Curbing Smartphone Addiction Like a Monk
Last week, I—the guy who wrote an entire book on attachment to the stuff of earth—spent more than 4 hours per day on my cell phone. My cellphone use was on an upward trend, and I decided it had to stop. How would curb I my well-fixed attachment? Through simple, incremental change.
Yesterday, I placed my phone on the far side of the room, next to the wilting plant and a minimalist interior design book I keep in my office for inspiration. It’s a corner of the room I frequent less than I should.
Switching the ringer on (in case Amber or a client called), I fell into a sort of forced “monk mode,” a state business writer Greg McKeown describes as “shutting out the world for a time.” I worked a focused flow for one hour, then a second, taking a break only once to refill my coffee mug (and see a man about a horse, if you know what I mean). And with my phone out of sight and out of mind, the barrage of silent notifications from Instagram, Messenger, Voxer, The Weather Channel, and the like passed unnoticed.
This is what monks do; they ignore the superfluous to tend to what’s important.
I worked a similar flow in the second half of the workday, and though my will-power is lowest in these hours, having my phone across the room seemed to help. At four o’clock, I answered a scheduled call and after I hung up, I looked at my screen time report. It was five minutes till the end of the workday, and I’d only logged 55 minutes.
By the end of the night, I’d only used my phone a total of 1 hour and 20 minutes. How did I feel at the end of the day?
Focused. Energized. Accomplished.
What did I miss?
Nothing as far as I can tell, except the tyranny of my smartphone notifications, and that seems to be a thing worth missing.*
*Yesterday, I opened a new thread on smartphone addiction on Substack, in which I ask you for suggestions. Check it out.
Life Examined: An Incremental Plan.
Today, set aside at least one hour and enter “monk mode.” During that monk mode hour (or hours), hide your phone, disconnect from social media, and focus on what matters most.
After your time is up, spend fifteen minutes examining how you feel. Ask yourself whether you ought to make this part of your daily routine. Examine what this might do to break your smartphone attachment, even if it’s only an incremental step.
Join Me
What to hear more about how you can help bring a book on silence to life? Don’t forget to head to my latest Substack post for more.
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
Put The Phone Down and Read This (Unless You're Reading on Your Phone, In Which CasePut it Down After You Read.)
It’s all explainable.
This is what I tell myself as I stare at the screen time report from the last week. 4 hours and… how many minutes per day? I blink and blink, considering the nearly thirty hours I’ve spent swiping a screen in the last week. All things are justifiable, though, so I consider work, hadn’t I texted clients on an almost constant basis last week? I traveled last week, too, which meant my phone was my primary way of checking and responding to email.
I’ve more justifications than John has Calvin, but how can I make sense of the countless minutes spent on WordTower+ or hours streaming YouTube? (Listen: Fujifilm released the X100v, Bishop Barron dropped an incredible video on the three essential elements of the church, WheezyWaiter tried meal planning, and Hopper is alive. Don’t judge me.) How could I justify my need to check the news feed multiple times per hour?
I’m not attached.
I can quit whenever I want.
At least I can scale back if I want.
At least, I think I can. Right?
I consider that report just before my weekly jaunt to the house of God, the place where no one should hide from the truth. And if I’m to say any prayers honestly, I suppose I have to admit a basic truth: I may not be addicted, but I’m at least inordinately attached to my smartphone. (For more on what constitutes “inordinate attachment,” grab my book, The Book of Waking Up: Experiencing the Divine Life That Reorders a Life.)
The Cold Hard Smartphone Facts
Smartphone attachment: It’s ubiquitous these days. Rescue Time, a productivity app that limits distraction by blocking email, text messaging, social media websites, and other distracting apps, reviewed their user data on smartphone use. According to their research, the average cellphone user accrues 3 hours and fifteen minutes of screen time a day. The top 20% of users are on their cellphones more than 4.5 hours. What’s more, the average cellphone user checked their phone 58 times a day, with 30 of those check-ins happening during working hours.
Every buzz, ding, or flash of the screen demands attention. In boredom, reaching for our phones is our primary reflex.
