When *FOE leads to FOMO: A Millennial’s *Fear Of Engaging in Real Life

I am part of a generation that has grown up in-tandem with the emergence of social technology — the dial-up modem tone (along with No Doubt’s ‘Tragic Kingdom’) was the soundtrack to my pre-teen years, my Motorola razor flip phone was a kind of social status symbol in middle school, and my freshman year of college was punctuated by deciding between cementing my online identity on either MySpace or Facebook.

But putting my farcical tone aside, it is sobering to look at my developmental timeline paralleling the proliferation of technology. How has this impacted my trajectory and that of my peers’? In what ways has it helped and/or hindered our humanness? 

On a positive note, technology has given me a way to grow my knowledge and expose me to things I may otherwise remain naïve to. But with all that real (and valuable) information to absorb, I admit a moderate pre-occupation with the curated perfection friends/followers/influencers present regarding their latest exotic adventure or gastronomical endeavor.

While this in and of itself does not dismay me outright (except perhaps the amount of time I spend scrolling aimlessly), it is more that I often times find myself preferring to consume the stories and public content of my online friends to having actual in-person interactions with them. With an internal gasp, my anxious self-criticizing voice pipes in: “Are you some kind of voyeuristic sociopath”?

“Turkle further cautions that not only are ‘… we not making the time because we feel we don’t have the time, [as a result] we’re losing the skills that we get from talking to each other face-to-face: skills of negotiation, reading each other’s emotion, having to face the complexity of confrontation, dealing with complex emotion, and [navigating] confrontation.’”

Thankfully, author and researcher Sherry Turkle, who has been studying the effects of digital culture on young people for over 15 years, can provide some sobering information to quash my paranoia. She reports social media is contributing to people choosing simplified communication over unpredictable yet meaningful conversation.

In her work, she asks my fellow millennials why real conversation is something to avoid. A common response is: “You can't control what you're going to say, and you don't know how long it's going to take or where it could go.” She goes on to identify that “…this is the kind of thing that people feel they don't have time for in their incredibly busy [and stressed] lives…and it's what people are getting used to - not wanting to make space for [conversation] emotionally.”

Turkle further cautions that not only are “… we not making the time because we feel we don't have the time, [as a result] we’re losing the skills that we get from talking to each other face-to-face: skills of negotiation, reading each other's emotion, having to face the complexity of confrontation, dealing with complex emotion, and [navigating] confrontation.”

Her words ring so true for me. It’s as though my time interfacing with well… anything except a real face…has left me little chance to develop the competency to negotiate the rich complexity of interpersonal interaction. Rather, my mind is too busy playing catch-up to the tsunami of content available at my fingertips. In this regard, I am the modern every (wo)man; as convenient access to content increases, consumption of it increases; and in turn, the less time/energy is available to do things that are less convenient (say have a face-to-face conversation) and, therefore, we do it less.

My glowing screen has become the proverbial Great Wall of content – it is hard to escape its reach and it provides an illusion of safety from the uncertainty of unscripted dialogue with others. But it’s lonely behind the wall - a space paradoxically full yet empty. Perhaps I have to face my fears of engaging in an unpredictable world full of unpredictable humans. I guess my Fear of Engaging (FOE) is what is giving me real FOMO.

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Lauren Ziel, MSW is a Registered Associate Clinical Social Worker, ASW #76483, working under the supervision of Gabrielle Taylor, PhD. Through the use of movement and mindfulness, Lauren develops specialized treatment for anxiety, depression, eating disorders, challenges in life-stage transitions, relational difficulties, and identity/intrapersonal development.

Inherited Joy

For as long as I can remember, I have heard how special it is that I share a middle name with my mother. While I have always felt it to be true, it was only recently that I have embraced the particular significance of sharing our name “Joy." I have realized that in the passing along of the name, my mother also imparted the tools in which to access joy, and that is through play. One of my earliest joys was playing with my mom - running, jumping, laughing, dancing, exploring nature - she never held back with me when it came to having fun and playing hard.

“Joy is the feeling of freedom I experience when I reconnect with my more child-like self.”

