I lay in bed last night awake for hours. Hot. Sweaty. Frustrated. Ready to implode. What am I doing here? What is it really all about? Some intensity inside of me was trying to figure something out. Trying to figure out whether I was on the “right” or “wrong” side of this thing called Life.

A professor friend of mine died this past weekend. She was the one who interviewed me and had, without even knowing me, somehow decided I was the one for the job. I never went through the “normal channels” to be hired. She was the one who, without me knowing, kept me from being laid off when the trustees wanted to cut corners and have one of the full time faculty teach my classes. She told the trustees I was the only one who could do what I do. For someone who truly knew me so little, she knew me better than some who have known me longest. She had a kind of built-in faith about me, and it gave me a strength and a confidence that I was lacking at the time.

I actually love death. And I love heartfelt services which necessarily come on the heels of death. Why? Because for that little window of time, everyone’s head snaps back into place. Everyone stops pretending, if even a little, that we don’t know. Everyone stops pretending, if even for a day, that the normal things we run around and chase, pale in comparison to this moment in time.

Our spirits are daily breaking. Each and every day we put more faith and more attention into a machine than we do the sanctity and preciousness of our own lives. We think about our devices more than we do each other. There was a time when we were schooled in placing those energies into Something Greater. Something not man-made. For those of us already grown, maybe we can mend our way back. But what about the children? What about the ones who are being schooled daily to believe that their faith, attention, energies, and the life force itself belongs to something that beeps?

I don’t know if putting these things together is somehow uncouth. All that I can tell you is that when I woke this morning I had a strong sense that all of  it must  be included. That the best that I can do is to decide to notice, and decide to observe deeply. And to act in the only way I know how.

Last week my husband was away for a couple of nights presenting me with a rare opportunity to have the room to myself. How did I use it? Binge watching half a season of Downton Abbey. It seemed like such a “treat” at the time. A chance to curl up in bed with a story I enjoy. Only. Several hours past my usual bedtime I was still saying to myself, “Just one more.”

The whole non-treat aspect began earlier than I would like to admit when I stole away like a thief in the night, ear buds tucked in my sleeve pre-meditatively, so that my son would not know what I was doing. This so flies in the face of what I stand for and what I expect from him. This one action alone tells me everything I need to know about the long arm of technology. It leaves me dazed, pondering; “What is it that is so powerful that I would go against my body’s needs?”  “What is it that is so much bigger than my values and what I stand for?”

And that night, even though I was tired, I was too wired to fall asleep. It was another hour before I was able to turn off the theme song to Downton Abbey that kept looping insidiously through my mind over and over and over again. Once asleep, I was treated to a night of disturbing dreams and images. The next morning I was bleary-eyed and stiff. And even though the air was sweet and the day magnificent, I barely slogged my way through a run that I typically so look forward to. Later that day going to teach one of my favorite topics (ironically enough entitled Technology and Its Impact On Our Health And Well-Being), I was unable to focus on my notes for class. Nothing seemed to stick, and my usually creative zeal was MIA. I crawled through the day; my passion and vitality hijacked the night before by images on a screen.

What could almost be laughable is that we are talking about a PBS series. I mean, really. This seems pretty low on the power continuum of gaming, shopping, social networking and porn. But the compulsion was there nontheless. There is no denying that. And so I ask you, how in the name of all that is good in our lives are we and our children going to stand up to the really seductive and addictive stuff?

P.S. If there was ever any thought in my little rat brain of how great it would be to have Netflex, it is gone. I don’t think I would be able to live with myself and the dull and meaningless life that would ensue. I do not think I could bear theme songs and characters on a screen hijacking my very existence.

Recently, I was at a family gathering where a new mother with babe in arms left the dinner table to go into the other room to nurse. I sat feeling the wrongness and the unnecessary isolation being imposed when a woman feels as though she needs to separate herself from her people to feed her own baby. At one point I got up to see if she needed anything, only to find her deeply engrossed and hunched over her phone. She didn’t need me or my show of support. In fact, she didn’t really need any of us at that gathering. Who would miss us when there were infinite “tribes” to connect to with the swipe of a finger; potential communities, activities and entertainment sources that would ask nothing of her other than to stay curled over her device, but ultimately giving nothing much in return. Picture the scene in your mind’s eye. Mother and child off in another room by themselves. A baby at the breast of a mother who only has eyes for her screen. This is the seed of what is to come, and it ain’t pretty.

The very heart of our lives and therefor the lives of our communities is held and formed in the bond between a mother and her child. Baby and mother breathing as one. Heartbeats beating in sync. Invisible cords with the tensile strength of steel move back and forth weaving the two together. It is primal, animal and non-verbal. It is touch and smell and sound. It is the sacred encapsulating the physical. It is the dance and love song of life itself. They are more one than two.

