Escape to Nowhere

Step into a warehouse store, and you will see much of the floorspace devoted to escapism. Inside the entrance of my local Costco, dozens of televisions shimmer in unison—some with screens of eight feet. Smartphones and tablets gleam nearby. Deeper inside are stacks of popular books and videos, not far from aisles of alcohol. Arguably, all these products help us escape from what modern society finds intolerable—quietly abiding with our bodies and minds.

It is hard to imagine our hunter-gatherer ancestors feeling bored. Surely they experienced long periods of inactivity, but can we imagine them wishing for something like TV? They probably told stories, gossiped, and stared into the distance. Maybe that counts as distraction, but it's embodied distraction, which makes all the difference. What modern society sells us now is disembodied, which is why some tech enthusiasts look forward to uploading their minds into computers. All the distraction with none of the bother around hunger, bathrooms, pain, illness, aging, death. None of real life, in other words.

Because it is embodied, oral storytelling builds connection. Doing it well engages the body of those telling and those hearing stories. Screens and alcohol foster disconnection. We see this in restaurants today, when families sit around a table, each member hypnotized by a device rather than engaging with people right in front of them.

The Anatomy of Disconnection

The loss of embodiment means that when we turn to our distractions, we disconnect from our physical selves. This isn't always bad. During hospitalizations in 2012 and 2014, I felt grateful for my laptop. Streaming videos allowed me to dissociate from the discomfort of lying in a hospital bed for hours, hooked to machines while by abdomen throbbed with pain. In that stressful context, avoiding reality felt like a healthy strategy.

Even so, I knew it would be more restorative to spend time meditating. On occasion I did, and it always felt positive. Yet back then I could not sustain that presence for too long, and even now it would be hard for hours on end. So there are times when screens really help, of course.

Still, if we were to track how we often distract ourselves, we might see behaviors that aren't so healthy. How often do we check emails while sitting next to a spouse? Are we ever glued to a TV show even though our body is stiff and needs exercise? Do we read while eating? Are we lost in distracting, useless while walking in nature? Do we scroll our phone while sitting on the toilet? Full disclosure: I sometimes do all these things.

We crave these distractions because we fear boredom. But what is boredom, really, except disinterest in the basic feeling of life?

The Monotony of Nature vs. The Monotony of Addiction

Life is, after all, a bit monotous. Yet this isn't actually a bad thing. 

One of the most healing aspects of time in nature is its slow, stately feel. Even when wildlife is busy, there is an underlying stillness absent from human culture. Ants crawl about constantly, but watched long enough and we see consistency in the patterns, which after all probably haven't changed much for millions of years. Birds flit about, but watching them stills us. Nature is active, yet peaceful.

Human lives are also built on routines, which are basic to life. Rather than leaning into this fact, we resist it. The same consistency that soothes us in nature often feels intolerable in daily life. To flee it, we stream videos, scroll websites, ingest substances. Ironically, these distractions quickly become repetitive, which only deepens our sense of being hobbled by consistency. Our distractions quickly lose their novelty. If we pay attention, we'll notice we've exchanged the healthy, grounding monotony of Life, of nature, for the destructive, numbing monotony of addiction.

Why is simply sitting still so unpleasant? Beginning meditators confront the internal chaos of the mind and often conclude they "can't meditate". They think mediation means getting thoughts under control. Yet managing the mind is not the point. We do not need to control the chaos; we just need to be present for it. 

It is the courageous act of attending to reality—just as it is— that heals and relaxes. Trying to escape reality seems to offer relief, but it actually causes stress. In contrast, simply feeling the active stillness of our biology feels relaxing, once we quit fighting it. We may even realize how Life is livable, interesting, and lovable, no matter what it brings.

Distraction seduces us by promising relief from distress, but it ultimately establishes a pattern of avoidance that entrenches unease. The more we run, the more we lose our capacity to sit still with life—and the more addicted to escape we become.