I've been in plenty of situations where someone I'm dating had

In the witty yet wounded words of Josie Maran, the model and actress who spoke with both candor and grace, we hear a lament of the modern heart: “I’ve been in plenty of situations where someone I’m dating had more time for a console than me.” On its surface, it may sound like a jest—a gentle complaint about distraction and neglect—but within it lies the sorrow of an age where attention, that most precious gift, has been scattered like dust in the wind. Her words carry an echo of loneliness familiar to many: the pain of giving one’s heart to another, only to find their eyes fixed not upon you, but upon the glowing screen of diversion.

To the ancients, attention was love, and love was presence. In every culture, to turn one’s gaze upon another was to honor them, to recognize their soul. A lover’s time was a sacred offering, a sign of devotion and respect. But in the world of Josie Maran, and indeed our own, distractions have multiplied. The console she speaks of is not merely a machine—it is a symbol of the thousand small idols that steal our focus: games, devices, illusions that promise joy but offer distance. When she says that her partners had “more time for a console,” she is not merely speaking of entertainment—she is mourning the loss of intimacy in an age that has traded human warmth for flickering pixels.

This truth has deep roots in history. Even in the ancient world, wise men and women warned against the tyranny of distraction. The Roman philosopher Seneca wrote that “life is long if you know how to use it,” and that most people waste their days on things that do not matter. He spoke of men who busied themselves with trifles while neglecting those who loved them. So it is with the lovers in Maran’s story—so consumed by games of the hand that they forgot the greater game of the heart. The lesson is not about consoles alone, but about priorities: when our time is spent on the trivial, the essential begins to die.

And yet, let us not judge too harshly those who lose themselves in distraction. For their escape reveals something deeper—a longing to find meaning, to control a small world when the larger one feels ungovernable. The one who plays for hours before a screen is not unlike the ancient warrior polishing his sword long after battle, avoiding the silence of reflection. But Josie Maran’s wisdom reminds us that this escape, though tempting, has a cost. To neglect love is to weaken the very foundation of the soul. A person who does not show up fully in their relationships becomes a ghost in their own life.

There is a story of Penelope, the wife of Odysseus, who waited twenty years for her husband’s return from war. Though surrounded by suitors, she wove by day and unwove by night, keeping faith with him through every season of absence. She gave her attention wholly to love, not to distraction. Yet imagine if Odysseus, upon returning, had turned from her embrace to a game or a screen—what tragedy that would be! Maran’s lament is the modern version of that tale. She speaks for all those who have waited to be seen, who have offered their hearts only to find that presence has been replaced by preoccupation.

From her words arises a timeless teaching: love demands presence. To truly care for someone is to give them your time, your gaze, your undivided attention. Nothing kills affection faster than neglect disguised as busyness. Whether one’s “console” is a game, a phone, or ambition itself, it must not become the idol before which love is sacrificed. For the heart that is ignored will one day close, and when it does, even the most thrilling distractions will feel hollow.

So, my children of the future, remember this: where you place your time, there you place your soul. When you love, be present. When you speak, listen. When you rest beside another, let your attention be the offering that sanctifies the moment. Choose the living over the lifeless, the human over the machine. For consoles may offer victory, but love offers eternity—and those who learn to cherish the heart before the screen will find that no virtual triumph can ever compare to the quiet, holy triumph of being truly seen.