So, what will it mean to insert a machine between them? What will it do to that new life seeking itself in the eyes of another to look up and see a piece of metal? What will it do to the physical health of a rapidly developing nervous system to be so close, so often, to the electromagnetic fields given off by the devices? How will that mother know her baby in the way that only a mother can know her child if she is physically there, but little else? How will that mother know how to advocate for herself and her child in the face of the injustices of the world if she can so easily distract herself from the inhumane realities that surround her? The same realities that only a present and passionate mother has the clarity and strength to challenge on behalf of her child.  Truly, there are no words forceful enough or compelling enough to convey the irretrievable loss that takes place in this one scenario. You must feel your way through this one in all of its subtleties and nuances.  And extrapolate out…

Before we knew, we knew. I am talking about the way we have been joking with one another about how addicted we are to our devices. South Korea, who embraced technology a decade before us, already has Internet Addiction camps that their youth attend. Instead of treatment for booze or drugs, it is rehab for the screens. For children. Internet and gaming addictions are widespread among those seeking mental health counseling for depression, anxiety and sleep disorders. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Psychiatry and Psychology lists Internet Addiction in the appendix “Conditions Requiring Further Study.” Our noses are pressed up against something, and still we refuse to acknowledge what it is that is right under those very same noses.

How can this be? How can something so life-altering be directly in front of us without garnering our recognition of it? In a word, denial. Wherever we find addiction, we find denial, the king of all the defense mechanisms. This is the vehicle through which we refuse the reality that stands before us. Denial takes many forms, some obvious, some more subtle and slippery. There is the way we will wiggle out of the recognition by finding ways to justify our choices. There is the way we will acknowledge something as problematic while simultaneously slipping away from that acknowledgement. It is there in the way we say this is how it is and there is nothing we can do. And it is there in the way we downplay how much it is impacting us. The “funny” thing is though that when we look at a psychological definition of denial, it is an unconscious defense against experiencing unbearable pain. Amidst our great celebration of all things screen, we are suffering terribly. Despite how things look on the surface, the underneath tells a different story. This pattern is always present with addiction, and its henchman denial.

One of the most profound things I ever heard come out of a teacher’s mouth was, “What is real in this moment?” Not how you want it to be. Not how you were told it should be. Not what keeps things smooth with others. But how is it, really? It takes great courage and determination to look at life squarely without backing off or twisting away. It takes great presence and discernment to see the truth as opposed to colluding with a kind of mass denial that keeps us feeling more at home by being addicted right along with those around us. It’s more comfortable this way because we are not alone. This way there is no rub or challenge to the status quo. This way we get to leave the responsibility for our lives and that of our children’s in the hands of something else. Only through looking  will we know how to proceed, will we know when our lives have gotten off track, will we know when we are lying to ourselves..

Here is a real denial-busting question to ask of yourself: “Do you think that on your last day you will lament that you did not have enough time in front of a screen?” No? What is it then that you will lament?

I teach a college course called Relaxation Techniques. One of the topics we cover is looking at how technology  impacts our health and well-being. Working with 200 students each year, here is the short list of what I consistently hear, each and every semester:

Of the way their cell phones serve as a “lifeline,” and that without them they would be lost, afraid and disconnected.

Of the collective agreement to turn a blind eye to how people lie online.

Of the headaches, neck strain, insomnia and shoulder pain they experience when in front of their screens.

Of a looming feeling that maybe their devices will cause cancer, but being unable to let go of them nontheless.

Of the uneasy feeling that part of them is missing without their phones.

Of the overwhelm when their phone is about to lose its charge.

Of the exhaustion they regularly feel because instead of going to sleep they get caught up in a Netflex binge, or get lost checking their social media sites.

Of the sadness and disappointment they feel when a friend is more interested in their device than them.

Of the feeling that whoever they are with, they are always with someone else.

Of the addiction they see in others and experience within themselves.

Of the despair that only comes late at night thinking that maybe the days and months logged gaming might not be so cool after all.

Of the realization that there is always, always an excuse to have their cell phone out, even though it is getting in the way of school work, intimacy, peace of mind or sleep.

Of the lack of satisfying connection in their relationships despite their ability to get in touch with anyone at any time.

Of real life, in-person conversations being awkward, thinking that maybe that is why people say this generation has deteriorated social skills.

Of the deep and pervasive fear to be alone with themselves.

Of the time they spend stressing over a single letter or punctuation mark, fearful of how it will be received.

Of being constantly afraid that something will happen to them or someone they know, but that as long as they are with a cell phone they will be insulated from that harm somehow.

Of the fear to call as opposed to text because you never know what someone might say.

Of the terror that perhaps their lives are not meaningful without someone else looking at what they have posted, tweeted, or snapchatted.

And of the sense that something is not working, but feeling that this is just how it is now.