What do these statistics show us? Perhaps they indicate the extent to which so many of us have developed disordered attachments with our cellphones. (What is a disordered attachment? Read my latest book for more.) Philosophically, they might indicate a sort of human evolution of homo sapiens to homo cellphonus. On a more practical note, the statistics show how often we “context switch” or move from one task to another. And according to all the research, constant context switching is neurologically exhausting, saps us of our willpower, and interferes with our ability to get the most important things done.
And dammit all if I’m not the king of context switching.
This is the week I intend to right the ship. I’ll try to get my screen time average below 3 hours, the push even further. How? Incrementally. Follow along this week and discover whether intentional, incremental action makes a difference.
Life Examined: Do You Know Your screen time Stats?
1. Do you know how much screen time you spend on your phone on any given day? Look at your screen time reports for the last few days (most cellphones keep thee in an easy to locate place, such as your “Settings” app. Is it more than 3 hours?
2. What apps do you use most? Are they productivity tools or time wasters like social media?
3. Make a plan for cutting your screen time down this week, particularly during the workday. Turn of notifications on your most distracting apps. Consider turning your phone off for a few hours in the morning, or placing it on the other side of the room (keep the ringer on in case your wife, child, or mother calls).
***A Special Invitation***
What to hear more about how you can help bring a book on silence to life? Don’t forget to head to my latest Substack post for more.
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
The Virtual Retreat: A Liturgy of Consistancy
This is not the end of the line. It is the end of the beginning of your personal liturgy formation.
Huh?
Let me take another crack at it.
This is the last day of our virtual retreat, the retreat where we examined forming personal liturgies of silence, joy, and creation. These liturgies beat back the prevailing despair of the day, so commit to them. Be consistent in your personal liturgies, and begin to incorporate them into your weekly (if not daily) routine. How? Let’s Create a plan.
Life Examined: The Personal Liturgy Plan
In your journal, planner, or on the whiteboard in your office, make a three-column mini-spreadsheet. In the first column, space these phrases evenly: “Liturgy of Silence,” “Liturgy of Joy,” and “Liturgy of Creation.”
In the middle column, directly to the right of the particular liturgy, describe how you’ll practice that ritual or rhythm. For instance, in the middle column next to “Liturgy of Silence,” you might write, “Wake one hour early on Monday mornings and contemplate, read, and pray in the silence of my house.” To the right of “Liturgy of Joy,” you might write, “Record three things that brought me pleasure or joy at the end of the night.”
In the third column, identify the times of day/week when you will practice your liturgies of creation, joy, an silence. Be specific. Name the time of day.
For one month, stick to your allotted liturgies. Don’t miss (and if you do, make it up at the first chance.) Be consistent, and at the end of the month, record whether these personal liturgies have made a difference.
***A Special Invitation***
What to hear more about how you can help bring a book on silence to life? Don’t forget to head to my latest Substack post for more.
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
The Virtual Retreat (Day 4): Liturgies of Creation
Rituals, routines, personal liturgies—we all have them whether we realize it or not. This week, we’re taking on a Virtual Retreat to create personal, meaningful liturgies. Don’t miss the previous posts.
In the beginning God made the heavens and the earth.
It’s a simple sentence, and when you strip away the prepositional phrase and the direct object, it becomes an even simpler soup.
God made.
God made, and made, and made, the Scriptures say, and when the world was populated by his artistry, he turned to the pièce de résistance. Humankind.
God created humankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.
In a stroke of emphatic redundancy, the Scriptures iterate and reiterate that God created men and women in his own image as if to drive some cosmic point home. And though I’m no theologian, though I’ve no background in the Jewish tradition of the depths of meaning in the creation story, my working hunch is that being created in the image of a Creator has consequences.
Creativity—it’s baked into our DNA, has been from the start. Early humans made paint from elderberries, charcoal, and wildflowers and painted buffalo (and some say aliens) on cave walls. More advanced men chiseled Roman gods and biblical characters from stone. Architects labored over buildings hundreds of years ago that still stand today. You play guitar, or piano, or scratch out poems, or knit beanies in your spare time. And what about your eight-year-old, the prodigious crayoner who creates tapestries rich with every color in the box? (Except burnt sienna; no one has a use for burnt sienna.)
