CONNECTION
A monthly reflection on mortality and what we assume we have
This is part of an ongoing monthly series where I choose a single word and follow it. Not as a “topic.” More like a lens. A way to notice how something keeps showing up in conversations about mortality, in these anonymous calls, and in my own life.
If you missed last month’s post on Time, you can find it here: TIME & AVOIDANCE
We are probably living in the most connected time in history, and also in a moment where a lot of people feel profoundly disconnected.
We can reach almost anyone. Follow almost anything. Stay updated in real time. Be in constant contact.
And still feel far from ourselves. Far from each other. Far from anything that feels fully real.
I’ve been thinking about that difference a lot lately. Not just because of the internet, though that’s part of it. And not just because people are busy or distracted or exhausted, though that’s part of it too.
Mostly because the more I look at life through the lens of mortality, the harder it becomes to confuse contact with connection.
Connection is one of those words that gets used so often it starts to lose any clear meaning. We use it in all kinds of ways. Texting. Following. Checking in. Staying in touch. Being around people. Knowing what someone is up to.
Some of that matters. But not all of it is connection.
Texting all day without saying anything real is not connection. Knowing what someone posted is not the same as knowing how they actually are. Spending time with people only to circle the same conversations about work, stress, and complaint can still leave you feeling deeply alone.
A lot of what looks like connection is really just contact. Or distraction. Or habit.
And I think death has become one of the clearest lenses for seeing the difference (but you all know me, I’m biased!).
Mortality strips away the illusion that we have endless time to eventually be real.
It makes it harder to keep telling yourself that the more honest conversation can happen later. That the relationship running on autopilot will naturally deepen at some point. That the life that feels more aligned is something you’ll get around to once things calm down. That the parts of you that don’t feel true right now will somehow sort themselves out on their own.
Death has a way of making all of that feel less convincing.
Not because it turns you into some perfectly clear, spiritually evolved person. At least not in my experience.
But because it changes your tolerance for what feels false.
It makes certain kinds of conversation harder to sit with for too long. Certain ways of moving through the world feel thinner. Certain relationships start to reveal themselves more honestly. Sometimes all that changes is your ability to keep pretending something still fits when it doesn’t.
And I think that’s part of what mortality clarifies.
Not just who matters, though it does that too.
It clarifies what kind of connection actually feels alive.
What kind of conversation leaves you feeling more like yourself, not less. What kind of presence feels real. What kind of relationships hold weight. Which ones are built on mutual honesty, and which ones mostly survive on inertia.
That can sound callous if you say it too bluntly. But I don’t mean it as a case for cutting people off or becoming cold. Relationships have seasons. Some deepen. Some drift. Some were built for a certain version of you and not the one you’re becoming now.
Impermanence is part of this too.
Not everything is meant to last forever, and I think mortality has a way of making that harder to ignore.
The more I sit with death, the less interested I am in connection that only looks real from the outside.
That includes the curated version of connection we get fed constantly now. The sense that visibility is intimacy. That access is closeness. That posting is sharing. That having a take on everything means you’re participating in life in a meaningful way.
And to be fair, I’m not above any of this. I use the internet for this project. I’ve met people through it that I never would have met otherwise. Some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve had in the last couple years happened because of tools that technically fall under this big modern idea of “connection.”
So this isn’t some anti-technology argument.
It’s more that modern life gives us endless contact and very little intimacy, and death sharpens the difference.
It asks harder questions:
Am I actually known here?
Am I being honest here?
Do I feel more like myself in this conversation, or less?
Is this nourishing something real, or just filling space?
That last one has been especially important for me.
Because I’ve realized more and more that what drains me is not people.
It’s thinness.
It’s the kind of conversation that never leaves the surface. The kind that lives only in logistics, commentary, work talk, complaint, performance. The kind where everyone is technically there, but no one is really risking anything honest.
And the flip side has become just as obvious.
A real conversation can be incredibly energizing.
Being listened to without needing to impress is energizing. Talking about something that actually matters is energizing. Feeling seen, or watching someone else feel safe enough to be real, is energizing.
That’s one of the biggest things this project has taught me.
I’ve now had conversations with more than sixty anonymous strangers about death. On paper, that sounds like it should feel awkward or heavy or intimidating every single time. But what keeps happening instead is this deep sense of appreciation.
Not because every conversation is perfect. Not because we walk away with a new understanding of how this all works
But because something real has happened.
Two people sit down and, for a little while, try to understand one another. Or in many cases, one person simply gets the space to say what they actually think and feel without needing to package it well.
And that feels rarer than it should.
People want to be listened to. They want space to say the thing underneath the thing. They want to feel less alone in the thoughts they’ve been carrying. They want connection that doesn’t depend on performance.
That’s one of the strangest and best things I’ve learned through this project. These conversations with strangers are not scary in the way I might have once assumed. They are often more honest than conversations people have with those closest to them.
Not because strangers matter more.
But because the conditions are different.
There’s less posturing. Less history to manage. Less identity to protect. Less pressure to come off a certain way. And when that drops, even a little, something more intimate can happen.
I don’t think mortality solves the problem of connection. It doesn’t suddenly make us brave or open or deeply self-aware. It doesn’t fix loneliness. It doesn’t guarantee honesty.
But I do think it makes certain things harder to ignore.
It becomes harder to pretend that all forms of contact are equal. Harder to keep investing in relationships, conversations, and identities that don’t feel true. Harder to keep postponing the more honest version of your life as if there will always be more time.
Maybe that’s one of the things death clarifies.
Not just who matters, but what kind of connection actually feels real.
Not just whether we are in touch, but whether we are known.
Not just whether we are surrounded, but whether we are alive inside the relationships and conversations that make up most of our days.
I don’t think there’s a clean answer here. I’m not trying to turn this into a prescription to have deeper conversations or call someone you love or log off forever.
I just think mortality has a way of showing us where our lives are full of contact but short on connection.
And once you start seeing that, it gets a little harder to unsee.
Music for the Month
Normally, I end these monthly posts with a short playlist put together by my dad, loosely connected to the theme.
This one went up before the playlist was ready, but my dad came through afterward and put one together. It felt wrong to leave the post without it, so I’m adding it in now.
Connection — Monthly Songs
I just found you--you came up as a suggestion--but I have written and talked about this with other people so many times. Meaningful connection is absolutely what drives me. Thank you for writing about this. I look forward to reading more of your work!