Intersections: Seeking real connections in a modern world
A few months ago, I was in Mongolia working on a reporting project when I found myself in the home of my Mongolian hosts in the late hours of the evening, as they crouched around the television to watch a reality show.
This scene wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary, except that I knew this family would have to get up at dawn the next morning and milk their herd of goats, wrangle in their horses and cook their food on the fire in the middle of their yurt, or “ger” in Mongolian, an ancient tradition that has remained the same for thousands of years.
I would join them as they brushed their teeth with water from a teapot and used the wide landscape as a sort of open-air toilet, where no human beings could be seen for miles, one of the most liberating experiences I’ve ever had.
The connection to the land juxtaposed against the reality show, with commercials for watches and expensive shoes in between, jarred me.
I remembered this scene that was seared into my memory, mostly because it was unlike anything I had ever witnessed, during the recent Christmas season.
The Mongolians had been honoring life and their connection to the things around them in a way many of us have long but forgotten, but in those moments, as the group of farmers huddled around the TV, seeing things that they didn’t have, being subliminally told that they were things they should want, that those material things were what made them worthy, the gap between the rest of the world and them seemed a little bit smaller.
Increasingly, the modern world is a disorientating place, and growing up in it is equally as confusing. Authentic, meaningful experiences are fleeting. We are searching for the last remnants of what real connections, tangible or otherwise mean.
This is why we now have something called an “adult coloring book,” a new trend cleverly marketed to maximize profit where adults can buy books filled with outlined, whimsical patterns to color in. We need the help of “adult coloring books” to make us feel like we are part of the world again, 10 whole, excruciating minutes where we are not consuming, but creating.
I’ve been sitting around this holiday season and listening to stories from those who came before me, hearing them recount the moments in their lives they remember so distinctly and clearly, of family gatherings filled with dishes their grandmothers used to make, of spending their afternoons in workshops trying to create something new, of taking flour to community ovens to be baked, and the older I get, the more I fear that my generation and those that come after me will not be telling stories like this to those younger than us, many, many years from now.
We will instead remember all the hours we were “online,” doing more or less nothing, our memories will be measured in “likes,” and shares and retweets, or worth measured in what our money could buy, not what we were able to create ourselves.
Fortunately, journalism often gives me the opportunity to appreciate experiences I would never had had otherwise, but even I constantly feel the pressure of measuring up to the world.
I don’t make New Year’s resolutions and I don’t want to start now, but there is a distinct feeling about becoming part of the 30-something age group that makes you acutely aware of not just your own mortality, but the life you are living now, especially when you’re sitting in the middle of nowhere in Mongolia, watching culture change in front of your eyes.
I want to make sure 2016 is a year where I spend less time looking at the shiny surfaces of my phone and computer and start immersing myself in creating memories and not just in the ether of my newsfeeds.
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LIANA AGHAJANIAN is a Los Angeles-based journalist whose work has appeared in L.A. Weekly, Paste magazine, New America Media, Eurasianet and The Atlantic. She may be reached at liana.agh@gmail.com.