As connected as we are with technology, it's also removed us

Hear the words of Sandra Bullock, spoken with clarity and lament: “As connected as we are with technology, it’s also removed us from having to have human connection, made it more convenient to not be intimate.” In this paradox lies a profound truth of our age. Never before have human beings been able to reach one another across such vast distances with such speed, and yet never before have so many felt alone. The tools that promised unity have also sown distance, and the glowing screens that bring voices near often push hearts far apart.

When Bullock speaks of connection, she points to the web of wires, signals, and machines that bind the modern world together. Through phones, computers, and networks, the words of one can reach millions in an instant. Yet she contrasts this with human connection, the warmth of presence, the gaze of the eye, the touch of the hand, the intimacy of souls gathered together. Technology may bring us data, but it cannot bring us the trembling of a voice across the firelight, nor the silence between two people who need no words to be understood.

The danger she names is convenience—that subtle deceiver. For technology has made it easy to withdraw from the difficulty of intimacy, to replace the vulnerable labor of true encounter with the shallow ease of digital exchange. It is easier to send a message than to speak face to face. It is easier to press a heart-shaped icon than to open one’s own heart. Thus, while we are more connected than ever, we risk losing the courage to be truly intimate.

History bears witness to the cost of forgetting intimacy. In the time of Rome’s decline, the people turned ever more to bread and circuses, their lives filled with spectacle but emptied of true communion. They were entertained, distracted, and connected in vast arenas, yet isolated in spirit. The empire rotted from within, not only from political corruption, but from the weakening of the human bond. In our own age, the glowing arena of technology may become our Colosseum if we do not guard against it.

Yet Bullock’s words are not only warning, but invitation. For she calls us back to the ancient truth: that the soul hungers not merely for connection, but for intimacy—for the risk of being known and the gift of truly knowing another. Technology need not be our enemy, but it must not be our master. If we use it as a bridge to deepen relationships, it can serve us well. But if we let it replace the sacred struggle of closeness, it will hollow our lives.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not mistake the ease of digital connection for the depth of human intimacy. Seek out the presence of others, not only their messages. Sit across from a friend and hear their laughter. Walk with a loved one and feel the silence filled with trust. Look into the eyes of another and allow yourself to be vulnerable. Such moments may be inconvenient, but they are the food of the soul, and without them, no amount of technology can save us from loneliness.

Practical action follows: each day, step away from the screen to enter the world of flesh and spirit. Call not only with your device, but with your voice and your presence. Make time to gather, to share meals, to tell stories, to embrace. Let technology be the servant that arranges the meeting, but let humanity be the master that gives it meaning. For in this way, we will reclaim the intimacy that convenience tempts us to forget.

Thus Sandra Bullock’s words echo as a call across our age: “As connected as we are with technology, it has removed us from intimacy.” Let us remember, then, that true connection is not measured in messages sent, but in hearts shared. Technology may link us, but only intimacy can heal us. Seek the courage to be present, and you will find the life that convenience alone cannot give.