Each time you love, love as deeply as if it were forever.
—Audre Lorde
As my best friend, Alexandra Folz (whose poetic words open this book), says, “Presence is hard work.” I agree. I think about presence as the degree to which we are in an interaction with another person. The degree to which we are “showing up.” Like in the old-school game, the Hokey Pokey, think about whether just part of you is present (“I put my right foot in”) or all of you is present (“I put my whole self in”). When we are working to be fully present with someone, we are paying attention with our minds so that we can listen and contribute, and we are paying attention with our hearts so that we can empathize. The energy of presence is powerful. It grows love. Offering our heartfelt presence to another person creates love and nurtures love. We know this in our bones.
Despite the fact that we intuitively know this, presence seems to be in short supply these days. We are living in an incredibly fast-paced digital age, which has created a strange irony. Between online dating, texting, and social media, we are arguably more connected than ever before (Turkle 2015). But we also seem to be less present than ever before. Listening while texting. Texting while watching a show. Watching a show while scrolling Facebook. We seem to rarely put our whole self in one place at one time. Technology has become an integral part of every aspect of our lives—even our love lives. It is not uncommon for therapy clients to bring out their phones midsession in order to read me a text exchange they had with their intimate partner. We look for love online, and we conduct the business of love online as well!
This lesson will expand your awareness about how our collective love affair with our handheld devices affects our ability to be present for love. Presence is indeed hard work, but it is work worth doing in order to love and be loved. (Just a heads-up: I promise not to trash technology or urge you to throw out your phone. I’m quite enamored with mine!)
I have begun to offer workshops about technology and love, which is a fun topic to talk about because it’s so relevant, complex, and confusing. I feel clear that some of our current difficulties in love stem from the fact that we have become quite entwined with our devices. Therefore, we seem to be importing our experiences with and our expectations of technology into our love lives. It’s as if our storylines have become confused, resulting in a square-peg-round-hole situation. These two things that just don’t fit together. We have to make sure we understand the differences between the energy of technology and the energy of love. The following table helps us discern one type of “energy” from the other.
| The Energy of Technology | The Energy of Love |
|---|---|
|
All about me |
All about we |
|
Consumers |
Givers or servers |
|
More (more distraction, more choice) |
Less (less distraction, less choice) |
|
Commitment, acceptance, and gratitude |
|
|
Fast and efficient |
Requires time to grow and time to maintain |
|
Doing |
Being |
|
Answers |
Mysteries and paradoxes |
Let’s look at each of these contrasts:
So what are we to do? How do we make use of all of what technology has to offer without short-changing what is needed to support the flourishing of love? The answer is not to throw out our phones or wax poetic about the good ol’ days. The answer, I believe, is to practice discernment—to make choices from a place of conscious awareness. When we catch ourselves expecting from love what we expect from technology—efficiency, ease, speed—we can name that (“There I go again, expecting something unrealistic from my intimate relationship”), and we can remind ourselves that we have no choice but to embrace (or at least tolerate) the messiness of love.
We can also start expecting more from ourselves and each other and do the vast majority of our loving face-to-face, not screen-to-screen. How about using technology simply as a means of getting from here to there and nothing more, viewing online communication simply as a vehicle for getting us to the same space at the same time (“Let’s meet for lunch at noon”)?
I find it troubling that couples are increasingly opting to have their fights online, a phenomenon that Dr. Sheri Turkle writes about in her book Reclaiming Conversation (2015). People prefer fighting by text for a couple reasons. There will be a transcript they can look back on of who said what to whom, and conflict feels less messy and out of control because they can think about what they want to say before sending. Yet, what is the price we pay for these perceived benefits? What is lost? These longings—for an accountability record and for neatness—reflect that we have muddied our story of technology and our story of love. As we know, conflict is to be navigated, not eliminated. Intimacy, indeed our very humanity, is found in those rich and messy places—a foot that meets another foot as a peace offering, a compassionate gaze that softens an angry heart. Our bodies and our faces speak a language that no emoji can ever hope to capture. Our bravest work in love is to remember and to honor the power of our presence.
