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A few days ago, while looking out the window, I saw my elderly neighbor sitting alone at the entrance of her building. She didn't seem sad; she was just there. That image made me think about the thin line that separates two concepts we often confuse: the loneliness we choose and the loneliness life imposes on us.
There's a loneliness that it's almost a luxury. It's the one we seek after an exhausting day, the one we need to read, to write, to simply exist without the gaze of others. That loneliness nourishes, organizes, and brings us back to ourselves.
But there's another loneliness that hurts. The one that arrives when circumstances isolate us, when social media promises connection but leaves us with the feeling of talking in an empty room. It's the loneliness of someone who has thousands of contacts and no one to call at three in the morning.
I've learned that the difference isn't in the number of people around us, but in the quality of the bonds we cultivate. An honest message, an unhurried conversation, a comment on a blog that is born from truth and not from the algorithm. Sometimes, the best way to combat imposed loneliness is to offer our presence to those who need it.
I don't have answers, only questions. How many of our daily interactions are truly encounters? How many times are we surrounded by people and, even so, feel deeply alone?
Thank you for reading this post. If you agree with me, I'd like to read your perspective in the comments.😁