Care is Connection
Loneliness might feel like a shameful secret you're embarrassed to admit, but let me assure you, you're not alone in feeling lonely.
Every Friday between now and the beginning of February, I’ll be sharing an excerpt from my third book, CARE: The radical art of taking time. This is in part to celebrate her release in the UK and North America, and in part to say thank you for being part of this wonderful corner of the internet throughout 2022.
Today we’re diving into connection - the thread that binds us all. I hope you enjoy it.
Much love,
Brooke xx
PS. Ben and I are taking some time offline over January, so I won’t be on hand to respond to comments until we get back, but until then, take good care and let 2023 unfold as gently as you can.
How did we get so distant?
We have evolved over hundreds of thousands of years to value connection and thrive when it's in place. We are not loners by nature – historically depending on other members of our tribe or village for help to find food, shelter, love and a sense of belonging – and yet our hyper-connected, tech-heavy, convenience-driven society has removed so much of the face-to-face interaction we have always relied on, leaving many of us socially isolated without necessarily understanding where our sense of disconnection comes from.
Answers to the question of why we are so much lonelier vary – some researchers have found that increased use of technology and social media is the problem, particularly in younger people, while others are looking at the rise of individualism in society, the pace of modern life, and how our towns and cities now offer little opportunity for community connection or space to congregate.
I suppose we now have to add to this the very real possibility that, because of Covid, people may also be afraid to connect face-to-face. The pandemic gave us a new kind of fear that has driven us to use tech more, in place of the in-person interactions we used to have. Things like contactless delivery and apps that allow us to order and pay for our coffee remotely cut out even the simplest of interpersonal interactions and are stripping us of the pleasure of day-to-day human contact.
Whatever the cause, disconnection is impacting us in myriad ways – not only to the detriment of our physical and mental health but also our relationships, communities, workplaces and homes. In other words, the very societies we live in are being crippled by disconnection and loneliness.
In a 2017 meta-analysis of dozens of studies on loneliness, Julianne Holt-Lunstad and a team of researchers at Brigham Young University found that regularly feeling lonely or isolated has the equivalent effect of smoking approximately fifteen cigarettes a day, and that those of us who experience prolonged or frequent feelings of loneliness are nearly 50 per cent more likely to die prematurely. High blood pressure, cardiovascular disease, cognitive decline, and depression are some of the conditions affected by loneliness that can contribute to mortality.
While it might be easy to cast this as a personal, albeit common problem, the truth is that loneliness is a massive public health issue that could be costing us up to $60 billion annually in healthcare and lost productivity.
This is not a personal problem, it's an everyone problem.
Loneliness might feel like a shameful secret you're embarrassed to admit in a world where it feels like everyone else is constantly surrounded by a tight-knit group of supportive mates – and you might feel like you're losing the real-life version of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon – but let me assure you, you're not alone in feeling lonely.
Why connect?
Connecting with other people more frequently doesn't only benefit us by reducing levels of loneliness – the benefits of increasing our interaction with other humans are surprisingly far-reaching and include:
strengthened immune system
reduced levels of inflammation
faster recovery from illness and disease
reduction in the effects of stress
improved heart health
improved gut function
improved insulin regulation
prolonged life expectancy
lower rates of anxiety and depression
higher self-esteem
higher levels of resilience
higher levels of humility
increased self-confidence
reduced perfectionist tendencies
increased empathy
greater sense of cooperation and trust.
In what is a beautiful, positive feedback loop, the more we connect with people, the better we feel about ourselves; the more we empathise with and trust others, the more others open up and trust us; the more we value that trust, the more we open up and trust others.
It's a wellbeing win-win-win – socially, emotionally and physically.
Digital vs analog: the connection conundrum
We live in a digital world, or so the conventional wisdom goes. Many of us work digitally, we socialise digitally, we bank digitally (what is money at this point other than numbers in our banking app?), we're entertained and titillated and informed digitally. So many of the inputs to our lives and so many of the outputs of our energies are digital: so yes, by that definition, we live in a digital world. But we are not digital creatures.
Human beings cannot speak digital language. We aren't Neo from The Matrix: We do not understand the millions of ones and zeroes that allow us to stream The Beach Boys’ God Only Knows on Spotify. If we were to view the data that adds up to an ultra-high-resolution, digitised image of the Mona Lisa, we would only see incomprehensible digits in their millions, maybe even billions. No cascading melodies or plays of light. There is beauty and creativity in the digital, no doubt, but it will remain a mystery to us until it is translated into a language we understand.
