Why we can’t outsource connection to a screen

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I read a fascinating piece Saturday by Ted Gioia about David Foster Wallace, how, long before smartphones or social media, he predicted the addictive pull of screens and the loneliness and depression that would follow. It’s remarkable how right he was.

I’ll be 61 next weekend, and the older I get the more obvious it becomes: you can’t live well staring at a screen all day. Zoom calls and text threads aren’t the same as looking someone in the eye, sharing a meal, or getting outside to do something. Anything. When you stop moving, stop engaging, you don’t last long. I’ve seen it happen to people I love.

That’s part of why I joined the Y this year. They’ve got everything from chair yoga to tai chi to swimming. I hadn’t been in a pool in over 30 years, and rebuilding stamina has been humbling, but I’m getting there. Three days a week now, aiming for daily. I want to fold in tai chi, yoga, maybe some free weights, but not spend my whole day at the gym. Balance, right?

When I was younger, balance wasn’t in the picture. I lost countless hours to online games, Neverwinter Nights on AOL, Ultima Online, EverQuest, World of Warcraft. Fun? Absolutely. But when I finally chose to take writing seriously, I walked away. No regrets. Games gave me entertainment, but nothing lasting to show for it at the end of the day. I wanted something concrete to show for my time spent.

Now I see echoes of that in my kids, all grown and in their twenties. They game a lot too, like that’s all they do when not at work or school, though lately it’s tabletop RPGs like D&D and Star Wars, played online with friends scattered across the world. It’s better than pure screen time, but it still means most of their social life happens through a monitor. That makes me a little sad. I regret giving them smartphones so early. Everyone else had one, and we didn’t want them left out, but I wish we’d stood firmer. The screen culture hit them right at their most formative years, and it changed the texture of their lives.

And it isn’t just games or phones. The whole system is built to monetize our attention. Radio, then TV, now apps and games, each one refining the art of keeping us hooked, selling ads, chasing dopamine hits. There’s no natural stopping point.

At the core, we’re built for one another. Humans are social creatures. Our survival as a species didn’t come from isolating ourselves, it came from gathering around fires, working in groups, raising families, telling stories. Even the most independent among us still need the brush of another voice, another hand, another laugh in the air.

When we cut ourselves off, when all our interaction runs through devices, something in us withers. Loneliness isn’t just an emotion, it’s a warning light, the body’s way of saying you’re missing what keeps you alive. The older I get, the clearer that becomes. We need other people. Not likes. Not followers. Not another stream of text on a glowing rectangle. We need faces, voices, presence. Without that, we stop being fully human.

I’ve been carving out more device-free time, swimming again, playing golf with friends, saying yes when people ask me to get out of the house. Every time I do, I’m reminded that nothing on a screen compares to the company of real human beings.

So how about you? Have you found ways to step back from the screen and reconnect, with people, with movement, with the world around you?

And yes, I know the irony here, I’m asking you to interact with me online at the end of a post about how we need less of that. But maybe that’s the paradox of this moment, we have to talk about it here, so we remember to live it out there. Maybe the best outcome is that nobody sees this because they’re too busy living their lives offline.