Maintaining Human Connection in an AI World
I recently watched Andrew Haigh’s new film, All of Us Strangers. (I dare you to watch it without crying - go ahead - I dare you.) I had a true movie hangover afterwards. It left me thinking a lot about what it means to go home. So many of us want that from our parents and our families and as much as we try, so many of us are forced to look for it elsewhere, all the while wishing our families would change.
A lot of this yearning for family acceptance often comes from the stories and sayings that are prevalent throughout Western culture. In fact, the age-old expression that “blood is thicker than water” is a misreading of the original proverb from 12th century Germany. The true quote is that “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” meaning that our chosen relationships (friends) are far more significant than the ones that are chosen for you (family).
Now, I’m not a gay man, and in no way am I going to claim that I know what that experience is like, as portrayed in Haigh’s film, but I do know what it feels like to not be able to show your true self at home or anywhere else, and to even hide it from yourself. But, what really is home? What does it feel like? What does “home” mean? Where do we go to connect with others and be our true selves?
In Zach Braff’s movie, Garden State, when Zach Braff’s character says “You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? [...] You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place.”
Maybe a place is home for some, but as I’ve contemplated these different versions of home, I’ve come to realize that home is not so much about a place, but about who you’re with and how they make you feel. For me, home is:
laughing so hard with someone else that the soda that you’ve been drinking starts coming out of your nose and your stomach aches with joy;
spilling your innermost thoughts and feelings to someone - letting that feeling of relief and safety wash over you;
someone reaching out to put a hand on your arm or to fold you into a bear hug;
asking for help and being met with open arms;
your favorite smell; your favorite meal;
that telepathic conversation you have with your sibling across the dinner table;
Home is where you feel wanted. Home is not where you fit in, but where you belong.
What does "home" mean to you?
I wish everyone to find their home, a place where they feel safe, at peace, and a place where they belong. By the end of Haigh’s film, my reading of it is that both characters find that sense of belonging and home, even if it’s on another plane of existence.
As the eventual reliance on AI enters our everyday lives, we will likely ask ourselves more and more “what is real?” and really struggle to find real human connection, a sense of safety, as well as a sense of belonging, which can lead to a greater sense of loneliness and despair. This is all grounded in a background of dichotomous likes, dislikes as well as moral outrage, anger, and algorithms showing us more of the same and a cycle of feedback that is difficult to break.
So, I challenge us all to break this cycle and seek out human connection - find that person who will:
hold you when your father, who is in the late stages of Alzheimer's disease, no longer recognizes you;
jump up and down with you when you get that new job;
go in your place to watch your daughter’s gymnastics performance and record it for you when your flight home unexpectedly gets delayed;
come over to feed your dog when you have to work late;
give you a big hug after you’ve had to let several people at work know that they no longer have jobs.
Because, I guarantee you that not one of your 500 virtual friends will be there when the shit hits the fan or when that glorious thing that you thought was impossible suddenly comes true. And, those small moments of connection are the stuff that memories and home are made of.