On the other hand, we have analog, which has two quite different meanings. The first is related to technology, where analog refers to devices in which information is represented by variable physical qualities as opposed to the fixed binary language of digital. So, a vinyl record is an analog technology because the sounds that make up music are created when the needle moves through tiny grooves on the surface of the record and vibrates. An mp3, meanwhile, is a digital technology because the song has been recorded, translated and encoded into a collection of ‘bits’ that are, at their core, a series of ones and zeroes that add up to a recording.
The second definition of analog refers to a person or thing that may be comparable or similar to another. An orphaned joey will snuggle into a knitted pouch as an analog to its mother's. Comparable, similar, but not the same.
Take a birthday message, sent to a friend. You could hand-write the message on a card and mall it to them. If you did, the note inside would be analog, not digital, because it's created in a tangible, physical way and when they open the card and read your message, the only translation that happens is between words and thoughts.
Alternatively, you could send the same message via text using your phone. As you type those words, the phone translates them into the ones and zeroes of digital information. Hundreds of them. They are then sent over the network as data to your friend's phone, where the message is re-translated into pixels that form letters, thereby allowing your friend to read their birthday message on their phone.
That's one side of the analog coin, so to speak. The other side is that your text is an analog for an actual birthday card. Similar or comparable but not the same.
And I have to wonder – what's being lost in translation here? Undoubtedly, it's lovely to be thought of and contacted – no matter the format – but is the impact the same?
Receiving a handwritten note tends to stick with us a lot longer than a text or an email. I still have a small stack of notes from Ben that he wrote to me back in the early 2000s. In the years since, I'm sure he's written some equally lovely texts, but I don't treasure them in the same way. I've never printed out an email and lovingly added it to a stack of similar printouts tied with a blue ribbon.
It strikes me that in our digital world we not only need to create analog translations of information in order to understand it, but we've also surrounded ourselves with digital analogs for other things.
Social networks are an analog for in-person connection and community just as digital music is an analog for live music and streamed movies are an analog for going to the cinema. Porn is an analog for sex or physical intimacy or our own personal fantasies; text messages are an analog for phone calls or letters. We are surrounded by stand-ins and knock-offs and digital technologies that claim to be just as good, if not better than the analogs of old. I can't help but wonder – are they? What are we missing out on when we take the digital route every time?
A few years ago, author and computer science professor Cal Newport invited readers of his blog to join him in a month-long experiment, where he encouraged them to take a 31-day break from all ‘optional technologies’. This included things like reading the news online and using social-media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. The idea was for participants to remove these inputs from their lives for a month after which they could rebuild their digital lives starting from a blank slate – only allowing back in technologies for which they could provide a compelling motivation.
Newport was surprised when more than 1600 readers decided to join the experiment, and even more surprised when the results began rolling in. Not only did the participants enjoy stepping back from their daily habits of online news consumption and social-media scrolling, but they also “often overhauled their free time in massively positive ways.”
From reading more to learning to become a better listener, picking up previously forgotten hobbies such as chess, to finally finishing the novel manuscript that had been languishing in a drawer for years, participants discovered just how much time optional technologies had been costing them.
Even more fascinating to me was Newport's discovery that most people weren't just replacing mindless social-media scrolling with unrelated activities. He writes that "in many cases, they were instead finding improved sources of the benefits that drew them to social media in the first place,” and in that discovery are implications for our digital/analog conundrum.
For example, people who appreciated the entertainment value of social media often found themselves picking up analog creative hobbies such as painting or reading that gave them an even deeper sense of entertainment, while many who used social media to keep in touch with friends and family found that they spent those regained hours on things like phone calls or meeting in person.
One participant who previously spent hours a week scrolling news websites in an effort to stay informed replaced that digital habit with a subscription to a physical newspaper and found that he was still just as informed as before without getting caught up in the minute-to-minute clickbait headlines and sensationalism that is so typical of online news.
Newport coined the term 'analog social media' to describe these real-world activities that seem to deliver heartier doses of the very benefits social media promises us: connection, like-minded people, deeper relationships, communities, and shared interests.
Tech offers us accessibility, inclusivity and the ability to connect but it shouldn't be a replacement for human connection. If we all work from home, socialise from home, order meals from home, shop from home and are entertained at home, we could say we're ticking all the important boxes in living well, but without connection, without face-to-face human interaction, we're missing out on a huge chunk of what life has to offer.
I believe that tech should be a tool – one we use for a specific purpose – to create or connect or build something. Then it should be put down as we move on to other things. Tech can be the hammer and the saw and the screwdriver we use to build walls or windows or roofs, but tech shouldn't be the house we live in.
