A few weeks ago, my husband and I took the kids back to our alma mater for an alumni weekend. As we showed them around campus, pointing out what had changed and what was the same – our classrooms, the places we ate lunch, “the exact spot” where we met (a request from our youngest) – we both noticed the same thing.
Many of our old gathering spots were gone.
And no, they hadn’t been just replaced. Rather, they’d been eliminated, eaten up by new takeout joints and study areas.
The big TV in the student union was once flanked by numerous oversized couches. The local pizza joint, which used to feature live music. The Mediterranean restaurant where I’d spent countless dinners with friends. And the sprawling lounge, which served as both a coffee shop and a bar. Gone, gone, gone and gone.
By the end of the weekend, one thing had become very clear. While the campus looked similar to when we’d left, the way today’s college students were experiencing it was very different.
“I think they’re all in their dorms,” my husband said. “With streaming, they don’t need communal TVs. With texts, they don’t need to get together the same way for dinner.”
I nodded, knowing his assessment was right. And yet it saddened me to think of a world where college kids didn’t meet to discuss their days over hummus pitas.
“But aren’t they lonely? Don’t they miss their friends?”
My husband had shrugged. “How often do you see your friends, outside of texts?”
I laughed. He had a point.
Given the business of daily life, I chose to stay in touch with the majority of my friends the way most moms my age did – through texts. And yet, as a millennial, I also hadn’t given up all my analog ways. Walks, coffee outings, and meet-ups were still a very regular part of my week.
“You’re right. I do use texts to stay in touch,” I said. “But really, they’re just a tool to share news until we can get together in person. Remember those signs at Harborview Market? The original social network? I believe in that. Others do too.”
I smiled, thinking of a couple of good friends who had truly taught me the importance of this. We meet about once a month at the very place that taught us about the original social network – the coffee shop and restaurant Harborview Market – to catch up on all we can’t express over text.
We’ve been meeting for over a year now, since the end of our kids’ shared preschool class, which stopped our shared pick-up times and impromptu mom-and-kid play dates.
For a while, we tried texting, but together we agreed. It wasn’t the same. We craved what we’d had. Real, human connection. The type of connection that can analyze an “I’m okay” in a nanosecond, telling us whether that friend needs a hug before spilling bad news, encouragement before revealing a problem, or a cheer before reporting much-deserved good news.
The type of data that’s lost over text, where an “I’m okay” is meaningless without further explanation, without the nuances of voice and expression.
And so every month, I spend two hours neglecting my regular responsibilities to sip coffee and connect with good friends. Over omelets, we share big laughs and wipe away tears, we discuss big life decisions and smaller moments with the kids. We fill our souls with the type of interactions that make us feel understood, cared for, and loved. And then we leave energized, ready to tackle our days with the truth that we are not alone, that friends exist away from the screens that so often hold us hostage.
And in those moments when I’m walking back to my car, my mind racing with all the tasks I need to accomplish for the day, I’m reminded of why I continue to say “no” every time my oldest asks for an iPhone. It isn’t just because of the dangers of social media or group texting or watching too many YouTube videos – it’s because of what time spent doing those things takes away. Time out with friends. Time in the real world.
Our screens have both brought us together and narrowed our lives. They’ve made it easier to find like-minded groups, people, and news sources. But in doing so, they’ve also isolated us, depriving us of real human connections with people both alike and different from us, people who may never have become lifelong friends if not for the communal dorm room television.
And so I will continue to push for in-person coffee dates, walks, and meet-ups; play dates with friends; sports practices and playground time; and dinners with family and friends. I will continue to deprive my middle schooler of an iPhone. And I challenge you to do the same. Go out and find your own original social network – be it a coffee shop, a restaurant, or a seat at your kitchen table. Make time for genuine connection, for you and your kids.
Let’s teach our children that connecting in the real world matters. Shared experiences build bonds stronger than text messages. And that while texts are a great way to stay in touch when schedules and distance separate us, they mean more when served together with a healthy dose of time together.
Because while the social networks in our pockets may not be going away, the original social networks of the past still matter, now more than ever. Let’s do our best to save those we still have. And to encourage the next generation to bring back more gathering spots, along with all the laughter, tears, and shared experiences that came with them.
