On Monday, I hiked the English coast for seven hours. 35 000 steps, entirely alone, mainly in silence. I didn’t speak at all, except for when I FaceTimed my mom at the end to show her the view. She asked if I felt lonely, walking all that way by myself. I said no. In fact, it was a much-needed slice of solitude, a welcomed break from living in the thick of London. And yet, if she’d asked instead if I felt lonely in the midst of my previous long-term relationship, my answer would have been, unwaveringly, yes.
After we hung up, I spent the train ride home thinking about loneliness — how I could feel deeply alone while in a relationship, but completely at peace by myself in the middle of nowhere on the English coast. We all know exactly what loneliness feels like, yet no one seems to know how to navigate it. It doesn’t always arrive when we’re alone. It doesn’t leave when we’re surrounded, either. Loneliness can live quietly in our relationships, communities, and conversations, like a dull ache. We’re told to “sit with” it, but not for too long — as if there’s a proper dosage. It’s one of the most urgent public health concerns of our generation, affecting nearly everyone, and we rarely talk about it. Perhaps that is the loneliest part of all.
When the World Health Organization declared loneliness as a global public health concern in November 2023, much of the blame was placed on the Covid pandemic and its periods of isolation. In June of this year, a follow-up report revealed that loneliness still affects 1 in 6 people worldwide, causing an estimated 100 deaths every hour. This updated, yet unchanged information proved that our loneliness as a society isn’t a relic of the past, but a symptom of the present. Our technological, individualistic world has brought us deep within ourselves and to the vast expanse of the online universe, but nowhere in between.
It feels strange that the most foreign place for us to exist is in the real world. At bars, coffee shops, dimly lit tables, and family gatherings.
Loneliness is far more than just a bad feeling. Its negative impacts have been equated to smoking 15 cigarettes per day, increasing risk of dementia, diabetes, coronary artery disease, cognitive decline, and stroke. It also affects our mental health, support networks, and communities. Humans simply need connection, in the same way that we need water and shelter. So how did we get here? How did we come to live in a world so disconnected, so concerned with everything except what’s right in front of us?
Of course, we can blame technology: the way that self-checkouts have replaced cashiers, AI bots have begun to mimic emotional connection, and social media floods us with the lives of total strangers, as if we know them. Technology has allowed us to escape to an alternate universe, one with noise cancelling headphones and a never ending supply of dopamine hits.
But, over 50% of people in a recent poll instead blamed loneliness on society being “too individualistic.” We are self-concerned, self-protective, and self-reliant. We think introspectively, solve problems alone, and linger in our independence (hiking the English coast alone, for example). Instead of seeking intimacy and connection, we’ve turned inwards, losing our ability to mingle, ask questions, and have deep conversations. We’ve trapped ourselves in an “intimacy famine” and don’t know how to escape.
I experienced this firsthand last weekend on a night out with two friends. We dressed ourselves up, took a shot of tequila at the bar, and stayed in the confines of our huddle the entire night. Everyone around us seemed to do the same. In a world where people once mingled, danced together, and bought drinks for strangers, I felt like I was in a garden of statues — everyone standing close enough to belong, but too far to connect. I longed for community, feeling afraid of the way that we are losing the very thing that makes us, us. I wondered if anyone felt the same way that night, yet naturally, never asked.
I’m certainly not the first person to write about this. The media I consume is riddled with reflections on loneliness, both in fiction and nonfiction alike. Rachel Drucker’s Men, Where Have You Gone? Please Come Back discusses a similar experience to mine, about how men and women have lost their ability to mingle, “performing closeness” and “circling intimacy but never entering.” Sam Graham-Felsen’s Where Have All My Deep Male Friendships Gone? reflects on the reasons that men struggle to have meaningful connections — busy with life, surface-level conversations over a football game, and a fear of seeming needy or vulnerable. Even Lily King’s 2020 fictional novel “Writers and Lovers,” follows the protagonist on her quest for love, who, just as she thought she found it, is met with him saying “No. I can’t get all tangled in your ropes.” I’ve stared blankly and frustratedly at all of these writings. I thought tangling, seeming vulnerable, and entering intimacy, was whole the point. And yet, our individualistic society has bred a world filled with isolated individuals.
Here we are, equally concerned with ourselves and with the strangers we see online, leaving a barren clearing in the world around us. It is, in fact, lonely.
So what can we do? How can we begin to tackle loneliness? I’m not entirely sure. But, after reading that the one quality most “super-agers” (people over 80 with the mental capacity of someone in their 50s) share is their value of social relationships, I’m determined. For the sake of my own health, for the health of my community and relationships, for my dating life, and for my nights of tequila shots and mingling.
To start, I’m trying to decrease my screen time and live in the tangible world around me. I’ve set time limits on my social media apps and vowed to read on public transit instead of scroll (an ongoing effort). I’m using the cashier instead of self-checkout, shopping in-store instead of online, and FaceTiming or calling instead of responding to Instagram stories. I’m still journaling, but also sharing some of my thoughts with my friends, over coffee. I’m trying to prevent loneliness within my relationships by strengthening them — asking intimate, meaningful questions. I’m prioritizing seeing friends and family over my personal agenda and hope to one day, cross the barrier in a pub and strike up conversation with a stranger. I still cherish my alone time (my next solo hike is already scheduled), but I’m consciously resisting slipping into loneliness.
Luckily, loneliness is less about the absence of people and more about the distance we allow to grow between us. If we look up instead of down, reach across the gaps, and allow ourselves to tangle, I think we will slowly find our way back to each other. After all, it’s human nature.
Sources
https://www.hhs.gov/sites/default/files/surgeon-general-social-connection-advisory.pdf
https://www.nytimes.com/2025/08/07/well/mind/super-agers-social-connections.html