Vulnerability is the structural foundation of connection. Without it we can't deepen our relationships and we can't build trust. Despite that, vulnerability is often seen as weakness. In fact, I’d say that before Brené Brown stormed into our hearts and minds with her 2010 TED talk and the rallying cry that vulnerability is a superpower, I'd only ever really thought of vulnerability in a negative context. The castle is vulnerable to attack, the patient was vulnerable to infection, his generous nature made him vulnerable to manipulation.
To avoid injury or attack or being taken advantage of, we developed armour. We placed the gentlest and most sensitive parts of ourselves under lock and key. We put up walls and barriers and fences to keep the aggressors away. The pity being, of course, that armour and locks and walls keep everyone away.
In her book Daring Greatly, Brown defines vulnerability as “uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure”, all of which feel scary. But she also writes that vulnerability is the “birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability and authenticity.”
Seems like a pretty sweet deal to me. Discomfort, risk and exposure for love, joy, creativity and hope.
Perhaps, however, this feels like too much and you find yourself already withdrawing from the idea of more connection. Maybe you've tried smiling at people you don't know or spent time trying to radiate openness in a new place or tried going deep in a conversation with a friend, and maybe you haven't had the response you hoped for. Maybe your smile was ignored or sneered at, or your intent questioned. Maybe your deeper question or attempt at engagement fell on deaf ears. Maybe the person in the lift ignored you or you found yourself sidling up to a group of strangers at a networking event, trying to insert yourself smoothly into their conversation only to freeze up and slowly walk away backwards à la Bridget Jones (v. embarrassing).
It's okay. How are we ever meant to know the warm glow of true connection if we haven't felt the brutal sting of rebuke? We'd have nothing to compare it to.
And it is a sting. Even a rejection of the gentlest and smallest of outreaches can feel exceedingly harsh. Being seen and judged to be lacking in some capacity is the most human of hurts because it unearths those brutal words we say to ourselves and shines a light of truth on them. I'm not worthy. I don't belong here. I'm not good enough – I know it and now they know it too.
That sting often sees me react with defensiveness, out of shame or embarrassment from having put myself ‘out there’ only to be ignored or made to feel small and stupid. Then I move on to blaming the other person, sneering that it's actually their loss that they ignored my smile, and goodness me they must be so mean-spirited.
The truth is rarely as black and white, and nowhere near as interesting. Sure, it could be that my face did annoy them, or they hated me at first sight. More likely, though, is that they didn't see me (even if they looked my way) or were so caught up in what they were thinking about (which is probably not me) that I didn't even register with them.
Regardless, their reaction is okay. So is mine. It's all okay and it's all human. What these reactions speak to is our fear of vulnerability and the shame we experience when our vulnerability isn't met with kindness or even acknowledgement.
Instead of allowing the fear of vulnerability to harden our hearts and the ego to run roughshod over our attempts to connect, I'd encourage you to view the following experiments as gentle ways to dip your toe into vulnerability and her benefits. Ultimately it doesn't matter who you connect with or how. You might choose to connect with your partner or child, a therapist or a friend, a beloved pet – or someone else's beloved pet for that matter, as looking into the eyes of an animal we like and trust can release oxytocin, thereby reducing stress and anxiety and improving our immune function – the only thing that matters is that you recognise that the vulnerability you may feel is deeply human, and that connection so often lies on the other side.
Eye contact
Eye contact is something humans both long for and fear. It opens us up to be seen, but at the same time it opens us up to be seen and oh god, what if they don't like what they see? What if I'm lacking? What if they laugh or smirk or ignore me? If you're looking for vulnerability, you can find it by the bucketload in human eye contact.
This vulnerability is precisely why eye contact plays a critical role in the development of our emotional connections and is one of the simplest ways to show someone that you acknowledge them, that you value them or that you’re listening to them.
Now, I'm not talking about maintaining creepy levels of intense eye contact with total strangers. In fact, too much eye contact can be overwhelming for the person you're looking at, resulting in less connection, not more. Plus, it's important to remember that there are cultures in which maintaining strong eye contact can be seen as aggressive or rude.
What I'm talking about is a gentle prolonging of the daily eye contact you already make with people you know, or an effort to gradually increase your eye contact with strangers. This can have far-reaching benefits, including a release of the feel-good hormone oxytocin into our bloodstream. Even more importantly, it demonstrates to other humans that we recognise them as an individual and not just an obstacle on the footpath or another body on public transport.
