Because you can text while doing something else, texting does not seem to take time but to give you time. This is more than welcome; it is magical.
A sacred space is not a place to hide out. It is a place where we recognize ourselves and our commitments.
The idea of being vulnerable leaves a lot of room for choice. There is always room to be less foldable, more evil.
One of the emotional affordances of digital communication is that one can always hide behind deliberated nonchalance.
Eric Erikson writes that in their search for identity, adolescents need a place of stillness, a place to gather themselves.
Laboratory research suggests that how we look and act in the virtual affect our behavior in the real.
The way we contemplate technology on the horizon says much about who we are and who we are willing to become.
As adults, we can develop and change our opinions. In childhood, we establish the truth of our hearts.
This is what technology wants, it wants to be a symptom. Like all psychological symptoms, it obscures a problem by solving it without addressing it.
When young people are insecure, they find ways to manufacture love tests – personal metrics to reassure themselves.
A good therapy helps you develop a sense of irony about your life so that when you start to repeat old and unhelpful patterns, something within you says, There you go again; let's call this to a halt. You can do something different. Often the first step toward doing something different is developing the capacity to not act, to stay still and reflect.
If you're having a conversation with someone in speech, and it's not being tape-recorded, you can change your opinion, but on the Internet, it's not like that. On the Internet it's almost as if everything you say were being tape-recorded. You can't say, I changed my mind.
We have to love technology enough to describe it accurately. And we have to love ourselves enough to confront technology's true effect on us.
We see a first generation going through adolescence knowing their every misstep, all the awkward gestures of their youth, are being frozen in a computer's memory.
We cannot all write like Lincoln or Shakespeare, but even the least gifted of us has the incredible instrument, our voice, to communicate the range of human emotions. Why would we deprive ourselves of that?
There is a rich literature on how to break out of quandary thinking. It suggests that sometimes it helps to turn from the abstract to the concrete.
In his history of solitude, Anthony Storr writes about the importance of being able to feel at peace in one's own company. But many find that, trained by the Net, they cannot find solitude even at a lake or beach or on a hike. Stillness makes them anxious. I see the beginnings of a backlash as some young people become disillusioned with social media. There is,. too, the renewed interest in yoga, Eastern religions, meditating, and slowness.
Increasingly, people feel as though they must have a reason for taking time alone, a reason not to be available.
You end up isolated if you don't cultivate the capacity for solitude, the ability to be separate, to gather yourself. Solitude is where you find yourself so that you can reach out to other people and form real attachments. When we don't have the capacity for solitude, we turn to other people in order to feel less anxious or in order to feel alive. When this happens, we're not able to appreciate who they are. It's as though we're using them as spare parts to support our fragile sense of self. We slip into thinking that always being connected is going to make us feel less alone. But we're at risk, because actually it's the opposite that's true.
I call it the Goldilocks effect: We can't get enough of each other we can have each other at a digital distance—not too close, not too far, just right. But human relationships are rich, messy, and demanding. When we clean them up with technology, we move from conversation to the efficiency of mere connection. I fear we forget the difference.
I call it the Goldilocks effect: We can't get enough of each other if we can have each other at a digital distance—not too close, not too far, just right. But human relationships are rich, messy, and demanding. When we clean them up with technology, we move from conversation to the efficiency of mere connection. I fear we forget the difference.