Online Attention Deficit Disorder

This David Brooks article, "Building Attention Span," from the New York Times a couple weeks ago is brief, but interesting - and coincides with an ongoing discussion at our house about social media. Brooks reports on some research that suggests that the brain is being reshaped by online habits so that it is becomes more "fluid," meaning it moves easily from topic to topic, engages only on the surface level, quickly processes information, moves on, and forgets it.  Online socializing occurs with similar fluidity also - from one topic to another, little engagement, lots of brief encounters.

On the other hand, reading print matter encourages the brain to convert information into knowledge. The brain on print makes more connections, questions material, and ponders issues and ideas. Person to person socializing also occurs in this slower, deeper form - Brooks compares the difference between online learning to print learning as like the difference between attending a cocktail party and being at a book club.  Lots of flitting around between many topics vs. sitting and discussing one topic at length.  Brooks refers to the slower learning as "crystallized intelligence":

"Crystallized intelligence is the ability to use experience, knowledge and the products of lifelong education that have been stored in long-term memory. It is the ability to make analogies and comparisons about things you have studied before. Crystallized intelligence accumulates over the years and leads ultimately to understanding and wisdom.

The online world is brand new, but it feels more fun, effortless and natural than the offline world of reading and discussion. It nurtures agility, but there is clear evidence by now that it encourages a fast mental rhythm that undermines the ability to explore narrative, and place people, ideas and events in wider contexts.

There is a place for both types of knowledge - we need the ability both to gather information and to make a story out of it - as well as both kinds of socializing. Mixers and cocktail parties have their purpose, just as book clubs and long intimate discussions over coffee and dessert do.

I suffer from alternating attraction and revulsion to online socializing. My kids all want to be on Instagram now, and part of me thinks, fine, whatever, it's a nice way to share updates with your friends and family about neat things you have done and seen.  I like to see photos of my nieces and nephews doing cute things and making funny faces. Seeing photos of each other cements a relationship that can only be cultivated over a long distance at this point since we live far from family.

But on the other hand, Instagram, and other photocentric social media sites, are also a way of defining yourself with images.  What you look like, what you like to look at, what looks interesting/fascinating/pretty to you... It does not reveal much about your thoughts and your connections to these images or to anything else.  It is surface information only. And people "read" Instagram by scrolling quickly down a variety of similar photos.  Does the narrative that forms from this type of communication move beyond the barest elements of plot?  There is no doubt that it encourages more interest in appearance than in character - other than encouraging a development of a simplistic, stereotypical type of character (athlete, yogi, inspirational messenger, politico, fashionista, etc.)

I don't think avoiding social media is the right answer - that would be like retreating from the world altogether for teenagers.  But the time and attention devoted to it needs to be balanced by deeper moments, time spent reading or talking or playing or studying or working for pay or on hobbies. The temptation this summer has been to let the kids have extra media time because I have so many things to do, but this article is a good reminder to engage, to sit down to read a book together or play euchre or cook together. Summer is flying by - one more week in our current house.  Packers come on Monday.  Soon the kids will be back in school and we won't have time for these engagements.  And in a little less than a month, I'll be taking my first born off to college - my kid who uses social media the least. Hoping to stayed engaged through the good old fashioned phone.

Getting out there

Sometimes doing something when you really don't want to turns out to be exactly the right thing to do.

Not always, but take yesterday morning. Our church has a moms' group that meets in eight week sessions. I went to the fall session to meet people and get connected to the parish community, but it's organized in such a way that doesn't really leave time for real socializing. There's a talk by a speaker, a brief q and a session, a talk on a virtue or saint, and then a craft. You're supposed to catch up and visit with the people at your table during craft time, but I usually have something or other that prevents me from staying very long to scrapbook or make cards.  My inclination was to stay home and do ... something.

Plus, I don't really want to do crafts. My kids bring home enough paper and foam creations.

I don't mean to disparage this ministry. It's well attended because it does provide a way to connect with both your faith and people who share it. I have met some people with whom I'm now on the "hi how are you?" level with when we see each other at Mass or wherever.  But no friendships have blossomed - yet.

There's a nominal fee (for crafts and coffee), so attendance requires making a decision.  Since I didn't have any other commitments on the calendar yesterday, I went ahead decided to sacrifice the two hours I could have spent on the internet or something.

And of course, it ended up being a wonderful two hours. The speaker, who is the youth minister at the church, said some things that rang clear and true about the burdens of melancholy, even though I'm sure she didn't have "unexpected pregnancy" in mind when she was talking about crosses. She's done wonderful things for the youth ministry here - it's active, well-attended, and solid, from what I can tell. For instance, some of the high school girls are starting a "One Piece Revolution." And my boys want to go to Bible Study and confirmation class. Maybe because all their friends are there, but that's valid enough. The youth minister has achieved something by making the kids want to gather with her rather than at the mall or wherever.