Now, in the juggling of adult responsibilities and everyday stressors, along with overwhelming media stories of the pain and suffering of others in this world, it has become increasingly important to feel connected to that deep, inner child-like joy.  While it’s tempting to chase the most exhilarating, joyous heights, I recognize that finding joy in the mundane is what brings me buoyancy; shielding me against all the things that can mar my fullest perspective on life.

Joy is the feeling of freedom I experience when I reconnect with my more child-like self, often times through play, but sometimes even just in the reminder of things that I loved as a child. These moments are available to me as long as I create the space in my day for them. A great example, and a peek into my silly world, is how I stop to say hello to the squirrels on my daily, on-foot commute around town. I’m well aware this may sound a bit kooky, but I find great joy in connecting with one of my favorite animals and reminding myself of the fun I had chasing and playing with the squirrels in the trees that surrounded my childhood home.  

What’s in a name? So much more than I had recognized before.

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Lauren Joy Furutani, MA, LMFT, helps individuals and families of all ethnic and faith backgrounds maneuver through the unexpected turns in life.

The Laugh Machine

“While humor can build up or tear down, it’s fundamental value lies in the way it allows us to approach truth less directly, to come at it sideways but to come at it nonetheless. It’s a way of coping with the things that…need coping with. At its best, it unites us as we share a laugh over some aspect of being human.”

I remember my mother telling me a story about her younger sister growing up. Her sister was tying various strings to an old bottle and attaching a bunch of different objects to the other end of each string. When asked what she was doing, she explained that she was making a laugh machine. While the family was at first incredulous, simply watching her twirl her odd contraption had them all in stitches in the end. Why? It was so ridiculous! There was an irony in the fact that her prediction came true from those unlikely beginnings. My mother was still giggling 50-some years later.

What makes humor such an important part of our humanity? Fundamentally, all humor centers around truth. In slapstick, we highlight the ridiculous aspects of daily life. In a roast, we exaggerate selected features of a person to create a comic caricature. Wit often shows us a wry perspective on a situation. Sarcasm presents a critical truth mercilessly, Gallows humor transcends what is most grim in our human experience to point out irony or the absurd. Freudian humor, as Taz reminds us, carries the truth of our unconscious desires.

While humor can build up or tear down, it’s fundamental value lies in the way it allows us to approach truth less directly, to come at it sideways but to come at it nonetheless. It’s a way of coping with the things that…need coping with. At its best, it unites us as we share a laugh over some aspect of being human. Its playfulness pulls on a younger part of us. And isn’t it always children that overcome divisions that adults can’t seem to get around, simply by not seeing them in the first place? When we laugh together, we’re in touch with a part of us that can meet others in a place of youthful glee.

Personally, I love the way my kindergarten-age daughter laughs uproariously and uncontrollably when I crack a string of jokes about the inescapable truths of our digestive tracts. She can’t stop. She’s utterly helpless in the waves of laughter shaking her small body. Part of her will never outgrow her love of earthy humor. When she’s 16, perhaps we’ll find it awkward and difficult to connect in the tried and true fashion of adolescence. I’m sure I’ll be googling fart jokes and letting them rip.

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Monica Green, Ph.D., is a licensed clinical psychologist, PSY27391, specializing in depression, anxiety, trauma, relationship issues and psychological aspects of chronic health conditions. She enjoys terrible puns. 

Humans of MHT: An Interview with Taz Morgan

Our Humans of MHT series continues with more glimpses behind the humans that sit in the chair across from you....

This time Abby invites Taz to contemplate the mysteries of being human and to discuss how practicing meditation and appreciating the arts has enriched her clinical practice. 

Taz: [laughs]

Abby: Hi Taz! It’s good to speak with you today. As you know, we are doing the series of Humans of MHT where we are looking at each different therapist and asking what humanness means to them and what human feature they bring to their practice. I’m excited to specifically talk with you because you know that I find you very interesting and I’m so curious just to start off by hearing...what does humanness mean to you?

T: I’m excited to be talking with you too, although you know I’m feeling anxious about this.

A: [laughs] Which is a human emotion.