We were made to create, and come to find out, creation has benefits. It’s been said that engaging in creative work has long-term benefits, including increased happiness. Creativity—it can be a hedge against the despair that’s so pervasive in this world of digital handwringing.
I have my own daily liturgy of creativity, one I’ve written about before. It begins in the morning with a cup of water and my computer. It begins here. Some days I’m more pleased with the work than others. But always, I start with nothing (a blank screen) and end up with something (words on the page). Always I create. Always, I walk away from the writing incrementally happier. And that, I suppose, is an accomplishment, an incremental increase in my happiness.
Do you have a liturgy of creation, a set time each week to sit down and make something new? If not, why not? And don’t give me that I’m not creative garbage. Each of us has a creative bone somewhere in our body. (Some knit, some work with wood, some tinker on car engines, some scrapbook, some write novels in their spare time, etcetera ad infinitum.) So, create a liturgy of creation and push back despair.
Life Examined: A Liturgy of Creation
As you did in the Silence retreat, identify one hour a week where you can create something.
Enter into the time with no expectations (and even more importantly, no cell phone), and turn to the work of your hands.
As you create, have compassion for yourself. Remember, the goal of creation is not perfection. It’s simple to bring something new to life, and in that way, to connect with the Creator who made you creative.
After your hour of creation, reflect. What did you notice? Did you get into a flow state, a state where you blocked everything else out?
Commit to practicing this weekly ritual of creation on the same day for two months. See what happens.
***A Special Invitation***
What to hear more about how you can help bring a book on silence to life? Don’t forget to head to my latest Substack post for more.
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
The Virtual Retreat: A Liturgy of Waking to Pleasure and Joy
Welcome to Day 3 of our virtual retreat on forming personal liturgies. If this is your first time this week, start from the beginning and work you’re way forward. We’ll be here when you come back.
As I wrote in The Book of Waking Up, we live in a dark world, one full of pain and despair. In that darkness, it’s tempting to use any old coping mechanism—booze, boobs, a penchant for purchasing—to numb ourselves to the pain. But there’s a different way, a waking way, one I outline in what some (read: I) have called my “magnum opus on the subject of addictions, attachments, and habits.”
I won’t get into the weeds of the waking way (you have to buy the book for that, and if you haven’t, come on man… what gives?), but I’ll share a waking practice, one meant to draw you into the goodness of God in the land of the living. What is that waking way? Creating an evening habit of tracking pleasure or joy.
Before we get to the nuts and bolts, though, consider my thoughts about pleasure from The Book of Waking Up:
We’re coded for pleasure. We have millions of synapses meant to fire, meant to tell the brain to release four neurotransmitters associated with pleasure: dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins. What do those neurotransmitters do? That’s not so important for now. Instead, just know this: each plays a part in producing the sort of WHIZZ-BANG! rush of pleasure we all know. It’s this Whizz-Bang that sets us apart from machines, that makes us human. But what why do we feel this pleasure? What’s the point of it all?
Pleasure—what is it but a sign that our creator wants us to enjoy the created things of the world?
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it till I die—pleasure is meant to draw us into the joy of the Divine Love. So, let’s take note of the pleasures and joy in our lives. Let’s celebrate them as the antidote of despair.
How?
It’s a simple practice, really. In the evening, just before bed, reach for your journal, a notepad, or last month’s electricity bill envelope. Make two columns on your paper-product of choice—a skinny column on the left and a more ample one on the right. In the left column, write the date. Close your eyes and review your day, taking note of the things that brought you pleasure or joy. Then, record a few of those things in the right column. (If you’re not smiling as you record these pleasures, you ain’t doing it right.)
In recording your joy, you’ll begin to find despair’s equal opposite. And living in this dark age as we do, it might not be terribly comfortable at first, but keep recording. As you do, you’ll find reasons for living, things to look forward too. You’ll find a darkness that’s less dim. You may begin to find the light of Divine Love shining on you as you wake to what’s good.
