Here we are. It’s a weekday evening, kids are in bed, chores done, and we have one precious hour together. But quiet, uninterrupted time with the internet is apparently more precious than time with the one we love. We thought we loved.
Here we are. It’s a weekend, the kids are all home. A precious family day to spend with our little people that are growing up so quickly. But the open laptop and glowing iPhone are apparently more beautiful than their open hearts and glowing faces, so let them play their time quietly away. Away from us.
Here we are. It’s a sunny afternoon and the sky is blue. Our friends are over for a couple of hours to hang out, but nobody is talking. We’re sitting on the porch together, but nobody sees the grass waving in the fields or the billowy white clouds sailing through the sky. The conversation online is brighter and greener apparently. And we don’t see faces.
Are we people or are we bodies? Often I feel like I’m walking through rooms of human shells, empty of life and emotion, personalities brief and disengaged. Blind, deaf, and mute. Circles of people with hunkered heads and bent shoulders sitting around blindly twiddling their thumbs, in silence.
Have we forgotten? Forgotten what it means to see and hear, because we are too busy watching and listening. Forgotten what it means to love another, because you have to know to love, and you have to see and hear a person to love who they are and who they are becoming.
Is this what we want? Is it what you want?
Who is the person you married? Who are your kids? Who are your friends and neighbors? Who are you? Do you even care?
I do.
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