T: Which is very human. I’ve been thinking about this question “What does humanness mean to you?” I kept coming back to – I really don’t know – or that what excites me about being human is the attempt to make meaning of what it means to be human. I kept thinking about, I think it’s the Rumi poem, basically saying, “This being human thing is a guesthouse.” So, there’s something about humanness to me that has a lot to do with mystery and not ever fully knowing why we’re here. But, I guess getting excited or feeling alive by the attempt to understand why we’re here.

A: I feel like this is your biggest strength as a therapist – you don’t just tolerate unknown, you sort of thrive in the unknown. And it sounds like that’s part of what you’re getting at when you think about this idea of humanness.

T: There is something uncertain or ambiguous about being human, and it makes us vulnerable to pain or loss and then there’s this other part of my understanding of humanness that’s important – it’s about imagination, too. That we have all this strength and resources to contend with the ambiguity...that we have our imaginations to build bridges in what sometimes feels like an abyss. I think what has helped me make sense of my experience is the arts or humanities, and I look to films, or philosophy, or literature to kind of get an understanding of what it means to be human. So, I think those things to me give me the most answers or solace, not conclusions, but they help me contend with the ambiguity.

“People come to therapy often because something is hurting, something is painful, and I think what I get from meditation and from the arts is this real understanding that pain is not pathological, that it doesn’t necessarily mean that something is wrong with you, but that you’re having a human experience.”

A: This feels related to what you picked for your humanness feature, which was the practice of mindfulness and meditation. I wonder how that practice that you picked fits into this idea of humanness to you.

T: Part of the reason why I chose it as something that represents my humanness is because I feel like I have a very imperfect relationship with meditation. Like it’s not a thing – I mean recently I’ve been trying to do it every day, but I don’t feel like I’ve had this perfect, easy relationship with it, it’s been kind of complicated. And I like that it represents a place where I’ve found a certain home. In meditation I have a place to just go, it’s like a container for thoughts, feelings, sensations, and it’s expanded my relationship to myself. I found meditation, or stumbled upon it, because I was really trying to, I think, improve myself or eliminate the feelings of anxiety that I was feeling, or to alleviate stress, and I think I thought it would be this thing to become a better person or become calmer and it didn’t really happen. [laughs] I didn’t really just arrive at any other new place necessarily, but it did change my relationship to my feelings of anxiety; that I held a much more compassionate space for it.

A: I had a similar experience when I first did meditation, which was I came into it wanting to feel better. And sometimes you don’t come out of an experience of meditation feeling better, because you’re actually allowing space for you to observe all of the things that are maybe making these feelings come up for you. And so it’s interesting that you talk about the arts as a catalyst for you having creative thoughts and meaning making around humanness, and then mindfulness as the container for some of those thoughts that are happening for you.

T: That’s a nice way of putting it.

A: I like that they go together for you, and they both feel very you – that one is sparking things and the other is making space for things.

T: I guess there is a dialogue then between the two, because I think I can run wired, like I can get overwhelmed by my thoughts, and this doesn’t have to do with art, but I was thinking that some of why meditation feels so human to me too is because my dad also always talked about his meditation practice growing up. 

A: He was so beyond his time, or before his time I mean!

T: I think he was getting it from hippie days, but way before this huge boom. And I remember thinking, “OK Dad, sure, great, I’m glad you have this thing you do.” But I resonate with him a lot. He and I have a lot of similar traits, character wise, just in being very introverted. So it’s also in some weird way I feel connected to him and more accepting of these traits that we both have. Growing up I also was irritated when I could see his introversion, like, “Why don’t I have a normal Dad!” So there’s something about that too that it connects to my family.

A: How do you feel like all of this shows up for you in the therapy room?

T: I think the meditation coupled with respect for the arts –I bring sort of a reverence or a respect for people’s uniqueness – like their unique expression of what it means to be human or to be embodied in this world as a human being and a humility in not really knowing. Having maybe some ideas, ways to process through pain, but not necessarily having concrete answers right away. People come to therapy often because something is hurting, something is painful, and I think what I get from meditation and from the arts is this real understanding that pain is not pathological, that it doesn’t necessarily mean that something is wrong with you, but that you’re having a human experience. So I know that plays a lot into the work that I do with clients. And a willingness to reflect, and to reflect on my own humanness and how clients’ stories will move me, or to reflect on that and to be open to that I think it also a human thing that I bring.

