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Lately, there’s a noticeable and unspoken request in my conversations with clients, friends, and even in my own mind: Can we go back to basics? What people are longing for isn’t the next gadget or algorithm. They miss phone calls that linger past bedtime, the kind you make just because you want to hear someone’s voice. And, they want to open a real paper planner to schedule a walk in nature, a card-writing session, or a home-cooked dinner. They want to write in their journals, but the lure of their phone is often too strong, too easy, too “right there.” We remember (and yearn for) Saturday morning cartoons and having to run to the bathroom during commercial breaks. This longing feels nostalgic, but it is more than sentimentality. There is real science behind why these simple, analog human rituals feel so restorative.
Why our analog rituals matter: The neurobiology of closeness
One of the most powerful chemicals in our social brains is oxytocin, sometimes called the “bonding hormone” or “cuddle hormone.” Research shows that oxytocin is more than romantic; it strengthens trust, emotional sharing, and social bonds more broadly. For example, a classic study by Lane and colleagues (2013) had participants recall painful memories, and when given oxytocin (versus a placebo), they were more willing to share the emotional side of the memory, not just the facts. That matters because emotional sharing is one of the most potent ways we co-regulate with each other, lowering stress and deepening connection. Oxytocin’s power isn’t limited to humans. In chimpanzees, researchers Wittig and colleagues (2014) measured oxytocin after food-sharing events and found that those moments of communal eating triggered significantly more oxytocin than even grooming. That suggests that sharing a meal does more than fill our stomachs: It activates deep neurobiological systems evolved for bonding and cooperation.
In humans, oxytocin’s role goes beyond just bonding. It helps regulate stress. A review of the oxytocin literature by Olff and colleagues (2013) shows that, in certain contexts, our physiology is wired so that close social contact can buffer against stress and threat. When we engage in micro-behaviors using our gaze, touch, voice, and emotional expression, our bodies and brain synchronize, fostering what some researchers call “bio-behavioral synchrony.”
The stress of digital overload
Contrast these deeply human experiences with how we interact now, through screens, texts, social media, and chatbots. While digital connection isn’t inherently bad, research suggests it doesn’t provide the same emotional or biological benefits, and in many cases, it adds stress. A study by Tibbetts and colleagues (2021) during the COVID-19 pandemic compared in-person interactions with online ones. The results were striking: More time spent face-to-face with close others strongly predicted increased positive mood and social connectedness. But time spent interacting digitally (even with close people) was linked not only to positive affect, but also to increased stress and negative emotions. Moreover, not all screen time is benign. The phenomenon of “technostress,” which is stress caused by the pressure to stay connected, respond immediately, multitask, and process the flow of information, is now well documented. When we try to keep up with every notification or ping on our devices, our nervous system often feels more frazzled than soothed.
What’s more, some direct comparisons show that digital media may lack the same capacity to regulate stress. While short bouts of social media browsing may not raise physiological stress markers, experimental work by Seltzer and colleagues (2011) indicates that purely text based contact does not produce the same neuroendocrine stress buffering as hearing a familiar voice or being physically present; after an acute lab stressor, children who spoke with their mothers in person or by phone showed reductions in cortisol and increases in oxytocin, whereas children who communicated by instant message did not.
The wisdom of returning to the basics
So when people tell me they want less scrolling, fewer DMs, and more real human connection, they are not just being nostalgic. They are echoing what neurobiology and psychology already know: We thrive in the presence of real, embodied connection. I believe there is a powerful vision here for what leadership and meaningful connection could look like in our over-digital age. What if we brought together leaders from business, nonprofits, education, faith, and public service, not in a conference center overflowing with screens, but in a mountain retreat? What I’m imagining is a lodge hidden among tall pines, where it’s just not possible or desirable to spend too much time on a phone. When we are faced with each other and ourselves, micro-behaviors matter: a knowing glance, the fleeting storytelling that happens on the way somewhere, the passing of food across a dinner table. These are not just poetic gestures. They are the building blocks of belonging. In this setting, oxytocin has room to rise, our bodies to sync, our stress to melt.
And when leaders reconnect with each other and with themselves, they will rediscover something essential: that being human is not about productivity, but about presence, connection, and love. It’s not just about efficiency, but also about empathy. It’s not just about power and status, but also about laughter and shared vulnerability.
Why this matters now
We live in a world of rapid innovation and relentless change. The next app promises to make things easier (or fun), but often what we lose is simpler: connection with ourselves and with each other. We carry devices in our pockets that let us be “connected” at every moment, yet we too rarely feel with or held close. I believe the antidote is not to abandon technology, but to reclaim intentional, analog rituals: phone calls, walking conversations, handwritten notes, shared meals. These are not quaint; they are essential. When we return to these fundamentals, we do more than pause. We rewire our hormonal systems, our emotional resilience, and our capacity to belong. And in doing so, we rebuild trust.
My vision is that we gather leaders who want to lead not just with strategy and skill, but with heart. We could build spaces in nature where human connection is prioritized, not by accident, but by design. And from that grounded place, we could carry something back into our daily lives: a renewed commitment to being rather than doing. When we restore the simple human practices we used to take for granted, we can rediscover not just connection with others, but connection with ourselves. And that, in my view, is the foundation of healing, leadership, and life. If you feel this too, I would love to hear from you. How do you bring the basics into your life? What small ritual feels sacred again? If we start talking about it, we can make the possibility more real.