They believe this is how it is now because they do not have a before. They believe this is how it is because this is what we have taught them. They believe this is how it is because this is what we as the grown-ups in their lives have allowed to occur.

February 3rd was National Play Day. This global event involved over 100,000 children. Students arrived at school that day and instead of the typical curriculum, the focus was child-driven, unstructured and free of any screentime. When exactly did playing become something we needed to schedule a day for? And while National Play Day is a beautiful effort towards highlighting the essential role that play plays in our children’s overall physical, emotional, social and intellectual development, the need for a special day suggests just how far astray we have traveled in our understanding of what our children need to develop and learn; beginning with the reality that one day will just not cut it. Ever. Nor will any other top-down, adult scheduled ideas about how and when children should play.

It puts me in mind of the notices that would be sent home around standardized testing time reminding parents to make sure the kids got a good night’s sleep, ate a healthy breakfast and were sent to school with a healthy snack. Each time I would receive one of these notices, my blood would boil. Why was this reminder coming at testing time instead of it being the way we supported our children each and every day? And why is it that we select, schedule and commodify “special” times and events for doing things that our children require each and every day? Why? Because in our busy, fast paced, machine-driven orientation to life, we have become blind to our own needs, and therefore to the needs of our children.

Play seems so frivolous and so very expendable in a world where if things are not immediately accessible and known to us then they must surely be irrelevant and a waste of time. But then the latest research will tell us that play will make our kids smarter, more emotionally stable, and then of course we will feel guilted into scheduling it in. We will make it a priority, wondering all the while how we will possibly keep up with all of the ever-increasing demands that we as parents must meet these days in raising our children. We will schedule more playdates because it is good for them. We will join in with National Play Day once a year. We will stretch ourselves thinner and thinner, all the while completely missing the point. That point being that there is no point to play and that it shows up all on its own with nothing required of us grown-ups. It is not a matter of doing more, but of doing less.

If you are stuck, look to the children. No one needs to convince a child to play. It is only the adults that need to be reminded. Joseph Campbell once wrote that what we are all really looking for is the experience of being alive. No one knows the feeling of being alive better than children at play. They do not require research, special occasions or reasons. They do not require store bought accoutrements or an adult to take the lead. Maybe, instead of scheduling playdates and national play days, we should all sit back, leave lots of space in our children’s day, and watch what happens. It might actually turn out to be exactly what we all need.

I have yet to meet a parent who in some way is not worried about how the technologies are using their children. Why then are we so afraid to say no? Why is it so difficult to set appropriate and protective limits? Some of this inability on our part can be understood by examining the brainwashing that we live with on a daily basis. “Brainwashing” is a very, very strong word to use here, and yet if we look closely at how the technologies are taking our children away from us and away from themselves, that word becomes an accurate descriptor of the way our brains are being washed clean of the truth. For something to be so powerful as to keep parents from acting on behalf of their own children says everything about what we are up against.

Daily, we receive the message that doing it all, wanting it all and having access to it all are the hallmarks of what makes us valuable, important and lovable. Worse yet, we have been conditioned to believe that it is our own idea to want it all, when in fact this belief is being sold to us daily through various media outlets. And so, we drive ourselves relentlessly with the technologies exacerbating and accelerating our wantings. We have passed this on to our children, and in so doing we have bypassed the importance of “No.” We have forgotten that to say no is to say yes. We have forgotten that to protect something precious we must learn to say no, a lot. We have forgotten that “no” creates the container out of which “yes” is born.

One of the most powerful things we can do for ourselves and for our children, is to get very, very good at saying “No.” And while this flies in the face of the cultural message that “we can have it all”, it is the very thing we need to do to insure our children stay human. We can refuse to have this conversation, but the truth is, it will go on with or without us. And what we refuse to address will be become our children’s burden to bear..

I was at a solstice gathering where a woman overheard someone asking me about a workshop I had done at a Waldorf school on technology and children. She assumed I had gone in to get the school  “up to speed in the 21st century, since we are no longer living in Germany in the 1920’s;” where and when Waldorf had come into existence. And so, even though the workshop focus had been quite the opposite, I decided to listen instead of “setting her straight.”

It seems she loved the Waldorf school for her oldest, but that when it came for her next child, she felt he could not possibly live with the technology “limits” the school recommended. She spoke strongly about the necessity of the school getting with the times. Then, an interesting thing happened; the more she spoke, the more her position changed. She acquiesced that, of course, she recognized the way that it had taken over her own life. She lamented the fact that it made her sad and uneasy to see the way the kids were constantly hunched over their devices. She openly worried about what was happening to the children. And well, yes, maybe there was something to be gained from the Waldorf approach to limiting technology in childhood.

