Enough already

I'm tired of having my attention manipulated.

Of being robbed of my focus, of being constantly amused and entertained. I'm tired of my natural curiosity being hijacked by those who know they can exploit it to get me to click something, read something, scroll something, extend my Total Watch Time or whatever KPI makes the boss happier.

I don't love that part of me feels I have to play the game to have any chance of success. That part of me hopes this post goes viral, barf, so people will pay attention to me.

I'm frustrated especially because I love these platforms. I love the internet. Warts and all, it's brought me so much joy and connection.

I don't want to come off as an anti-tech crusader. The line is nuanced. The pre-2012 era of the internet was a more hopeful place. A place like Twitter was respected as a home to valuable discourse, fun memes, and breaking news—as well as being a place to connect with interesting new people.

After 2012, things started to change.

We could barely detect it at the time. It was so gradual, as the feeds became steadily more addictive and conflagratory, bit by bit.

Over time, we came to experience wide-scale disinformation, bots, foreign state actors getting involved, major political power swaying in the balance. I dream of a time when we might have a presidential election cycle as milquetoast as, from the perspective of today, Obama vs. Romney. We knew not how good we had it.

Meanwhile, our collective health started declining more quickly. We're as divided politically as we've been in generations. We're gaining weight. We're spending less time leaving the house. We're lonelier. We're sadder. We're more depressed.

All those numbers started really getting worse right around 2012. Meanwhile, our screen time is through the roof.

"It's the phones" became a common phrase to describe what's happening in recent months. It's more nuanced than that, though. As I see it, it's the algorithms—and the raw financial motivations that drive them—that are the real enemy.

It's hard not to see the parallels to obesity. Sure, we as individuals are responsible for ourselves—no matter how many commercials tempt us to go for the Big Mac for lunch instead of—ugh—making a healthy meal for ourselves, we're supposed to resist.

In truth, we fail. We eat too much, because we have an evolutionary craving for once-scarce calories, so we can avoid starvation. We scroll too much, because we have an evolutionary craving for more information, especially negative information, because it might help us avoid danger in the wilderness.

It's not a coincidence that the word connection has connotations both human and digital. It's not a coincidence that the constant "connection" to the algorithm-driven internet in our pockets and on our wrists has coincided with stronger feelings of disconnection from reality.

The two are linked. We're getting the cheap connection in quantity and obliterating our ability to appreciate the finer stuff.

There's a place for activism. For protest. For policy change. There always is.

Alongside that, there's a place for something else.

Individually, we're outmatched. Our natural motivations betray us.

However, there is a power greater than our individual selves that can beat the doom spiral of endless scrolling and controversy and depression.

It's the power that shows up when we get together.

When there's more than one of us, we unlock new pathways. An interesting conversation can beat the pull of the screen. Quality time—playing, singing, dancing, just reading a book in silence together—they nourish us in ways that the surface-level pleasures and distractions never can.

Reality may not contain the endless free dopamine of an online life, but even the best scrolling session can't touch the experience of an embrace between two dear friends. It can't touch that feeling you get when you and a buddy start riffing back and forth, laughing through tears as you can't help but keep going. It can't touch the pulse of a live music performance, when you're singing along with countless others in unison.

Nothing is stopping us from claiming that for ourselves again.

When we choose to do something in reality—and invite someone else to join us—we take a step towards claiming a life of authenticity and balance. And we open up the opportunity for someone else to join us.

Scott Heiferman , co-founder of Meetup, loved to say: "use the internet to get off the internet."

I think that mantra applies now more than ever.

I truly believe we can use technology to forge authentic connection—to meet interesting people, and do interesting things with them. To have fun. To experience life together.

I believe that because I see it. I see it in the coworking spaces and cafes and libraries and other spaces I visit and research. I see it in the chapter-based organizations that bring people together in real life in new and enticing ways (I'm looking at you, everything from Tina Roth Eisenberg 's CreativeMornings to November Project, Inc. to Ben Bradbury Reading Rhythms and so many in between.)

I also happened to see, over the past 17 years, what decentralized movements can do—especially ones rooted in a desire for meaningful connection.

Coworking, and its cousins Jelly and BarCamp, and maker spaces, and others, emerged out of a collective desire to address a shared need.

We can do more of that—get together in new and different ways, and invite others to copy what we're doing, using the power of the internet to spread real connection—because we need it. We need to believe in something better than what we've got.

And there's plenty to believe in, if you look for it.

I look for it every day, and I find it.

It frustrates me, because I see what's possible. But it also gives me hope.

We can do more. We can do better. We must.

And it might start with something as simple as reaching out to a friend.