On some level I'd always known how important eye contact was, but in our Covid-affected world, as so many more of us wear masks on a regular basis, the eye-to-eye, human-to-human recognition is even more important. Where a smile might not be evident, friendly eye contact can bridge the gap.
Touch
Touch is powerful. And while it can, of course, be used in negative or manipulative ways, it is also a potent tool for bringing connection, healing, love and empathy to our relationships. We can use touch to soothe or comfort or show support. We hug and hold hands and smooth hair off hot foreheads. We wipe tears and squeeze shoulders and let our hips bump into another person's as we sit next to each other on the school bus. We can electrify and titillate and placate and show kindness with touch.
One of the barely acknowledged tragedies of Covid lockdown was the physical isolation many people experienced. People who lived by themselves, people with compromised immune systems, people who lived in care homes where empathetic or familial touch was scarce even before the pandemic, were thrown into a situation where they experienced hardly any or no touch at all. When I spend a moment considering it, I can feel this lack deep in my heart. Can you imagine living for months devoid of hugs or a reassuring hand pat?
Touch deprivation, or skin hunger as it's sometimes known, is a very real condition that arises when we have little or no physical contact with others. It can result in an increase in aggressive behaviour, body-image issues, stress levels and loneliness, as well as high levels of tension, depression and anxiety.
When we're not living in a pandemic, the cure for many of us is a relatively simple one: to allow ourselves to experience more friendly or empathetic touch (from a person we feel safe with). Even the most everyday, incidental gestures – a pat on the back or a brief touch of the arm – are far more powerful than we might have imagined.
Touch activates our brain's orbitofrontal cortex, which is linked to feelings of reward and compassion, and it can also trigger the release of oxytocin (our friendly love hormone popping up again), which is responsible for developing feelings of connection, love and bonding. Touch helps us to develop cooperation and, within the bounds of safe relationships, can also signal security and trust.
If you've ever had someone you trust gently pat your back as you lay in bed as a child (or as an adult, for that matter), you know that empathetic touch can soothe beyond words. Interestingly, patients in palliative care experience that same response: research in 2012 by Dr William Collinge showed that patients are soothed by touch due to the related boost of oxytocin and the natural painkiller effect it has in the body. To connect with a gentle touch is to care.
I have very distinct memories of both my grandmother and grandfather getting comfort from holding our hands in their final days. It was an incredibly important experience for me to sit quietly with them one last time, their hand in mine, allowing us each to be comforted and soothed by the other. Seen and felt and loved.
I also have distinct memories of times when a friend has given me the deep, meaningful kind of hug I needed, one that fills up some unseen part of me, one that leaves me in no doubt that I am supported. No words needed, touch conveys so much, so simply. A gentle pressure on the shoulder, a pat on the hand, a squeeze of the arm, a kiss on the top of a head; empathetic touch improves our quality of life, as well as, I suppose, our quality of death.
In times of isolation, however, it can be harder to find opportunities for these kinds of touch. In these instances, self-touch offers many of the same benefits as receiving touch from others, because any kind of gentle pressure on the skin releases many of the same chemicals as hugging or hand holding. So wrapping yourself tightly in a blanket or hugging a stuffed toy or pillow offer similar benefits as does gentle yoga or cuddling with a pet.
It's my hope that, as the world moves towards whatever comes after Covid, it includes a much greater understanding of just how vital touch is to us – to our health, happiness and ability to thrive. I hope that we see a reset of aged and disability care, that we remember the value of a hug, that we invite our friends who live alone to stay with us more often.
10 ways to practise connection if you have…
Half a minute:
When someone is talking to you, put down your phone, close your laptop, turn off the TV and look at them
Holds hands with someone
Link arms with a friend or put your arms around the shoulders of your partner
Ask someone how their weekend was and actively listen to their reply
Half an hour:
Give or receive a massage (or give yourself one!) Try massaging the scalp, hands, feet or shoulders
Record your parents talking about their earliest memories or the happiest day of their life
Write a letter to someone and post it
Half a day or more:
Challenge your housemates or family to a screen-free day and spend it making things, playing games, going for walks or reading aloud
Volunteer to spend time at a nursing home, talking to residents
Take a class with a friend – learning together creates intimacy
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Oh Brooke!! I LOVE THIS MESSAGE!!! Your words are beautiful, but your sentiment touches my heart!! I am so grateful for the way you “see” the real stuff, the important stuff!! Please know I am sending you and your rock star family my sincere love and very best wishes this holiday season!! Enjoy your January!! Whoop-whoop!! ❤️