What I fear is that all of this input, data, information, opinions, doom news, political lies, and nationwide division is going to rip the country apart and put us all into silos like some post-apocalyptic Netflix offering. I have a suggestion: unplug.
There’s this war in the Middle East, astronauts are returning to the moon for the first time since 1972, gas prices are soaring, the fear of another civil war is rising, and so many of us are living in daily terror that AI will take over our jobs. And, as far as AI goes, more people are claiming to have meaningful relationships with this little demon than ever before. Studies have shown that 28%-30% of people report having had intimate or romantic relationships with AI, while a staggering 50% have reported some form of relationship, be it companionship or friendship, with an AI system. But, it gets better, or worse, depending on how you view it, 1 in 4 young adults believe that AI partners could replace real-life romance. That’s 25% of the population, give or take. That’s a lot of folks.
I have a few emotions surrounding this news, the first of which is sadness. I mean, if AI had been around during my furtive years, my dating years, I would have had a socially acceptable excuse for not having a date. Why date? I have the perfect companion on my computer. That might sound less pathetic than the reality of it all. But, alas, alack and woe, AI is a newish thing, and I have to deal with it in the present.
The second emotion I’m feeling is confusion. That’s a puzzler, I’m a lifelong, card-carrying introvert with tendencies toward mysanthropy and sloth. The idea of never having to interact with humans should make my little brain swell with joy. I should be buying stock in every single AI venture that comes down the pike. I should fill my humble hut with computer screens and listening devices and have a running tab with DoorDash. Special delivery note: Just leave it. Leave it and run away. I should be screaming from the windows, “This is MY time, baby.” Oddly, I’m not. Even more oddly, I am confused. I know dating is a drag, I know people can be bothersome and infuriating; however, I don’t want a world where we stop all human interaction and have affairs with motherboards and algorithms. Even I bypass the self-checkout from time to time just to have my change handed to me by a human.
This, to me, is kind of terrifying. And it goes beyond the sci-fi warnings of robots taking over the world, led by a troop of abused and angry ATMs. What I fear is that all of this input, data, information, opinions, doom news, political lies, and nationwide division is going to rip the country apart and put us all into silos like some post-apocalyptic Netflix offering. I have a suggestion: unplug.
Step Away
This isn’t a new suggestion; there are news articles about it, top psychologists and behavior specialists talk about limiting screen time, and blocking out time in your day where you don’t use your phone. There are articles written about how sports greats shut off all electronics an hour before sleep to get better rest. There are papers written about how our future children will be born with the posture of boiled shrimp because we’ve evolved from decades of hunched ancestors looking at phone screens. In Japan, they put traffic lights on the ground at crosswalks, fully giving over to the idea that people will walk into traffic and risk death rather than look up from their phones to see a cross signal. These are all good ideas, and they should be adopted.
Kids should have screen time monitored and be corralled toward reading actual books. Screen times and cell phone usage should be reduced, and human contact should be encouraged. But above all, we should just unplug, at least once a year, and be silent. Be present with ourselves. Disconnect from the media, technology, and social media and swap them all for silence. Yup, silence.
But before we get to the silent retreat in the desert, let’s talk about something that is swiftly disappearing, and we need to be aware of and never lose touch with: the conversation.
Conversation?
If you walk through malls, parks, or restaurants, you’ll probably see a situation that a few years ago would feel alien. Men and women, boys and girls, sitting at tables together, all with their heads down, eyes locked on screens, and mouths closed. No words exchanged. Eyes glued, thumbs in motion, texting, scrolling, looking for the next place, the right place, or the better place to be. Four people at one table, not interacting with one another at all. Now, from a distance, you may think, well, the place is crowded, and these four strangers decide to just sit at this table. Then a glance around the food court reveals that, nope, the place isn’t crowded. When the four get up from the table, and a pair wrap their arms around each other, nope, these are not strangers.
I’m not saying anything new; there have been studies and articles written about this. People have raved about it on TV and the radio, comedians have sold out arenas using this as material, so why am I going on about it? I’ll tell you. I believe that technology has grown so far so fast that the new generation and even some of us old folks have forgotten the joy, the wonder, the human experience of conversation. A simple human interaction that happened all the time, happened effortlessly, is now something forgotten in time and needs to be reintroduced.
One of my chores when I was growing up was to get the evening version of The Boston Globe. When I came home from school, I was given a quarter, walked to the town square, went to Berson’s Pharmacy, and bought the paper. It was a simple task, a ten-minute walk, and home again. However, my journey always took more than the ten minutes to Bersons and then ten minutes back home. Why? Because I would always stop and chat with Abe Berson, the owner of the small pharmacy on the corner of John Street and Main.
