The Sociology of… Presence

Be here now. Please?

A few years ago, I attended a house party in Venice Beach. It was an intimate, sophisticated affair, filled with Very Interesting People, all of whom were educated and accomplished. I feel comfortable saying this was a crowd that also considered themselves quite “conscious” and “aware” — of themselves, of the world around them, and of themselves in the world. 

I found myself in a conversation with Lauren, a 30-something woman who was a lawyer for a tech company. By all accounts, we were hitting it off, and I was on the fast-track to a new friendship. Upon learning about my work as a sociologist, specifically my interest in our relationships with technology, she insisted that I meet her boyfriend, Sam. He was a writer and someone equally invested in the role technology plays in our lives. 

She pulled him into the conversation, and — as she predicted — we also hit it off. But, unprompted by me, he quickly revealed that his interest in technology was more than intellectual; it was personal. He believed that when he and his partner were together, they should be together. For him, that meant no (or very limited) technology in the bedroom, at meals, and in other moments where he preferred to be connecting more intimately with her. Lauren did not agree. They’d just bought a house together, but for him, it felt like their new home was occupied not by a two-person relationship, but by an unwelcome “throuple”: the two of them — and her technology. 

The minute he shared this rift, my stomach dropped. I saw the writing on the wall (both for them and for my would-be friendships): If they couldn’t align on this issue, I feared it would lead to the end of their relationship, or, at the very least, a very disconnected one. 

When asked about why she needed to bring technology into these spaces, her response echoed so many I hear when I speak about this issue: She had work to do, she urgently needed to message someone, she was watching something, shopping for something... But mostly, regardless of the excuse, the overarching sentiment was: Does it really matter? Can’t you just get over it? I’m physically with you — isn’t that enough? 

I struggled with how to respond. Successfully navigating that conversation as a neutral third party was an impossible task in which I was definitely set up to fail (and offend). I tried to speak delicately about the value of intentional connection, but they were too savvy and easily read between the lines. He felt triumphant and she…definitely didn’t want to be my friend. 

Maybe this sounds familiar. Whether you relate more to Lauren or Sam in this story, the battle for attention with partners, friends, children, even coworkers, can feel like an impossible divide. Which side you identify with has little to do with education, economic status, gender, or age. Our stinginess with our attention crosses all demographic categories. 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again and again: The greatest gift you can give someone in the digital age is your focused attention. Or, perhaps better stated in wedding invitation parlance: “Your presence is the greatest present.” 

What does it mean to be truly present? 

Is it defined by merely sharing physical space with someone? If so, then you are “present” with everyone on your plane or train. Is it defined by robotic displays of feigned connection? You know the ones: forced smiles, distracted nods, muffled sounds of agreement — despite your eyes and the rest of your body suggesting there is someone, somewhere, more important.

The best way to define presence is to say that you know it when you experience it.

Presence is eye contact — not the creepy kind, but the natural eye gazing that happens when you’re speaking directly to someone or listening intently, interspersed with thoughtful glances away to ponder a point. 

Presence is the perfectly timed crinkle around your eyes or the slightly upturned slant of your mouth — the physiological responses to amusement or recognition. 

Presence is the bubbling, contagious laughter that comes from hearing the vivid retelling of an embarrassing story or a wild adventure. 

Presence is verbally riffing on the other person’s idea in sync with their mental flow, volleying thoughts and imaginings in a private oral doubles match. 

Presence is silence: the space between sounds, where breath and energy take over, filling the room with more emotion and understanding than words could say.

Presence is the delicious knowledge that, despite an endless tirade of other options, someone is resting their attention entirely on you. It’s selfish, generous, intoxicating, challenging, sexy, stimulating... and it’s what we all need to give and receive more of. 

And yet. 

Why don’t we? Who wouldn’t want to feel and experience those things? Or be someone who gives such a gift? (ALL FOR FREE!) 

You know why. Time. Responsibilities. Social pressures. FOMO. Bad manners. Obliviousness. Carelessness. Screen brain. Algorithms that undermine our best intentions. But mostly, I think we underestimate the damage we do when we don’t fully arrive to our human encounters. I couldn’t possibly have that much power, could I? Does it really matter? 

Yes. Yes, it does. Presence (or a lack thereof) is what increasingly makes or breaks relationships. The negligence, the disrespect. It compounds, until it’s very difficult to course-correct. And connection is too important to let that happen.

Observe + Analyze: Are you a Lauren or a Sam? If you’re Lauren, how is your behavior affecting your relationships? Watch what happens to your immediate connections when you aren’t present versus when you are. Do you notice a difference? If you’re Sam, how do you respond to the Laurens in your life? Do you speak up, or do you pretend not to notice it and grow resentful? Does it drive a wedge between you and the other person? 

Take Action: There are always exceptions to these rules, so assume that each of these includes “as much as possible” or “as your default,” and go out of your way to acknowledge when you are unable to hold yourself to this standard, perhaps offering a brief explanation: “I just need wait for this one message, then I can fully shift focus to you.” People appreciate the acknowledgement, and that alone will help to repair and deepen the connection (as long as it isn’t the perpetual default). 

Some general rules to operate by: 

• Align with your partner on how and when to use technology when you’re together. Discuss how to handle it when one of you can’t show up in that way and develop a method for gently calling the other back into the connection when they slip. 

• Put your phone fully out of sight as much as possible when with someone (anyone). The mere sight of it will derail the conversation (it has a placebo effect that tells your brain you could be interrupted at any moment — even if it’s silenced and upside down). Put it in your bag or your pocket, but don’t lay it on the table or somewhere visible. Seriously.

• When in a small group, operate as if you’re one-on-one. A very insulting “rule” has circulated in recent years: If one person in the group is paying attention, that gives the other people “permission” to check their phones and disengage. False. All of the attention from the person speaking is then subconsciously directed toward the person who disengages. It’s distracting, and they immediately start to question, “Am I boring them? Did I say something wrong? I wonder what is more entertaining / important than what I’m saying? How can I compete?” We’ve all been there, and it’s an awful feeling.  

• In all of these instances, if you need to shift your attention, be more formal than you think is necessary and excuse yourself (even if you don’t physically go anywhere), then announce your return when you’re finished. Creating clear boundaries around your attention is affirming and reassuring for the other person. 

• If you have children, ask them to align with these rules, as well. It’s never too early to start building positive habits around presence and connection. Distraction is a connection killer, and in a world of increasing loneliness, this is a solution available to all of us. So give your children the gift of your presence (at the prescribed times) and ask that they do the same.

• If the people in your life refuse to be present with you, consider finding new people. Does that feel harsh? I’ll let you decide, but I believe you deserve better. 

I never saw Lauren or Sam after that night, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the lack of care that was exercised around how they showed up with each other eventually took a toll. They had a real spark, a desire to make a life with one other, and a shared attraction, all of which was squandered every time the phone was prioritized over the person. It’s a cautionary tale, but also one of hope and empowerment. Conscious presence is the biggest tool we have for addressing the loneliness epidemic — a problem faced not only by singles, but those in partnerships and surrounded by other distracted people.  

Wishing you more presence and all the wonderful joys that unfold from it. 

I’d love to hear your struggles with presence – in both giving and receiving. Share your thoughts in the comments (and forward this to someone who might relate or with whom you want to start a conversation about being more present with each other). 

Have an idea for a future Sociology of… Everything (BONUS!) article? (or an AMA question?) Submit it here.