by David Wann
The Healing Power of Social Connection
Philosopher Martin Buber’s work distinguishes between two kinds of social connection—what he calls I-You relationships and I-It relationships, explained in his 1923 book Ich und Du (I and Thou). In the I-You relationship, an unwavering, holistic bond of trust exists between an individual and key aspects of his life, including other people, other living beings, and whatever that person perceives God to be. In Buber’s view, when we experience life from a perspective of I-You, we enter a sacred realm of authenticity and oneness. We make and keep commitments to “be there” without pretense or judgment, on a playing field of mutual caring, respect, and responsibility. In this way, we create the priceless relationships that make life worth living.5
On the other hand, in I-It relationships, people are misperceived as objects, valued only for what we can get from them. The ego is in the center, surrounded by things and people it tries to manipulate. Instead of being at one with the world, we become detached and isolated from it. If people or other living beings are no longer of use, we just throw them away. For example, when a huge school of fish is perceived as huge profits, it doesn’t matter if that particular species is an endangered species—the fish are just objects that exist for our benefit. We assume there are always more objects to exploit.
The analytic I-It approach to life makes us strangers in our own world, and is a primary reason why many feel a sense of emptiness. We strive to connect with a Higher Power we can sanctify rather than objectify—a being who won’t let us down, and to whom we are devoted. I believe we can and must bring sanctity to our everyday lives by creating I-You relationships, treating even the food we eat or a masterpiece painting with great respect, wonder, and connection, because the people who grew healthy food or created the painting “speak” through it. By changing the way we regard the world, the “me” in each of us becomes a much wider “we,” and we feel interconnected and complete. Even in a world filled with contradiction and superficiality, we find True North.
A wealth of scientific evidence now supports what we’ve known in our hearts all along: Without strong social and spiritual connections, we wither. We need to elevate love and connection to a higher priority even if that means we make less money and spend less time worrying about it. Researchers say it’s a matter of life and death. Dr. Dean Ornish, author of Love and Survival, says, “Study after study has shown that people who feel lonely, depressed and isolated are three to seven times more likely to get sick and die prematurely than those who have a sense of love, connection, and community in their lives.”6 One study looked at men and women who were about to have open-heart surgery. “The researchers asked two questions: ‘Do you draw strength from your religious faith?’ and, ‘Are you a member of a group of people who get together on a regular basis?’” Those who said no to both questions were dead within 6 months, compared to only 3 percent of those who said yes to both questions—a seven-fold difference in mortality.”7
Nadine Lightburn reads to her husband of fifty-eight years, John, who is legally blind but still very interested and active in world affairs. Credit: Jonathan Castner
After many years of hands-on medical work, Ornish concludes that the real epidemic is not just physical heart disease but also emotional and spiritual heart disease. Social support makes us feel valued and loved, feelings that enhance our health, but conversely, “Anything that promotes a sense of isolation can lead to illness and suffering.” The reasons why are tangible: for one thing, isolation increases the likelihood we’ll smoke, overeat, or fail to exercise. Furthermore, says Ornish, “Bacteria, viruses and other microorganisms must penetrate through our immune, neuroendocrine and other defense systems, and these defenses are measurably enhanced by love and relationships.” Social connections also reduce stress, the universal Grim Reaper. For example, when you’re low on cash, one of the most stressful things going, it sure helps to have a friend throw you a lifeline. When you’re sick, maybe another friend will take care of your kids for a few days until you feel better. Ornish has observed an especially strong correlation between the love of parents and good health, in part because parental relationships have such a long span: nutrition before and after birth; coping (or not really coping) styles developed when young—such as anxiety, anger, and optimism; spiritual values and practices; and parental support and love in one’s adult life.8
In a Harvard study in the 1950s, students were randomly chosen and asked to describe their relationship with their mother and father—whether “very close,” “warm and friendly,” “tolerant,” or “strained and cold.” Thirty-five years later, results were conclusive. All of the participants who rated both parents low in warmth and closeness had diseases in midlife (including coronary artery disease, high blood pressure, duodenal ulcer, and alcoholism), whereas only 47 percent of those with warm, close parents had the target diseases.9
Our health is even boosted by the unconditional love of pets. In a study of heart attack victims who now had irregular heartbeats, six times as many people died if they didn’t have a pet. Many other studies show similar results. Says Dean Ornish, “If some new drug showed a six-fold decrease in deaths, you can be sure that just about every doctor in the country would be prescribing it. Yet when was the last time your doctor prescribed a pet or supportive friend for you?”10
“Good Chemistry”
Social emotions travel on chemical pathways in our bodies. Writes Daniel Goleman in Social Intelligence, “A hundred men and women wore devices that took readings of their blood pressure whenever they interacted with someone. When they were with family or enjoyable friends, their blood pressure fell; these interactions were pleasant and soothing.” On the other hand, in a group of British health-care workers who had two different supervisors on alternate days, the more controlling supervisor caused spikes in blood pressure, whereas the presence of the second, more empathetic supervisor did not.11