Honoring the power of presence requires us to grow our self-awareness about two separate but related ideas. I call these ideas “little p” presence and “big P” Presence.
Our “little p” presence is very important in our intimate relationships, but it is subtle and a bit sneaky. Researchers have found that when two people have a conversation in the presence of a cell phone, feelings of interpersonal closeness and trust are significantly compromised. They report feeling less empathy and understanding from each other (Przybylski and Weinstein 2012). It seems that we pay a pretty steep price for our desire to be connected at all times. Afraid to miss something out there, we end up missing something right here, trading our “little p” presence for some vague and ephemeral connection in “phone world” (Ansari 2015).
When it comes to our technology, it turns out that we tend to have a double standard, desiring the full attention of another while giving only a portion of our own. I’m guilty of this. I sometimes feel neglected and disrespected if Todd checks his e-mail as I’m talking to him, but if he asks me to put down my phone as he talks, I tend to get a bit defensive, sure that I can adequately attend to him while also scrolling my Instagram feed. But I can’t. None of us can. Multitasking does not work, and our intimate relationships need and deserve our “little p” presence. As Turkle (2015) says, “Think of unitasking as the next big thing” (321). See the online guide “Technology Best Practices” for support in bringing your whole self to your relationships (http://www.newharbinger.com/35814).
“Big P” presence is about commitment. For those who are looking for love, the wonders of technology offer a quantity of potential partners that was unimaginable a generation or two ago. No longer limited to the guy or gal next door, today we can cast a wide net in our search for love. Although this fact is not problematic in and of itself, there are consequences to loving in the age of abundance, and, as usual, relational self-awareness is our best compass.
It turns out that more is not necessarily better. In his 2004 book The Paradox of Choice, psychologist Barry Schwartz cites research showing that our desire for variety ends up reducing our feelings of satisfaction once we have made a choice. More options tend not to make us feel happier. Comedian and astute observer of culture, Aziz Ansari, applied Schwartz’s ideas to the world of intimate relationships in his book Modern Romance (2015). Seduced into thinking that more choice is better, we spend countless hours on dating apps, shopping for love in a manner not completely unlike the manner in which we shop for shoes and wondering whether Mr. or Ms. Right is just one more swipe away. We must remember that at the other end of that profile is a living, breathing, three-dimensional human being, just like us.
Once in an intimate relationship, instead of asking, “Am I happy here?” we seem to be increasingly asking the question, “Could I be happier somewhere else?” (Perel 2015). This consumer mentality (Doherty 2013) doesn’t serve our intimate relationships very well. When we decide to make a commitment to one person and go through relational rituals (moving in together, becoming engaged and so on), it is essential to trust ourselves to have made a good-enough choice of a partner and cultivate happiness within that relationship. Instead of looking for all the places where “the grass may be greener,” commitment to another person means that we choose to weed and water our own yard (Markman and Stanley 2010). This is not about settling. It is about making the conscious choice to focus on what you like, love, and admire about your partner and to defocus on the rest.
Yes, we live in an era of choice, from an entire aisle full of breakfast cereal (unheard of a generation ago) to dating apps that offer a seemingly endless lineup of potential mates. But love is about pairing up by paring down. Love is about committing to “the one,” honoring the fact that even though we know we could keep looking, we choose “us.” One of my students shared with me that she and her girlfriend ritualized an important step in their commitment to each other by lighting a candle, opening a bottle of wine, and deleting all of their online dating apps. Lovely! “Big P” Presence is about being able to say, “I know there are other people out there, and other relationships that I could create, but I choose this one.”