Something significant struck me that day and it can be summed up in two words; cognitive dissonance. In Psychology, the Theory of Cognitive Dissonance holds that human beings seek consistency between reality and their expectations, ideas and beliefs. If we do not experience an internal harmony in this regard, we will do something to reduce the discomfort that this discrepancy causes. One way we reduce the dissonance is to ignore or deny a reality that does not mesh with our beliefs. And there it is. This is why so many of us can see the truth of how the technologies are undermining childhood and at the same time, suppress that knowing. We have come to believe so strongly, for so many reasons, that the technologies are such  a necessity or a vast improvement in their lives, that we are choosing to deny what stands before us. This is how we can see disturbing trends unfolding before us without trying to change anything. We have found a way to promote distraction, disconnection and disengagement as a way of life for our children, and except for an occasional worry or freak out, have found a way to deny what is happening without losing too much sleep over it.

In yoga there is a Sanskrit word called chalana, which means to churn. It is understood that we can be churned by the world and those around us and that we ourselves can engage in practices that intentionally churn us. Through the churning we are melted down and then come back together to a place of greater perspective. An external churning would be the undeniable reality that your 12 year old has cleared your bank account of thousands of dollars to pay for video game charms. It would be very difficult to ignore that reality no matter what your beliefs. An internal churning would be allowing yourself to pay attention to the uneasy feelings that arise regarding your child and the time they spend in front of  a screen. One way or another, we will all churn over what is happening to our kids. Could we not consciously, for their sake, commit to feeling what we are feeling, even when that requires us to challenge and change the beliefs and ideas that we as a culture hold near and dear? Could we not acknowledge the dissonance and be willing to change, just a little, as our gift to them?

My oldest is 19. When she left for Germany back in the fall, she joined Facebook for the very first time. It has allowed her to keep up with friends back home and even create new friends in a foreign country through au pair meet up groups. This is a great example of the technology serving, helping us to maintain and create connection in our relationships. But when the tragedy in Paris struck, the way the medium disconnects us from ourselves, one another and life, becomes all too obvious.

The rallying cry on Facebook among her “friends” was to demonstrate solidarity for Paris by changing the picture on their profiles to the French flag. For a precise and very short amount of time, comments abounded on the tragedy, then quickly faded away and went back to business as usual, pictures and all. “Pointless” and “overwhelmingly shallow” were my daughters words to me regarding the Facebook approach to dealing with tragedy, loss and terror. As someone who grew up with ample opportunity to be well established in her own emotions while experiencing the power of true intimacy, she understands that difficult times are best dealt with in ways that allow for depth of feeling, permission for a range of emotions to be expressed, as well as the time needed to struggle towards meaning. True intimacy, and its power to transform and heal through the unbearable, does not arise where quick and catchy posts squeezed in between the moments of our lives drive the exchange.

When we allow social media to take the lead in teaching our children about real life connections, we give our children empty and harmful approaches to dealing with overwhelming events and information. One of the things our children need most is the ability to stand in the face of the overwhelming and make sense of it. No amount of time spent on social media will get them there. Ever. As a matter of fact, without a solid foundation beneath them, access to social media generates anxiety, hopelessness, and a lack of agency in themselves.

Our children must be allowed a childhood where they have the space and the appropriate modelling for what it truly means to be connected socially. They must be given years and years to develop the emotional intelligence, along with the resilience it brings, to live satisfying lives. Couldn’t we give them the time they need to become established in their social and emotional natures before turning them over to the machines? Couldn’t we agree that it is well worth any “sacrifice” on our parts to give them this time? Couldn’t we stop offering up pointless and shallow ways of teaching them to connect? We could.

I am confused as to how my son’s friend knows that his mother is here to pick him up. This gets cleared up for me when I am told that his mother texted him to say she was out in our driveway. I sift through this one for days. The place I keep returning to could be labelled, “lost opportunities;” ones that are both obvious and subtle, specific and general, personal and communal. Here are a few: She and I miss out on getting to know one another a bit more. Our boys miss out on seeing their connection extend into the generation ahead of them. This mom misses out on  the possibility of breaking bread with us in the form of the delicious home-made cinnamon rolls my husband has just made. It was a beautiful Sunday morning here that would have been made even more beautiful with some unexpected company. And so, the very real and, these days ignored, impromptu opportunity to commune, with all of its unexpected gifts, has been lost.  Are we noticing this? Do we even care?

While the phrase, “It takes a village” has been appropriated and misused for personal and political gain, it stands true nontheless that our children need a community of support in their lives that extends beyond their immediate family; an invisible web that surrounds and protects them beyond the reach of our homes. They require a level of physical, emotional and spiritual holding that far exceeds the limited domain of their family of origin. In plain language, we all need to be looking out for each other’s kids. And one of the best ways to do this is to get to know one another. We used to know this. More than that, we used to live this. And we did not need reminders, catchy slogans or PSA announcements. We knew that our children could not be adequately held and protected without the support of those around us. And we, as parents knew that we needed each other. What’s changed?