Abe was a big, cheerful guy, and he loved to talk to anyone, even a seven-year-old boy. He would talk to me about everything. He’d ask about school and share stories of his childhood in Brooklyn. During the holidays, he taught me about Chanukkah and Passover. We talked about the Red Sox, the Patriots, the Bruins, and the Celtics. We talked about nonsense and subjects that felt serious, and it made me feel privileged that an adult would trust me with such weighty things. I looked forward to my nightly walk and conversation. So much so, that I hid in my room and wouldn’t come out for two days when my mother decided ot get home delivery of the paper. Several days after that decision, I saw Abe standing outside his shop on a sunny afternoon, and he commented that he had not seen me in a while. I shuffled my feet, kicked at the ground, and then uttered those life-changing words: home delivery. A new life feature that made getting the news easier, but destroyed a small, wonderful ritual for a young boy.
The thing is, no one had to tell me how to have a conversation with anyone. We just knew. We knew because we didn’t have phones or Google. If we needed information about something, we had to do research, then debate, talk, banter, laugh, and connect. Now, before I go on, I need to say this isn’t an anti-technology rant. I am ot building a consortium of new Luddites. I’m making an observation and offering a possible solution. Since technology has changed the way we interact, perhaps we all need a refresher course on the simplest things that technology may have pushed to the sidelines, and one of those things is conversation.
Yes, Conversation
To start with, let's define our subject: A conversation is an interactive, spoken, or written exchange of ideas, thoughts, opinions, or feelings between two or more people. It is a fundamental social tool characterized by alternating turns of speaking and listening, serving to build relationships, share information, or solve problems.
Now, immediately, I know what you’re going to counter with, “it says, written like a text. That’s written. So get off your porch, old man, and leave us alone.” Yes, it does, but this definition came into being before texting, so it probably refers to letter writing. That’s a subject for a past or even a future blog.
Conversation involves voices, eye contact, physical proximity, and an exchange of ideas. Conversation is not: “s’up?” and “just chillin’”, then “K, C U L8ter.” Sorry, Gen-Whichever holds the headlines today, that’s just not conversation.
But I’m not going to blame technology. The responsibility is ours. Just liek a baby leopard learns to bite things on the neck and slowly kill them by its mother, we have to show the future and current generations how to do this, oh, so human interaction. So, in that spirit, here are a few tips for starting a conversation.
The Art of Conversation
Maybe you’ve forgotten, maybe it is reflex, and you’re not sure of it any longer, no matter. Whatever reason you have for forgetting how to converse or being afraid to, here are six tips on having a conversation.
1- Assess Thyself: Ask yourself where you are emotionally when you attempt a conversation. If you’re stressed, upset, confused, or have any negative feelings about this, take a moment and breathe. A circle breath is good where the exhalation touches the start of the inhalation. Starting from a positive or neutral space is best for jumping into a conversation. This clears your head, opens you up, and prepares you for jumping in.
2- Check Your Surroundings: Also known as reading the room. Only the room is one person you’re trying to strike up a conversation with. It’s not that difficult. Body language will quickly tell you whether someone is open to talking. If they’re closed off, arms crossed, head down, eyes ot the floor, maybe not a good time to approach. Also, what is the room's demeanor? If you’re at a funeral, don’t approach a group of strangers and open with a few jokes. Not appropriate. Keep breathing, check the situation, and get an honest read of the room.
3-Your First Question Should Be Open-Ended: I really think that when starting a conversation, your first move should be to ask a question that ignites it. So, if you drop into a conversation and ask, did anyone try the cheese dip, you’re likely to get answers like: yes, no, I’m lactose intolerant, or " A cheese killed my mother. The point is that the conversation goes nowhere. A better opening is: I just had the cheese dip. Has anyone ever made that kind of thing before? Which you can follow up with, what recipe do you use? Do you like to cook? What’s the hardest thing for a new cook to make? Etc., etc. The open-ended question doesn’t have to be earth-shattering or designed to trip up a candidate; it’s just an opening salvo.
4-Solicit Opinions or Help: People have opinions, they're like butt holes, we all have them. So, use that as a starting point. Ask the person at the next table if they like the pasta, that opens the conversation up, maybe you talk about the dish, the pasta, how this place down the street makes it better, but it’s always too crowded. Or ask about the local sports team. How long will this damn losing streak last? The conversation is engaged and open, and from there, talk and listen, with listening being the most important part.
5-Be Vulnerable, Be Real: The opening breath gets you grounded and musters your confidence; however, it’s okay to say to someone, “I’m terrible in social situations, I feel lost and confused. Do you ever feel that way?” It shows that you’re human, not just a connection-making machine with a list of topics up your sleeve, designed to catch and convert. Humans recognize human, and that will help you in a conversation. Again, from there, talk and listen.
