Driving through rolling hills and passing by stone walls on a recent trip to Virginia thrilled me. Hand-hewn plaster walls on a farm in Western Maryland, erected by my friends Dena and Marijke, felt alive. “The walls seem to breathe,” I said to them, “Am I nuts?” Dena and Marijke reassured me that, at least as far as perceiving that their farm walls breathe, I’m not nuts.
Walls made of lime, clay and horsehair, constructed in this bygone fashion, absorb moisture and release it when the air becomes dry. In other words, they breathe! Touching the farm walls and feeling their satin-soft skin during writing retreats comforts and amazes me.
Recently, my friend Nancy invited me to an art exhibit at a local gallery featuring textile folk art from around the world. Two ceiling-to-floor naturally dyed indigo panels astonished me and kept calling me back from the adjacent gallery rooms. All “materials are derived directly from Mother Nature,” boasted the gallery website about this installation, dubbed “Folk Art is Fine Art: Textiles that Talk.” (On the way out, I picked up a postcard featuring the indigo panels that did indeed talk to me, and is now my go-to bookmark.)
So, what’s going on, I wondered. Where did this new passion for stone fences, homemade plaster walls and naturally dyed fabrics come from?
Unbidden, my thoughts turned to my four decades as a practicing psychologist. Grace filled me over those years, as I sat across from sad faces, bodies knotted in anxiety, with both of us fully engaged in the mutual desire to heal. We were together, both made of flesh and blood, leaning in, very real.
Then came retirement four and a half years ago, and a new phase of life focused on family, friends and writing. I love it. However, computers, texting and emailing have taken center stage, and I no longer reach over to hand patients tissues when their eyes well up. I no longer share gazes, mirror facial expressions, exchange comforting words or break into peals of laughter, as I did then. I now inhabit a mostly incorporeal world, far from the breathing in and breathing out heartbeat of psychotherapy sessions.
Suddenly, I grasped the otherwise elusive connection between indigo-dyed fabrics and my decades in private practice: Life was real then, just as hand-hewn walls, stone fences and indigo dye from the plant Indigofera tinctoria are real.
I now inhabit a mostly ultraprocessed world. Ultraprocessed time is defined as the amount of time spent indoors and on devices. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, Americans spend 90% of their days indoors, often on devices. About 60% of Americans say they use their smartphones too much and are not happy about it. Much like ultraprocessed food, ultraprocessed time is “engineered for convenience, compulsion and stimulation, not for nourishment,” said Dr. John La Puma, the author of “Indoor Epidemic,” in an article in The New York Times.
Excessive screen time is an escalating problem in American society due to the proliferation of digital devices. The National Institutes of Health reports that “increased sedentary behavior poses potential hazards to physical health, mental health and overall well-being.” Australia has banned access to social media for its youth, and Britain is moving toward similar restrictions.
We can strive to defeat the hollow feelings that come from empty, indoor scrolling on devices by going outside every day for a nature fix and enjoying friends and family in person.
Smell the roses. Look up at tree canopies. Inhale floral scents.
People who spend about 20 minutes per day outdoors are healthier and happier than indoor dwellers. Walking with friends or family combines two of the healthiest activities: time outdoors and live interactions. Try it!
And, for goodness’ sake, put your phone down!
Patricia Steckler (pattisteckler@gmail.com) is a retired psychologist who was in private practice for 40 years. She lives in Bethesda and is a 2019 graduate of the Johns Hopkins science writing master’s degree program.