In Love and Survival, Dean Ornish cites other clinical evidence of social chemistry: A doctor at Stanford Medical School studied women with breast cancer who were randomly assigned to one of two groups. Each group received conventional medical care and, in addition, one group of women met together for ninety minutes once a week for a year, to express their feelings about their illness. “In the safe and supportive environment, they could discuss their fears about topics like being disfigured, dying, or being abandoned by their friends and spouse,” writes Ornish. The results were dramatic: The women who attended the weekly support group lived twice as long as the others. After five years, only those in the support group were still alive. 12
The chemistry of intimate relationships is more immediate. For example, an attractive woman “turns a man on,” literally, when she meets his gaze directly; his brain secretes the pleasure-inducing chemical dopamine. (If he looks but she doesn’t, there’s no chemical release.) If they later become intimate, her massaging hands relax him, lowering his blood pressure and releasing the antistress hormone oxytocin. His metabolism downshifts, reports Goleman, from the “ready-to-run mode that primes large muscles for running, to a restorative state in which nutrients are stored and the body recharges.”13
What would you give up to experience ongoing good chemistry like this at work, in the neighborhood, and at home? Would you give up stress, fear, and the need to control others? Of course you would, if you could. Would you cut back on the amount of work you do, the amount of time you spend acquiring and pampering possessions, and trade it for honest relationships? Maybe not, because you may be so wrapped up, so defined, by the so-called good life that you can’t find a way down. However, many believe that social engagement is worth far more than money can buy, and given the choice between “your money or your life,” you might just choose life and love. Whenever we’re lucky enough, and open enough, to have real wealth like this in our lives, I believe we should always choose to be lovers, not fighters. And I speak from experience, having been both.
Daniel Goleman tel
ls the joke about a couple that’s only had one fight in their entire marriage—and they’re still having it. In my younger days when I was (even) less mature and still had some frustrations to work out, a friend once good-heartedly referred to my not-yet-ex-wife and I as “the Bickersons,” because we couldn’t seem to balance the energy in our relationship, despite many wonderful moments in our early years. I’m confident that our kids came through okay, and hopeful they find relationships that are more enduring. For the past six years, I’ve felt, and returned, the love of a remarkable woman. It’s commonly said that attraction between the sexes boils down to sex objects and success objects. While this assessment does have some degree of anthropological truth, it tells only part of the story. Such relationships may well be I-It in nature, regarding people as objects. In my maturing years, I see that the most compelling features about a partner are kindness, independence, and humility—and Susan has them. To see her caring for a newborn grandson is to see how warm she is. In those moments when loving energy sparkles in her eyes, I melt.
I met her when she came to a party at our community house. Seeing her across the room, I said to myself, “I wish I could sit next to that good-looking woman—I wonder if she’s single.” As luck would have it, that very seat was empty, and I dusted off my courtship skills. In an instinctual display of plumage, I gave her a copy of a book I’d recently coauthored, Affluenza, and invited her to tour the neighborhood garden and orchard where I spend so much time. The next day, I brought her an artfully arranged box of ripe tomatoes, basil, and cut flowers from the garden. From my perspective, my charm had won her over, though she gives much of the credit to the basil.
Of course, it helps that we each have our own nests, about half a block apart. The truth is, I may not know everything there is about being a slob, but I am an American male and that’s a start: An American male artist-type, who gardens with abandon, stares at computer screens for hours at a time waiting for the right words to self-assemble, has his share of opinions (maybe you’ve noticed?), and vacuums every three months whether it needs it or not. But maybe I have redeeming qualities. Let’s just say I’ve learned the value of cuddling, and of listening, and that I’ve taken a chance on opening up. Marital researcher John Gottman observes that happy, stable relationships have about five positive interactions for every negative one, and as I was outlining this chapter, Susan and I agreed that we meet that criterion pretty well. Life’s good.
The longest-running relationship I’ve experienced personally is the sixty-three-year love affair between my parents. Though my father passed on five years ago, my mother still wears the wedding ring he gave her three weeks before he shipped out for Europe, to take part in the Normandy invasion. They met at a sorority party and he was one among several other suitors until he climbed the fire escape of an antique building where she was in class and asked her to wear his fraternity pin. “He was a smoothie,” she recalls. “He was intelligent, interested in things, and had a good sense of humor.” What she really thought was “sharp” was when he and a few friends made and sold sandwiches to campus sorority girls, who weren’t allowed out after ten at night. They raised enough money to go to Cuba for spring break. “That’s when I realized he had a sense of adventure.”
So did she. After their quickly rearranged wedding, he left to “shake down” the ship on which he was second-in-command. She followed him by train to his port of departure, astonishing him by showing up to say goodbye. She recalls, “It was against the rules—no civilians were allowed, especially women, but I talked an officer into taking me out to the island, and I really caused quite a stir. They were all lined up for dinner, and some of those men were coming back from the war and hadn’t seen a woman in months. If I’d had two heads and three left feet, I would have looked good to them. But the important part was that I sent my love along with him.”