Life Examined:
1. Review yesterday in your imagination and record three things that brought you pleasure or joy. Can you see the Divine Love at work through those things?
2. In prayer or meditation, thank your maker for giving you good things in the land of the living. Offer gratitude for a world full of pleasures.
***Let’s Wake Up Together***
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
The Virtual Retreat: A Liturgy of Silence
Preface: I’m beginning a short book of prose on the topic of silence. For more information, and to subscribe to the project, visit my latest Substack Post.
Virtual Retreat Day 1: A Liturgy of Silence
I was raised in a busy spirituality. We had a pipe organ and horn section in our Sunday service. There was a youth night with chubby-bunny contests, a raucous band, lights, cameras, always action. Everything was amped or next-level or peak. Never was I led into silence or solitude. Never was I told that the Divine Love is a quiet presence, or if I was, there was so much noise that I didn’t hear it.
From a teenage sociological perspective, I suppose this is quite understandable. After all, silence and solitude are, as a practical matter, boring. And what amped teen relishes boredom? Isn’t the next-level spiritual experience supposed to be exciting? Isn’t peak spirituality innately busy, perhaps loud?
In my adult years, I’ve come to believe that dedicated times of silence and solitude open spiritual, psychological, and even creative doors. In my book Coming Clean days, I journaled through the first 90 days of sobriety. In that spit of a season, I sat in the silence of my living room night after night and opened myself to the numinous. In stillness and solitude, I found it easier to organize my thoughts. I wrote in the silence each day, and as I did, my creativity imagination opened. What’s more, I experienced the coming of Divine Love, the presence of the Christ I thought I’d never experience again.
In her article “The Call of Solitude,” Ester Buchholz, who authored a book by the same name, mused on the necessity of silence and solitude in the religious experience. She wrote:
For religion to have its greatest appeal, it must allow time for solitude. The book of Genesis lays this foundation. Within the creation story, God established Saturday, the Shabbat, as a day of rest, set aside from all others. The Shabbat was a time to contemplate one's life and the scriptures. We can do the same, whether we take a day of rest for ourselves, or an hour of quiet prayer, or even a few minutes of meditation. Whether in a remote, faraway stillness or in the very center of a community, the hermit or itinerant monk resides in us all.
How to Incorporate Silence and Solitude Into Your Week
At 5:45 on each Monday morning, I make my way to our local Catholic Church and spend time in the adoration chapel. There, I gather with a small group of regulars whose faces I’ve come to know. We do not say a word, but instead, enter into silence and solitude, faces turned toward the sacramental bread placed on the altar. I sit in a personal pew. Occasionally, I kneel. There, I begin my week in perfect stillness, asking the Divine Love to come, to open my heart and mind for the upcoming week. I pray for friends and family as they come to mind, turn to the Scriptures if one comes blazing into my brain. For the most part, though, I carry no agenda into that hour other than to be still and silent before the God of the universe. Often, it’s the richest hour of my week.
Silence doesn’t happen by accident. It takes liturgical, habituated effort. So today, I’m inviting you to create your own weekly liturgy or ritual of stillness and solitude, even if it’s only an hour. How?
Life Examined: Create a Liturgy of Silence
1. Identify one hour a week where you can practice silence and solitude. I say “practice” because it might not be easy at first.
2. Enter into the time with no expectations (and even more importantly, no cell phone). Consider using a simple prayer to focus your attention. I often enter into silence by repeating the Jesus Prayer—Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
3. Bring a journal and a copy of your favorite religious text. Remember, this is not a time for productivity, but when you feel the pull of Divine Love, turn to prayer, journaling, or reading the text. You might be surprised by what comes out.
4. After your hour of silence and solitude, reflect. What did you notice? Was it uncomfortable or peaceful? Were you pulled to distraction, you mind racing? Did it feel like an hour of relief or torture?
5. Commit to practicing this weekly ritual of silence and solitude on the same day for two months. See what happens.
***A Special Invitation***
What to hear more about how you can help bring a book on silence to life? Don’t forget to head to my latest Substack post for more.
