very soul. As I witnessed Whitacre conducting alone in front of a black screen, in silence, watched the singers’ faces float by in individual boxes—a mosaic of separate lives pieced together in the ether, creating the illusion of togetherness, I was certain that I would rather live connection than know that I had lived it.  I wonder, is this what the future holds? It feels apocalyptic.

No matter how we try to recreate the experience of together in an end result, inserting it through a separated process, we simply cannot manufacture the experience of together.  If we want to experience the profundity that being and creating together can offer, we must actually be and create together.  Everything else is just an idea.

The virtual choir informs its participants that they have become part of something larger than themselves, that they were indeed connected.  But in the experience of living it, they were alone and disconnected.

The experience of the virtual choir, to use Whitacre’s own words, is an expression of  “Souls on their own desert islands sending electronic messages in bottles to each other.” I believe that Whitacre used this image to suggest a kind of optimism about humanity and our longing to connect. I did not find his analogy to be optimistic, nor do I see sending out electronic messages from my own desert island as an acceptable substitute for experiencing connection. To celebrate the virtual choir is to celebrate the end of the direct experience of connection, of living the actual experience we are talking about.  It is to say that going forward, we agree to be nourished by the concept of connection—to let technology live fully, while we humans stand by and hear about it, delighting in our ability to re-create something that looks like real connection—and now actually calling it real.

In one particularly chilling testimonial, a singer writes about how wonderful the virtual choir was because she got to “sing with her sister.”  A cultural amnesia is setting in, a forgetting of what direct experience actually is, what it feels like to have the experience itself.  In truth, this young woman did not sing with her sister.  She did not have the experience of singing together; her body’s cells do not contain the experience.  She sang alone, as did her sister. What she lived was something entirely different; she had the experience of knowing that recordings of her and her sister’s voices were brought together in a technological feat.  It looks and sounds like she and her sister were singing together and that simulation of reality, that notion of being together, is what she gets to take home as the experience itself.  In place of the direct experience, she gets to have an idea of the experience—and here’s the terrifying part: she believes that they are the same thing.

“People will go to any lengths necessary to find and connect with each other.  It doesn’t matter the technology,” says Whitacre.  Yes, people are desperate for connection, but it does matter the technology.  Technology is replacing the direct experience of connection with the concept and simulation of connection, and we humans are losing the capacity to tell the difference!

At one time, technology may have been intended to bring people together, to create actual connection, more time together, more personal experiences, a richer experience of life.  Regardless of its original intention, it seems that the system has flipped on itself.  People feel more disconnected, more like they are on their own desert islands, while technology gets to do all the connecting. We sit alone in our isolated pods, while the invisible wires and cables do the interacting—together.  I fear that we are losing sight of what actual connection feels like, believing that our computers’ connections are our own. The more we congratulate ourselves on our ability to simulate the experience of being human, the more, little by little, the direct experience of being human slips away.

After listening to the virtual choir, I am left with a haunting echo, and I cannot help wonder if the haunting comes not only from the poignance of the music, but also from the poignance of what’s being lost, from the experience of virtual connection itself—the sound of humans singing alone into empty rooms, like lost birds calling out for their mothers to find them, to save them from the loneliness, and bring them home.

The post Virtual Togetherness appeared first on Nancy Colier.