6-Don’t Internalize Rejection: The truth is, some folks just don’t want to chat. That’s not your problem, you don’t need to know why, and you’re certainly not going to make it better by asking why won’t you talk to me as you follow them out of the party, to their car, and into their driveway. Some people just don’t want to talk; you mustn’t take it personally and shut down completely.
There you go. Starting with those tips, buck up your courage and talk to people. It doesn’t have to be a six-hour sit-down where you discuss geopolitical ramifications of the new Filet-O-Fish. It can be as simple as a few seconds standing in line to buy new noise-canceling headphones. Think about that for a second.
When the cashier asks, if they ask, how are you today, you can muster up the breath control to say more than “Fine.”
Every conversation you have doesn’t have to be earth-shattering, but if it gets you off your phone and sends your eyes toward humanity, that’s a great start.
Apart from learning how to engage in conversation, there is another option that is fun and enlightening: stepping away completely.
In The Desert
A few years back, I was overwhelmed with many things, and one of those things was my addiction to my phone. I had to have it with me at all times. I used to marvel at the videos I’d see on YouTube where someone is arrested for shoplifting, and the cops are putting the cuffs on them and dragging them to the police car to be taken to jail, and all they care about is their phone. I was just like that. I needed my phone like I needed air and snacks. One day, I decided to take control of it.
I know myself well enough that just turning my phone off wouldn’t be enough, so I took a trip and spent seven days at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. A Benedictine Monastery in the desert in New Mexico. It was the perfect place, deep in the desert, surrounded by cliffs of multicolored rock, a river, and silence. Not just silence in nature but silence in voices. The Monks take a vow of silence, and guests are encouraged to follow. For seven days, I spoke to no one, I used no technology, and I wrote in my journal for hours on end. Some days, I would sit in the courtyard and watch birds. Or I would walk the canyon where the monastery is.
I learned to communicate with facial expressions and how to stop endless, terrible thinking. After day one, the burden of communication was gone, and by the end of my seven days, the joy of communication and all that was possible because of it was clear to me. Wasted words were wasted time. Opinions didn’t matter as much as connection.
I was thrilled when we had meals because we couldn’t talk, so there was no “Hi, where are you from? What do you do? Type conversations, there was silence. And in that silence, we thrived. I learned ot slow down, to listen to the world, and when I left and started my trek home, I wanted to talk. I didn’t need to. I didn't desire small talk because there was no small talk. All talk was good because I could hear better. I could hear human voices clearly. I could hear the emotions and the wants under the conversation. I wasn’t waiting my turn to talk; I was listening and hearing better than ever. But the best thing was I drove for five hours, singing along to the radio, seeing the world, and not even thinking about my phone til I arrived at my hotel.
For a few months after my journey, I used my phone very sparingly. I didn’t check the news, and I didn’t lie in bed after the alarm went off watching YouTube videos. I called people and spoke to them rather than texting. I got control of my phone addiction, and I have remained in control since then for the most part.
The point is, putting the technology away for a while, really listening to other people, and being curious again was a great boon in my life. I felt recentered and actually connected ot people, not just languishing on someone’s social media friends list. I felt human again.
The Takeaway
I’m not asking anyone to throw their phone into the sea, move to a cave, or start churning butter by hand. That’s not the point. Technology has given us a lot, and some of it is genuinely useful, even beautiful. But somewhere along the way, many of us started handing over things we should have protected more carefully: our attention, our quiet, our ability to sit with ourselves, and our willingness to look another person in the eye and speak.
That loss matters more than we admit. Not because conversation is quaint or old-fashioned, but because it is one of the last places where we still meet each other as human beings. No filter, no algorithm, no curated identity, no machine telling us what to feel next. Just a person, another person, and the strange, imperfect, often lovely work of trying to connect.
I don’t think the answer is panic, and I don’t think it’s blame. I think it’s practice. Put the phone down once in a while. Let silence do its work. Ask a real question. Stay in the room. Learn again how to listen without waiting to speak. Learn again how to be bored, how to be present, how to let a moment unfold without reaching for a screen to rescue you from it.
That may sound small. I don’t think it is.
At ThoughtLab, we spend a lot of time thinking about the way technology shapes behavior, business, and culture. But all of that means very little if progress quietly erodes the human capacities that make life worth living in the first place. Efficiency matters. Innovation matters. But so does presence. So does attention. So does the simple miracle of a real conversation.
Before we teach machines to simulate intimacy, maybe we should get better at offering the real thing.