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
Developing Personal Liturgies: A Week-long Virtual Retreat
I’ve been punching out words on a near-daily basis and publishing them here. It’s been an active liturgy of creation, one that requires a consistent commitment to a time (5:15 in the morning), place (the gray chair by the fireplace), and an embodied action (putting words to my thoughts). This one act sets the tone of the day. If I publish in the morning, I’ve accomplished something even before I drink my first cup of coffee.
As I wrote last week, our liturgies and rituals are acts of embodied resistance against despair. My morning liturgy of creation is one such act. But this creative liturgy is not the only ritual in my life. In fact, on a good week, I incorporate several liturgies, rituals, and habits.
This week, I’ll lead you through a sort of virtual retreat. It’s meant to help you identify and develop your own personal liturgies. These practices should ground you spiritually, physically, and emotionally. They should provide space for connection with the numinous, the Divine Love. They should direct your work and the ways you interact with others (both in the physical world and in the digital).
Will you follow along in this week-long virtual retreat? Will you commit to examining and developing your own personal liturgies as an act of resistance against despair?
Life Examined:
Do you have any daily, weekly, or monthly liturgies? It might include morning reading or journaling, weekly solitude and silence, or a monthly work-planning day.
Do you resist forming personal liturgies or rituals? If so, why?
***WAKE UP WITH ME***
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
A Library of Resistance: Books to Help You Beat Despair
This week, I’ve written a great deal on “Deaths of Despair.” They’ve taken America by the throat, and if we let them, they’ll threaten to do us in. As I wrote yesterday, we can resist the creeping despair by developing our own rhythms, rituals, and liturgies of resistance. But if you’ve never created personal rituals and rhythms, if you’ve never participated in spiritual liturgies, where do you start?
The Book of Waking Up: Experiencing the Divine Love That Reorders a Life, by Me. Sure, this might be a little self-serving, but my latest book is about identifying pain and the habits, addictions, and coping mechanisms—negative liturgies, you might say—we use to numb that pain. If we don’t wake to our negative liturgies, how can we put more positive ones in place?
You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit, by James K.A. Smith. In this stellar work, Smith undoes the myth that we are merely thinking things. He shares how we are shaped by our everyday habits and liturgies, and how to embody faith through positive liturgies (including the Sunday liturgy). If you haven’t read this one, pick up a copy now.
Rythms of Renewal: Trading Stress and Anxiety for a Life of Peace and Purpose, by Rebekah Lyons. Lyons is no stranger to despair. While living in New York City, she suffered from debilitating panic attacks. How did she find peace and freedom from the onset of panic? Through a series of embodied habits, rituals, and personal liturgies. The practices she shares in this book—organized around the themes Rest, Restore, Connect, and Create—are practical habits that hedge against depression and anxiety.
Atomic Habits: An Easy & Proven Way to Build Good Habits & Break Bad Ones, by James Clear. You might be convinced that positive habits and liturgies can help you hedge against despair, but how do you start to create some that stick? Grab Atomic Habits. This book was the foundation for my own morning ritual, a ritual that’s full of purpose and meaning. It also helped me identify some of my negative habits and liturgies and kill them. I cannot recommend this book enough.
Grab a copy of these books, and let me know your thoughts. Then, let me know your thoughts.
Life Examined: What are your positive liturgies, the habits that hedge against despair?
***WAKE UP WITH ME***
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
A Hedge Against Despair: Liturgy, Ritual, and the Need for Embodied Hope
This week, I’ve shared about the rash of “Deaths of Despair” plaguing the country. It’s an American epidemic, one which grows from a myriad of factors, so the experts say. Economic woes, chronic isolation, religious disillusionment—each of these contribute, but what is the solution? How can we hedge against the pervasive sense of chaos that marks the age, and stem the increase in American mortality?
Hold that question.
There was a lightness in her voice, a tone I hadn’t heard in weeks. Perhaps months. There was a spring to her cadence. Something that sounded like a smile on the other end of the line. Things were good, which was not to say it’d been easy, she said. There’d been the usual onslaught of work stresses, the everyday struggle that comes with raising boys in a world of monsters, an unexpected funeral. Still, there was some movement toward joy.