A: It sounds like you bring not only all of the work that you’ve done in yourself into the room, but you also try and bring your whole self into the room as an experience. As somebody to question with. As somebody to empathize with. As somebody to be in pain with. And I feel like the way that you’re talking about mindfulness, when we bring our mind into a room and it seems open I feel like that’s contagious for other people. And it sounds like that’s a lot of the work that you’ve been doing. Just to be curious, and questioning, and also containing all at the same time.

T: Ya, at least that’s the attempt. That reminds me of the word kinship – like being in kinship with; being with. That humanness is also so much about relating to others and relating to ourselves. I love how you’re making these connections and summarizing what I’m saying very well. [laughs]

A: Well now that we’re at the end...do you feel less anxious?

T: I do! It’s funny, I can trust in showing up and letting things just flow.

A: That’s the yoga Taz coming out.

T: [laughs] That is, yes.

A: Well, I’m so glad that we were able to connect today about your views on humanness and how you bring your human self into the room. And how you use the practice of meditation not only for your own work, but for your work with your clients as well. So thank you so much for talking with me.

T: Thank you Abby, thanks for making it so comfortable.

A: You’re welcome.

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Taz Morgan, MA, is a Registered Associate Marriage and Family Therapist, IMF #99714, working under the supervision of Vanessa Spooner, PsyD. She has trained in Depth-oriented psychotherapy and works with adolescents, adults, and couples. 

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Abigail (Abby) Wambaugh, M.S., is a Registered Associate Marriage and Family Therapist, IMF #94231, working under the professional supervision of Michelle Harwell, Psy.D., MFT 50732. She specializes in treating relationship difficulties, trauma, and sexual issues.

You Are Here

I became a lot happier when I stopped caring so much if I was happy.

There's something about emotions that makes them very easy to sort into two piles: good and bad. We have emotions which we prefer, and as adults with influence over our circumstances, we can become quite consumed with the pursuit of those “good” emotions. But there is something deceiving about such a pursuit, and if we only ever feel happy, we're bound to miss out.

Wouldn't it be alarming if we were so happy we couldn't feel sad – not even in the face of something truly heartbreaking? And wouldn't it be stifling to live a life so happy that we could never feel angry in the face of injustice or affront? Such a happiness is not happiness at all. In fact, happiness in the absence of the other emotions soon disappears, no matter how closely we guard it. Happiness means more when contrasted with an experience of anger or sadness or one of those other “bad” feelings.

Interestingly, happiness and other seemingly “bad” emotions are not mutually exclusive. I think we often try to root out those emotions we think are getting in the way of our happy. Sometimes, it's that effort that is getting in the way – not the feelings themselves!

It takes practice, and sometimes a little help, but noticing and accepting the mixed set of emotions that exist inside of us frees us up. It allows us to experience the world complexly. Happy and anxious and many other emotions can coexist.

Diagram by author.

It also creates space inside of us to recognize what is important. Emotions give us information. They are beckoning us to say “no” to something, or to stand up for someone, or to ask for help, or to grieve. And however unpleasant these “bad” emotional signals may be, if they help me to do such important tasks, then I'd say, they are good.

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Allison (Allie) Ramsey is a Marriage and Family Therapist Intern, IMF #94391, working under the professional supervision of Michelle Harwell, PsyD, MFT 50732. Allie works with individuals on a broad range of issues, including anxiety, depression, relational challenges, faith integration, divorce, and aging. 

Fear No Dragons

Envy is one of those complicated emotions; it can sneak up and slap you in the face, stalk you stealthily, or slowly simmer for years. Often it demands to be hidden, and brings along its friends doubt, shame and worthlessness. Something about envy has the impulsive feeling of a small child’s cry, “I WANT!”, while the adult in us may look on asking why, and wonder what will soothe this want. Envy has regular haunts – social media, for example, is a favorite hang-out – and often seems to want to emphasize our separateness or distance from others. It compares, contrasts, measures.

