Modern digital life gives us the impression we are connected.
But instead of real, human connection, it’s simply that we are digitally surrounded by what only appears to be connection.
I’ve been haunted by an experiment my friend told me about the other day, related to this growing phenomenon of loss of connection.
She was telling me that the effect of social media can be extrapolated from an experiment done with hummingbirds, where they were attracted by fake sweetener that had very few calories.
The end result was grim: because they experienced the fake nectar as sweet, they kept returning, believing it would nourish them but slowly starving instead.
But while they were becoming weaker and weaker, the sensory experience being so close to that of real nectar kept them from seeking out the real thing—with deleterious consequences.
Having a counterfeit of calories was more dangerous than immediately starving.
In the latter case of actual starvation, the hummingbirds would have known their true condition and likely have successfully sought out real nectar. Instead, thinking they had what they needed, they were placated and stayed where they were, with the fake nectar, becoming increasingly malnourished by the day.
In a similar way, this is what we seem to have done to ourselves in our modern, digital life.
We are “surrounded” by people in glittering light, watching facial expressions and developing strange, parasocial relationships with characters, who seem real, on our little and immersive screens.
At the instinctive level, we are getting what we need.
We feel the “sweetness” of human connection—constantly, even. Although most people feel a constant hum of the starvation of true connection, and many even start to question the value of their existence, we don’t feel alone when we are scrolling.
Given that our brains were not designed for the modern digital simulation of reality via video, we have constant signals that we are living in community. Our senses are believing that we are receiving what we need as social creatures.
But, like with the hummingbirds’ the false nectar, we are being deceived at a deep, sensory level.
And we are, in fact, starving.
The simulacrum of human relationship does not ultimately satisfy. But it does take the edge off of our constant, legitimate hunger such that we are increasingly less likely to pursue the true version of what we need.
The solution is simple but not easy. It involves heroism—essentially, the heroism of allowing ourselves to experience our true hunger for enfleshed human connection and its uncomfortable adjacent suffering when we don’t quite have it in the way we need.
But it is precisely this feeling of lack that drives us toward each other, and this is how we were meant to live.
It’s a frightening feeling, however. What if we can’t find the connection we desperately crave? And returning to our phones to assuage the rumblings of that ache becomes the obvious, most accessible answer.
But we have to have the courage to accept the reality of the hummingbird: that our senses can in fact mislead us, and leave us starving and perhaps at that point almost too weak to find the real solution to what we need.
In this acceptance of reality, we can begin to find the freedom to seek out the real nourishment we crave. We can recognize that the needs of the human heart are much deeper than a screen and can never be fully met by digital, immersive surroundings.
We can choose, again, to build true, lasting, in-person, present human relationships and be truly filled.
—
Art provides a perhaps gentler way to face this human ache—one where we simultaneously allow the ache to be present while allowing the beauty of music to also comfort us in that ache:
To all of these deep, real questions of the human heart, my own response throughout my life has been to write and sing. Artistic work and its expression is often how we begin to wrestle through some of the more confusing and painful parts of life.
The whole body of work I’ve built has been a real benefit to many people who are going through a challenging time. I am truly honored by this.
You are invited to enjoy a similar benefit through the button below, where you will be given access to the full and growing archive.
My music and writing is how I invite people into a deeper, more human, and more grounded place amidst the chaos of modern life.
Access to the archive is sent by email, and the archive includes my ongoing writing and occasional invitations to be more deeply involved. All of this is made possible by generous patrons.
Much of this music and writing is available only here.
KAY CLARITY ARCHIVE 