Do screens keep us alone in a crowd?

Is our phone, tablet or laptop a substitute for actual people?

I was at the Santa Clara Catholic cemetery paying my respects to my parents when I noticed a family gathered around a new-looking grave. I guessed from the ages that these young adults had recently buried their mother or father there and were bringing flowers. I glanced to my right and saw a girl, probably about 12, staring into a tablet with a blue rubber frame.

Not here, I thought. This is a sacred space and ought to be a no-screen zone. This girl was totally divorcing herself from the family scene and perhaps shielding herself from the pain of losing her grandparent.

I looked up at the niche where my parents’ ashes are. It is marked with a small photo of them on their wedding day. They looked like movie stars, I swear. I talked to them, brought them up to date, and told them how much I missed them. I walked around the building the way I used to do with Dad on our after-Sunday-Mass tours and sat awhile in the chapel.

When a man came in and sat down to pray, we nodded at each other. Yes, we have both lost someone and we need to talk to God about it. We were present, feeling the feelings, and dealing with them.

We were physically alone but surrounded by the spirits and memories of our loved ones and the God we both believed in.

The girl with the tablet was alone in a different way and it worries me.

My father’s mother died when I was two years old. Our family went to the Oak Hill cemetery in San Jose regularly to put fresh flowers at Grandma Clara’s space in the mausoleum. The building was all marble and smelled like flowers. There was a stained-glass rendition of the 23rd Psalm–the Lord is My Shepherd–at the end of the hall. We always read it together

Mom would be fussing over the flowers, and there would be some tension. I didn’t know Grandma Clara and didn’t realize the grief the adults were feeling about losing her. But it was something we did as a family in the profound quiet of the mausoleum, where our voices, our footsteps, and the scissor snips as Mom cut flower stems were the only sounds.

We would walk around a bit, visiting other people Dad had known and then walking outside among the statues to where the hill overlooked Santa Clara Valley. Dad would point out landmarks, including where we lived. We were all physically and mentally present. The memory is sharp. I can smell the roses and sweet peas. What will this girl with the tablet remember?

Throughout my Thanksgiving travels from one family group to another, I saw children and sometimes whole families staring at their phones or their tablets, ignoring the live human beings inches or feet away. If you have been to an airport lately, you’ve seen it. Whole rows of people staring into their phones instead of relating to one another.

Our screens are addictive. Don’t know what to do? Feeling self-conscious? Check your phone. Text someone. Play a game. Watch videos on YouTube, Facebook, or TikTok. They’re fascinating, funny, and addictive. I admit I’m hooked, too.

It’s a lot easier to engage with your screen than with the stranger nearby. But the screen is not the same as a live person. What does it say about us when we know more about Taylor Swift or “Bluey” than we do about our own families?

What does it do to a child’s brain when he’s staring at a screen on Thanksgiving instead of engaging with a houseful of family he only sees once or twice a year? What will it do to the two-year-old I saw with a tablet in the hotel lobby when he’s just learning to speak and interact with other people?

Is this any different from me growing up always reading a book and living in the imaginary worlds the authors created? A lifelong reader, I still read at meals, in the bathroom, and in the car when I’m not driving. Wherever I go, I bring something to read. Maybe it’s the same thing. We’re removing ourselves from other people.

Maybe people, especially introverts, always find ways to remove themselves. Is a grownup watching football all weekend any different from a kid glued to YouTube? I don’t know. I do know that I fear we’re creating generations of young people who will forever be or feel alone because they can relate better to their screens than to the people in their lives.

Did you hear that Australia recently outlawed social media for kids under age 16? I have no idea how they will enforce that, but maybe it’s a good idea. What do you think?

What about you? Are you hooked to your phone, tablet, or laptop? Do you seek comfort there when you’re feeling lonely or uneasy? Do you think this contributes to being or feeling alone?

I am aware that we are communicating right now through this screen. Like anything, screentime is good in moderation.

I look forward to your comments.

photo by Jelleke Vanooteghem on Unsplash

Further reading

Adverse physiological and psychological effects of screen time on children and adolescents: Literature review and case study - ScienceDirect

What do we really know about kids and screens?

Research finds negative effects of screen time on kids, including risk of OCD

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.