I asked the contributing factors, and she named them. She’d started her own daily ritual, one that involved solitude, silence, the Scriptures, gentle prayer (and by that she did not mean a litany of requests). She’d taken to the page in the evenings and recorded a list of daily gratitudes. (She was seeing patterns in that list, she said.) She’d attended a Catholic service with friends, and she was struck by the embodied and rhythmic faith of the congregants.
All of these things might be working something loose, I suggested. She might have agreed.
Back to the Question: How can we hedge against the increasing despair of our age?
A few years ago, James K.A. Smith wrote about the power of spiritual rituals in his book You Are What You Love. We are embodied creatures, he shared, and we need orientation and movement. We need powerful and story-rich liturgies that direct us daily. He wrote:
“Liturgy,” as I’m using the word, is a shorthand term for those rituals that are loaded with an ultimate Story about who we are and what we’re for. They carry within them a kind of ultimate orientation. To return to our metaphor above, think of these liturgies as calibration technologies: they bend the needle of our hearts.”
The powers of the age—the Breaking News and broken media, the endless cycle of consumption, the digital bird box—isolate us from one another. Even more, they trap us in our own heads, isolate us from our bodies. They weave their own liturgies of scarcity, fear, and abuse. Then, they offer themselves as the solution for the very despair they’ve created.
Aint’ that a gas?
These liturgies of despair are age-old, woven since the fall in the Great Garden. Embodied creatures as we are, we need better liturgies, embodied movements that redirect our hearts and connect us with ourselves, each other, and the Divine Love. We need ways to embody faith, hope, peace, and love. If we’ll take them seriously, these daily (and weekly) liturgies are our hedges against the onslaught of despair. Put another way: Liturgies are our act of resistance.
Life Examined:
What are your daily rituals or liturgies that hedge against despair?
Do you make time to connect with yourself, your God, your spouse, and your neighbor?
Does your faith experience—including your church service—include life-giving rhythms?
Tomorrow, I’ll share my favorite books that will help you understand the power of daily rituals, and will help you develop your own, life-giving liturgies.
***WAKE UP WITH ME***
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.
Correlation is Not Causation, But Something is Driving American Despair
“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
Henry David Thoreau
I received a quiet letter, a multi-page outline of one man’s quiet desperation. Isolation, lonely, pressure, failure—these were the words used to describe his interior pain. I pored over the pages of mid-life existential angst, and so much of the language was familiar. The letter was a simple piece of the American gestalt, evidence of the crushing weight of the American experience.
As I wrote yesterday, America is plagued by deaths of despair—deaths by suicide, drug and alcohol overdose, or drug and alcohol-related medical conditions. Despair-linked mortality has skyrocketed since 2010, and though all demographics are affected, non-Hispanic white males seem to be most affected. These men are your friends, your husbands, your brothers, your sons. These men might be you.
Why the steep uptrend in deaths of despair?
I suspect there’s no singular cause to the marked increase in mortality. We’ve endured almost twenty years of war. The 2008 economic woes have robbed too many of their dreams of prosperity. There’s increasing social isolation as we turn to digital companionship (which is to say nothing of sex robots, a topic for another day). There’s been a correlative decrease in faith over the past decade, too. In fact, according to the Pew Research Center, there’s been a marked decline in religious service attendance and faith identification since 2010.
Granted, correlation and causation are tricky animals. That said, it seems We The People (“the people, yes” as Carl Sandburg wrote) are searching for meaning. Notions of world peace and economic prosperity have worn thin. Organized religion has failed us, too. And the digital isolation buttressed by self-branding and celebrity consumption seems to running us ragged.
Are there solutions to our collective despair? I’m not sure. But come back tomorrow and let’s look at ways we might beat back the darkness.
***WAKE UP WITH ME***
THE BOOK OF WAKING UP —a book on addiction, attachment, and the Divine Love—launched TUESDAY so order a copy or ten at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookish (my favorite indie bookseller). Then, forward this post to a friend and ask them to read along.