Now I can't even recall her exact words, but her message was about not running from our wounds, but accepting that love hurts.  It struck me that part of the melancholy I struggle with lately is rooted in a desire to not feel any disappointment or discouragement.  We, as Christians, shouldn't want our lives to look just like everyone else's. This isn't novel, of course, but it - a mix of envy and vanity? - is perhaps one of my biggest demons. It's not so much that I compare our life to other people's or to some worldly standard, but rather to some imaginary image of my own making of what it SHOULD be or what I COULD be doing - and then feeling crippled by inertia or a sense of impossibility. But letting go of that sense of being stuck, of failing at life, requires humility and acceptance - and gratitude for what is.

How many times do I need to be reminded of this? over and over and over.

Another moment of light: One of the "mentor moms," an older lady at our church who always says nice things about our family, gave me a couple statues of Mary for my girls. She said the statues were prizes she had won when she was in grade school and sodality.  They were prettier than I expected (not garishly painted resin made in China), but even prettier was her action; maybe the gift began with a desire to clean a closet, but that she thought of my girls was immensely touching to me.

On top of that act of kindness, another lady, the only other person I know in town who has seven kids, gave me a Christmas card.  Our paths don't cross much because her kids go to different schools, but she has been friendly and supportive when we see each other at Mass or this moms' group.  I'm sure she gave out a lot of Christmas cards, but again, it's touching to be remembered. And it's nice to know we're not alone in this large family business.

So was the good feeling I left with yesterday morning an act of providence or receptivity? Either way, my heart was warmed by the interaction with these other women.  It's a mixed group - some homeschooling, home birthing, Latin Mass types, some public schooling, trying to keep the kids Catholic types, some with kids at private school, wanting to live the faith and live in the world, some new moms with babies and pre-schoolers, some experienced mothers with grown children, some with school aged kids. "Diverse" might not be the most accurate word to describe the group (although now that I think of it, there is a good mix of Hispanic, black, Asian, Middle Eastern, and white women) but certainly it is more diverse that some of the mom groups I've belonged to, which perhaps is why having a more structured style is appropriate.

If I hadn't attended, I might have spent the morning feeling sorry for myself for not having a job or ambition to find one, or perhaps berating myself that I haven't gotten involved in some sort of do-good work like volunteering for St. Vincent de Paul or Meals on Wheels or Foodshare. I probably wouldn't have used the time productively to clean house, to create something beautiful, or to file taxes.  I would've wasted time on the internet. Before the enlightening morning, I took an energetic walk with my sister-in-law and a couple of her new friends, and afterwards, I went home, finished The World's Strongest Librarian while eating lunch, started some laundry, and then started writing this. So it was a good day, a contrast to the night before when I was fighting off that sense of stagnation and self-pity that plagues me when I stay up too late at night.

Even reading that book emphasized the message of the day - getting out there, connecting with someone in however minimal a way, a card, a wave, a walk - makes a difference. Hanagarne's story was a good read -- he's a good storyteller; his struggle with Tourette's is fascinating and his perseverance inspiring; his struggle with faith is honest in a way that doesn't discourage believers but makes real is difficulty; his relationship with his family is strong - unlike many memoirs, this isn't a story of how he overcame familial dysfunction and moved on. He remains close to his parents and depicts them in a way that makes you love them, too. And on top of all that, his descriptions of a librarian's life are all at once amusing, bittersweet, and affirmative of the importance of books and reading and libraries.  The public libraries may be full of homeless people, schizophrenics, bored teens, loud pre-schoolers, and retirees, but he defends their role as  "a potential step forward for a community. If hate and fear have ignorance at their core, maybe the library can curb their effects, if only by offering ideas and neutrality. It's a safe place to explore, to meet with other minds, to touch other centuries, religions, races, and learn what you truly think about the world."

Another good quote: "Many librarians -- I've done this myself -- lament the idea that we might simply be competitors for Netflix or iTunes. I'm past caring about that. I want people walking through the doors. I don't care what their reasons are. That kind of makes me feel like a carnival barker -- that my job might just be to get people in a building -- but I still think it's worth it. Once they're here, we'll work on why they return. Once they're here they've entered an institution dedicated to fighting ignorance and providing a space without ideology. Is it too lofty to hope that a library could curb the poison of racism. That it could create a reality usually expressed by treacly expressions like "a sense of community"? Even if someone believes that the library's primary function is as an expensive homeless shelter or as a place to rent free movies, even if they believe it's a waste of taxpayers' money, even if they think that all the goofy stories I'm telling in this book are the norm .... well... what patrons use the library for doesn't change what it offers. Anyone could enrich their life by spending some time here, if only they were willing to look around.

Nothing rivals this library for its sheer variety of humanity."

I wouldn't have picked up this book if it weren't for the fact that long ago the townspeople agreed to give the library a prominent corner on Main Street close to where I was running errands, and I had some few minutes to spare before picking up the kids from school.  A young tattooed guy with a skateboard was going inside just as I was entering. He made some offhand but awkwardly chivalrous remark about holding the door for the pregnant lady. Another small connection with humanity.