“When greeted openly and without judgement, envy will likely be able to tell us things we didn’t realize before, help us to identify parts of ourselves that need attention and nurturing.”

I often find it useful to consider where an emotion is felt in my body; perhaps in the pit of my stomach, in the tightness or droop of my shoulders, in my clenched fists or shaking knees, or hovering in my chest breathlessly. These somatic responses provide helpful clues for understanding more about my emotions. If envy lies coiled in my stomach, is there fear and hunger connected with it? If in my clenched fists, is it connected somehow with anger? If envy makes my shoulders droop, is there a feeling of hopelessness along with it?

Envy alone does not inspire, but it can motivate. While envy’s language is the primal “I want”, “I lack”, “I need”, it isn’t simply those states alone. Another clue! Envy itself demonstrates that emotionally we’ve grown up enough to add the aspect of self-inhibition. We no longer simply move from ‘want’ directly into grasping, with little thought between. The want exists, but we hold back. Clearly this in many ways is a positive social development, however if it also means inhibiting awareness of our want it may be self-harming. Hidden in the dark, envy is able to coerce and dominate us without our knowledge. Envy is not a pleasant feeling, and we therefore often shun it, run it out of town before asking where it came from. When greeted openly and without judgement, envy will likely be able to tell us things we didn’t realize before, help us to identify parts of ourselves that need attention and nurturing.

Envy, when partnered with more sophisticated friends such as acceptance, gentleness, and compassion, becomes transformed. In this transformed state, envy may even spur us into positive action. Through such compassionate reflection we strengthen our own agency, our ability to act in the world and to understand and meet our own needs, balanced with those of others.

I’m reminded here of quote from Rainer Maria Rilke which seems to perfectly capture the paradox of envy: 

“Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”  ― Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Perhaps, indeed, we can learn to greet envy as a helpful acquaintance able to point us towards unrealized paths in our lives.

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Natalie Cargill, MA, MFT and Art Therapy Intern, has two decades of professional experience with children, adolescents, and families, and is passionate about helping them thrive. As a therapist, Natalie works with clients of all ages, approaching therapy with both individuals and families through relational models, seeking to understand attachment patterns, and the systems that impact them. 

Perspective Altered

Ah envy, of all the emotions, you are certainly not my favorite. You seem to suck out all of my energy. You sweep away my perspective until I am left with only bitter tunnel vision. Sometimes, I’ll admit, you allow me to see more clearly what I want, and maybe even the steps I might take to get there. You can be an uncomfortable but helpful kick in the pants. But other times, you only allow me to see the inherent unfairness of life: that other people get what I want, and I don’t and that’s that. 

In our world, some are given extraordinary opportunities, and some are not. Some will be able to have their own children, some will not. Some have a natural talent for learning and performing, some do not. The uneven distribution of desirable things is everywhere, and many people — despite deep desire and persistent effort — have still not obtained what came easily or freely to another.

It’s painful. Perhaps it calls for gratitude for what one does have, for grieving, or even lamenting the injustices that are folded into this life. Probably all of these things. But along with these responses, I think envy calls for a change in perspective. 

“While envy can lead us to bitter tunnel vision focused on what we do not have, it can also open our eyes — if we’re willing — to an opportunity.”

While envy can lead us to bitter tunnel vision focused on what we do not have, it can also open our eyes — if we’re willing — to an opportunity. Our unfulfilled longing invites us into perseverance and the development of a certain kind of character. That kind of character has always been, and will continue to be, something that shapes the world. It’s powerful. It allows the doer to do more intentionally, more wisely, and maybe more gently. It allows the artist to illuminate life from a different angle. It allows the thinker to put words to those things that would otherwise never have been realized. The point is, wrestling with an unfulfilled longing creates something. If we’re willing, it can create something good. 

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Allison (Allie) Ramsey is a Marriage and Family Therapist Intern, IMF #94391, working under the professional supervision of Michelle Harwell, MFT 50732. Allie works with individuals on a broad range of issues, including anxiety, depression, relational challenges, faith integration, divorce, and aging.