Humans are social animals. At least, we were. Starting in 2020, though, we started spending more time home aloneinstead of having a hilarious battle with Harry Lime and Marv Murchins trying to break into a house. Granted, many of us were legally prohibited from socializing that year. Others worry that sharing a drink and a bowl of dip with friends might kill us, but that’s long gone, except Lesbian Bars in Greenfield, Massachusetts.
Like many of the pandemic’s effects, ongoing issues are most common among young people who grew up being pushed into their rooms and in front of screens. Adults ages 55 to 64 are attending just 13% fewer parties than before, while for adults ages 15 to 24, the decline is astonishing 69%. Since we are more depressed and taking medication There are fewer and fewer people than ever before give birth The future requires us more than ever to reverse these trends.
We know why. If we want a little less friction in our lives but don’t want to get bored, technology can do that easy to be alone. The neighborhood has No longer prosperous People were walking around and talking to each other, especially young people. teenager Don’t drink Same as before. Although it is best for teenagers and young adults not to drink also A lot, which also reduces the likelihood that they will be random Make some new friends or blurt out “I love you” To their crush.
In other words, while Gen Z has become risk-averse, maybe now is the time Stop tracking Every move they make, they look away when the keg is opened appear too early. However, this also means that existing adults need to do a better job of modeling social beings.
Never have we had so many tools at our disposal that could theoretically make our lives easier. Laptops and cell phones were supposed to liberate us from the office. Instead, they told us to stop working overtime. Artificial intelligence may help, or it may just make it easier to participate Have a few more meetings. I thought, at least meetings involve human interaction.
Advances in home entertainment, especially the invention of streaming, have reduced the need to go to the theater or see an orchestra perform. Now, people can watch or listen to it alone at home. There are no lines to use the restroom, the deals are cheaper, and there aren’t any annoying things to ruin the experience.
Instead, and here’s the crazy thing, we can say “no” to those options and go out and watch a movie with loud people. If the guy sitting next to us at the concert smelled bad, it was only for a few hours. Plus, it makes the experience more memorable. For example, many years ago I visited Tool in Noblesville, Indiana. Two young ladies jumped over the barrier and decided that our seats were where they wanted to be. For reasons not worth going into here—namely, they snuck in some contraband that they shared with me—my partner and I did not alert security or otherwise remove them from our area.
That’s not to say everything went smoothly. One of the two people kept shouting, “Play ‘Eulogy,’ play ‘Eulogy.'” My friend, himself a performing musician, tried to calmly explain that no one on stage could hear her, citing his own difficulty hearing the crowd in a much smaller venue. She then told us that she wanted to play the song in memory of her dead brother. It is at this point that I point out, quite forcefully, that “Eulogy” is not a positive song of praise for someone, but rather an invective against Christianity.
After the performance, the young lady grabbed me and shouted, “No one can say anything bad about my brother!” and spit at me. This wasn’t great, but my calm companion suggested I drop it. I thought about the fact that all I had to do was wash my face, while she had to live her life like the kind of person who spits on someone, shakes it off, and then walks to the bathroom sink.
At this point, you may be wondering why, in order to encourage people to get together more, I’m sharing a story about being spat on. The thing is, it’s an interesting story, one that can only happen to one person. It ended not with a bang but with a shrug, partly because I was hanging out with a friend. If I were there by myself, well, I still wouldn’t beat up a girl, but I’d probably be bothered by it longer.
this is life. This is what young people are afraid of. Perhaps what was given was not saliva, but angry words. Or the possibility of embarrassment or rejection or any other negative thing to do with human interaction. But without these negative risks, there is no positive hope.
When we lock our children away, we forget to teach them this. We do not believe that healthy risk-taking behavior should be encouraged. We did not find ways to keep them connected to the outside world, and the habits they learned during this period were retained. But we can still teach them, even our adult children. We can encourage people at the university to tell us about the weekend parties. We can take a 14-year-old out of school and go see Atmas in another city without vetting him thoroughly first. We could put Atmas in charge of any government agency that deals primarily with fertility issues.
(If you’re unfamiliar with his work, trust me. I was one of about five people at the show. His appeal was inexplicable, but his sexually charged lyrics and stage presence, and the way women responded to both, made me wonder if girls would leave the show pregnant from watching him perform.)
I’m old enough to have seen the pendulum swing back and forth on issues like this a few times, but this feels different, and not just because I’m a grumpy old man. Our kids are really hurting because they haven’t had a lot of trauma in their lives. Just the thought of it paralyzes them. There is hope, though, and it’s worth exploring even if you might get spit on. Go out, take your kids out, take your friends out, make sure you have friends. Remember, we are social creatures, not solitary consumers. Doing so may bring pain and heartbreak; it may require compromise, and it may not always work out, but the alternative is far worse.
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Rich Cromwell is a writer living in northwest Arkansas. He produces the Cookin’ Up a Story podcast, which you can listen to here. You can also follow him on X: @rcromwell4