What's on my mind: Recovering social connection in an online world
- Phil McAuliffe
- 16 hours ago
- 6 min read
Life has moved online within a generation.
This article looks at how everyday interactions have disappeared and invites you to consider what parts of social connection are worth reclaiming.
Hello my friend
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how much of everyday life has moved online. Specifically, what that shift has done to how we connect and our sense of social connection. A memory from my childhood in a small country town brought it into sharp focus.
If you’re also in mid-life, you might recognise the world I’m about to describe.
Going ‘down the street’
I grew up in the 1980s in a small country town in southwest New South Wales.
Back then, if Mum or Dad wanted money from their account, they’d have to go ‘down the street’, enter the bank and withdraw money. As there was no ATM, this involved entering the bank, filling out a piece of paper and giving it to the woman at the teller (tellers were almost always young women in those days). The teller would have a little conversation with Mum while counting out the money with crisp efficiency, then Mum would place the money in her purse, and we’d be on our way.
If there was a letter or parcel to be sent, we’d walk a few doors down to the post office. Again, stamps were bought from a teller. Again, there was usually a chat accompanying the transaction while stamps were applied to the envelope or parcel, and it was sent.
Then we’d walk further along the main street to the newsagent, so Mum could get the latest edition of New Idea or the Australian Women’s Weekly. She’d have a chat with the owner of the newsagent and others as they came in and out of the shop.
Mum would inevitably run into someone she knew as we made our way further down the street. She'd talk to them for what seemed like hours. It was OK if the other Mum she was talking to had a child my age, but otherwise it was sooo boring.
Then we’d get to the supermarket. If I was lucky, I was allowed to push the trolley. Pushing the trolley gave me something to do when she spoke to other Mums doing the shopping, and to the person serving her at the deli, in the fruit and vege area and then at the checkout.
We’d then get home, and I’d go and play with my Lego or with my Matchbox cars, and the day would continue.
Was that familiar to you?
You may not have grown up in a small town in regional Australia, but I’m certain that you’re familiar with the outing I just described.
Running errands down the street was a social event for my Mum. There were so many social interactions: quick conversations with tellers through to deep and meaningful conversations under the verandahs of the main street.
It was also social training for me. I learned the art of conversation from witnessing my Mum speak to friends and to those with whom she interacted. It was a small country town, so everyone knew each other – and their business – but social conventions were still observed.
Part of that training came from the terror of talking to adults when they asked embarrassing questions in front of Mum. Over time, my responses would turn from an embarrassed ‘yes/no’ as a child, to a churlish teenage ‘sort of’ or ‘dunno’ (that’s ‘I don’t know’ in Australian) or ‘nothin’’, to that of an erudite adult with world-class weather banter and good chat.
(On the churlish teenager thing, watch this video of a song from 2008 about the joys/challenges of speaking with teenagers)
Watching adults interact as they did the shopping or ran errands could be how you also learned the art of social connection.
Today
A lot of those interactions that I described can all be done online. Banking. Supermarket shopping. News is consumed online. I can’t remember the last time I went into a post office to buy a stamp.
It’s all so convenient. A few taps of an app and we’ve paid a bill or caught up on the news.
Convenient, but at what cost? What’s the social connection price we’ve paid?
An observation
I want to share something with you that’s been on my mind.
Being a teenager is weird and awkward: physically, mentally, emotionally and socially.
At the risk of turning this article into a rant, when I was a teenager, if I needed to do anything – buy clothes, send a letter or do any banking beyond a withdrawal, I needed to interact with other humans.
I hated the waves of dread and anxiety when the person serving me deviated from the script involved in a simple transaction, when they asked questions and wanted to engage in small talk. I just wanted to get in and out of there as quickly as possible.
It was uncomfortable and awkward. But it was how I learned about connection in the wider world and in community, beyond my friends, family and teachers. They were the small reps done to build social muscles.
If you also have teenagers in your life, you’ll know that the fear of engaging with anyone or anything unfamiliar has not diminished. Except today, the weirdness and awkwardness can be avoided by opening an app.
It’s quick, easy and devoid of human interaction. No social reps. No building of social muscle.
Social connection with other humans has been engineered out of it, and it’s been called convenience.
The big question
What’s the social connection price we’re paying for this convenience?
A search of academic studies online shows that not much research has yet been published on the cost to our collective and individual social wellbeing from predominantly online interactions and transactions. There are studies available on the impact on how we date and meet people, but the cost to our communities and our selves of these everyday micro social connections is harder to find.
Anecdotally, for the two teenagers in our household, the wide-eyed panic of interacting beyond one’s comfort zone is often avoided by opening an app.
Asking for directions or recommendations? Google Maps.
Looking for a random ingredient in the supermarket? An app.
Convenient? Yes.
Faster? Definitely.
But what are we losing?
What have we lost?
What do you think?
What do you think? What have you noticed? Has this been on your mind, too?
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Closing invitation
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Until next time, be awesomely you.
~ Phil
Important:
All views expressed above are the author’s and are intended to inform, support, challenge and inspire you to consider the issue of loneliness and increase awareness of the need for authentic connection with your self, with those most important to you and your communities as an antidote to loneliness. Unless otherwise declared, the author is not a licensed mental health professional and these words are not intended to be crisis support. If you’re in crisis, this page has some links for immediate support for where you may be in the world.
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