From those romantic beginnings onward, their marriage was rich in mutual respect. I don’t remember a single shouting match between them, though my sister and I made up for that a few times. Dad steadily became successful in his career, but the emphasis was on frugality, family, and faith. “We didn’t need to spend a lot to be happy,” says Mom. One night, Dad came home when a Cub Scout meeting was still in progress. He showed interest in what we were doing and, as always, he paid attention to us as individuals. Says Mom, “The other den mother told me, ‘You’re lucky to have him for a husband.’ That’s the way I felt, too,” she says. “Wherever he went, he was there.”
Dad’s company sent him to Mexico City where they lived for ten years, immersed in learning and living a completely new culture. After retiring, they went on thirty or more Elder Hostel adventures—from theater tours in England to educational seminars on Indian reservations. “The one disagreement we had,” she recalls, “was about him giving up smoking. Although he didn’t smoke in front of me, he’d smoke when he was out playing golf.” One of my most poignant memories is how she took care of him in his last days, as lung cancer slowly ate away his life. She’d be up at four in the morning to give him his pain medicine, and they spent seven months in their Tucson home knowing their days together were coming to an end, and making the most of each day.
Before he died, he took her to the bank, the car mechanic, and other places she’d need to know about. “This is how you pump gas,” he told her. “This is how I’ve been watering the lemon tree.” I was lucky to be at their house the week before he died. Although he and I had gone back and forth about the environment for years, he conceded that global warming was a reality, symbolically giving value to all my environmental efforts and convictions. “Write something good,” he told me, putting his now-frail hand on my shoulder.
Making Connections Wherever You Are
“He’s the fullest, wealthiest man I’ve ever known,” says my friend Patricia (you met her in the “Personal Growth” chapter), referring to a remarkable man she’s known since her early days in an orphanage for girls. “Some of the priests at the orphanage seemed lonely but Father Reynolds (I’ll call him that) was different. His life mission was to have a positive affect on girls who were having problems at the orphanage. Initially it was the ones who were giving the nuns fits—probably free spirits, like wild ponies, who needed a mentor to help them survive,” she continues. “The nuns would rule with an iron fist out of necessity, but Father Reynolds helped steer them through the choppy waters. He had a little money he inherited from his parents when they died, and if one of his girls got into a tough place or needed a little spending money at college, he’d be there for them, like an anchor. He learned to speak Spanish, and when one of his girls got pregnant, he escorted her to Mexico so she could make peace with her parents.
“When I visited him recently at the retirement home where he now lives, I saw how his life mission had come into full blossom: on one whole wall of his little apartment—the centerpiece of his home—were dozens of pictures, radiating out from a central picture like spokes on a wheel. They were pictures of the fifty girls whose lives he’s enriched. ‘This is Angelina,’ he told me, ‘she was a tough little girl when I first met her, but now she’s happily married, as you can see, living in Virginia.’ He went through quite a few of the photographs, and I could see how appropriate the title ‘father’ was for him. He didn’t have biological children, but he had fifty children-of-the-heart who continue to enrich his life—he gets calls from one or another of them every few days, inviting him to attend the graduation ceremony of their granddaughter, at their expense—or to ask his advice about what to get a master’s degree in, or just to say hello. Three of his girls actually live in the same town that he lives in.” Patricia concludes, “He chose a path of integrity that makes his retirement years so abundant—all these connections with people that are so significant in his life.”
Stories like these remind us that everywhere we look, compassionate people are lending support and making connections—that’s what we do best, really. I was up at 5:30 A.M. this past summer
when my next-door neighbor Phil Lohre raced across the front lawn and directed an ambulance to the front of his house. I didn’t want to be a nosy neighbor but I did want to be available if my friends needed help, so I stood on my front porch as the crew rolled Phil’s wife, Julie, out on a gurney. I found out later that day that she’d had a seizure and had a tumor in the front of her brain.
The first thing that occurred to her is that she had to write her three children a letter with her best life lessons, love, and wisdom—just in case. The kids—who I’ve watched grow from beans to beanstalks—were at summer camp a thousand miles away, but Julie and Phil decided to fly them home the next afternoon. “We realized that we aren’t separate from them,” she says. “They were important to our decision-making process.” As the Lohres began their intensive research on the science of Julie’s condition, Phil was her first strong pillar of support. Julie is a nurse-practitioner and is very well versed in health science, but the details of the various treatment options were extremely complex. Phil’s note-taking and sharp intellect helped the pair equip themselves with the right information. For example, they opted not to have a separate biopsy done since the tumor would have to come out in any case, whether it was benign or malignant. They flew to New York for a second opinion, and kept their wits about them as they gathered information. “Without Phil’s support, I would have felt overwhelmed,” says Julie.