In order to love fully and bravely, we must be willing to offer our “big P” Presence to the one we are with, symbolically and concretely letting go of the “what ifs.” This takes guts, doesn’t it? It is tempting to keep a little thread of a storyline open with a couple of other people just in case it doesn’t work out, but this is not our bravest path. Unless we want our partner to keep outside dialogue with other potential mates while committing to us, we are better off practicing the Golden Rule. In addition, it is a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we do not put our “whole self” in, we do not truly give love its best chance of success. Even if we wish it were otherwise, intimate relationships are fragile and need the protection of “big P” Presence to take root and grow.
There is another aspect of “big P” Presence that is more subtle than relationship commitment—an aspect that is about being present to the possibility in front of you. You don’t have to be in a committed relationship to be present! Woven into the very definition of dating is the process of weighing options, imagining possibilities, and making comparisons. Dating means spending time communicating online with people and going on (maybe lots of) first dates. Dating is about exploring, and as you explore, let self-awareness be your greatest guide. Self-aware dating means valuing presence—both little and big. It’s easy to see how “little p” presence is useful on a date. By keeping your phone silenced and put away, you can bring your full attention to the interaction between you and your date, which will help you access the vital data from within your gut—your deep and wise intuitive knowing.
But does it seem strange that “big P” Presence—putting our whole self in—would also apply to dating? A graduate student of mine shared with me a piece of advice that had been given to her by a dating coach: follow one storyline through to the end. This piece of advice is an invitation to “big P” Presence. Rather than going on three first dates a week, which, thanks in part to technology, is entirely possible, pursue one possibility at a time. This requires restraint and willingness to stand outside of our cultural belief that more is better. Following one storyline through allows the possibility of bringing your fullest self to this exact moment, this very opportunity. Rather than checking your matches in the bathroom on your first date, what happens when you suspend everything else that is happening and bring your full self to this possibility?
If part of you is protesting this idea—“But she is also probably checking her matches in the bathroom! It’s just what’s done!”—take a moment and sink into how this would feel in reverse. When I imagine someone checking matches while on a date with me, I feel hurt and ashamed, as if I am somehow not enough, even for just an evening. Even still, it is not easy to offer something to someone when we are not sure it is what we are getting in return—sort of like a game of Vulnerability Hot Potato. Who will offer their presence first? At moments like this, when I want to hold myself to a certain standard yet I am not sure the other person will, I find it helpful to think about the Mahatma Gandhi quote, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” I can embody what I desire in return. So, here, “big P” Presence doesn’t necessarily mean “till death do us part.” Here, “big P” Presence is about stepping into the possibility of love by being fully with the one who is in front of us, right here, right now.
Love is created and nurtured when we bring our attention to the present moment, and in the digital age, this is more precious and difficult than ever.
My Phone and Me
Take this opportunity to do a fearless moral inventory (Alcoholics Anonymous lingo) about your relationship with your phone by creating a table with three columns: Before/During/After. Over the next few days, take notes on this table about how you feel before, during, and after you scroll through social media. Make sure in your notes that you include any specific observations you have about the impact that your use of social media has on your intimate relationship. As you look over the data you have collected, what do you notice? What feels troubling? What feels reassuring?
Based on what you learned in the previous exercise about your relationship with your phone, identify which of the following practices would help you live with more presence. Select two or three from the list below and stick with them!
Write about the degree to which you embody “big P” (presence) in your life. When on a date, how fully do you show up? To what degree do you find your attention wandering? To what degree do you find yourself feeling closed off and defensive? To what degree do you allow yourself to imagine the possibility of building a relationship with this person? To what degree do you compare this person to another, a process that takes you out of the moment?
When you are in an intimate relationship with someone, to what degree are you able to commit yourself to the relationship? To what degree do you keep other possibilities open (via online or other kinds of communication)? What is the story that supports that behavior? What are the thoughts and feelings that come up for you around commitment? What makes it difficult for you to put your whole self in—fear of getting hurt, thoughts that someone better might come along, and so forth? What is the impact of not fully entering the intimate relationship—on you, on the other person, and on the relationship itself?