Nearly 1 in 4 adults across the world are lonely. The loneliness epidemic in America, with 58% feeling like no one knows them well, is highest amongst the young than those over 65.

With technological advancement and more access to instant social “connection” we’re (allegedly) more connected than ever, so why are we so lonely?

Loneliness isn’t about being alone. Aloneness and loneliness are two different things. Loneliness is about the quality of connection. It’s about authentic emotional bonding.

Loneliness doesn’t just equal sadness or depression, it’s also how these emotions leak out; all the destructive behavior enacted onto the self or others, through addiction, self loathing shame or violence in order to relieve one’s pressure valve.

Loneliness can also trigger your brain's response to physical pain that in turn releases harmful stress hormones. As a species that values and flourishes on community and collaboration as an evolutionary trait, social connectedness is an essential root of our humanity.

We live in a time of cheapened connection. We live in a time of little nuance and great division that has been purposefully carved and artfully exploited to keep us at each other's throat in compassion paralysis; a necessary ingredient for dehumanization and closed eyes and ears.

Despite perceived divisions, what we all have in common is we desire and need community. But also in this (lonely-driven) need, sometimes community drives us to tribalism-transforming our nature or willingness to allow terrible things to maintain that community. This is also in response to fear, insecurity and loneliness. This is why cults and cult-like behaviors are so successful, because they’re kept alive through fear.

For many, loneliness around the holi-daze becomes as traditional as a dead bird on the dinner buffet table. The simplified headlines say it's one big Thomas Kinkade painting ready to bust its glitter confetti mess all over you, but this speed-like wonderment can change as you age

As a kid, Christmas and the holidays are laid out as an extravagant wonderment, even if from the corner of our eye we sense abbreviated lulled magic among the adult section who are managed by grief or stress. But still. December as a child was pure adrenaline popping.

Every holiday song is telling you to be merry. Every TV commercial depicting GAP cable-knit togetherness in front of a dangerously roaring fireplace is communicating "it's a big club, and you ain't in it". The holidays can be a "bag-over-the-head, punch-in-the-face, hap-hap-happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny-f-cking-Kaye" movie-like event, and it's time to fall in line. Except this isn't the complete story.

In reality, the holidays are tough for a lot of people. In reality, 58 percent of Americans experience severe depression & anxiousness during November and December â€” from pressure in overdrive, financial strain, high expectations, obligatory 'Keeping up with the Joneses’, and those who are alone or grieving for what once was.

You’re not alone.

My mom died 8 years ago on December 11. A few days before Christmas 2020 I was told my dad had a year to live (he died a month later). All this combined with my grandmother dying a few days before Christmas in 2006, and a series of friends & relatives that have passed during this season the last couple years have dulled this time.

The holidaze: a time once looked forward to for its festivities and extended familial gatherings cinched together by copious amounts of tables lined with coma-inducing food, has now become a long predictably drawn out few months, representing a former version of itself. As an adoptee with no children, the only dream I once had, there is no one to pass these memories onto or redeem lost traditions to the next generations, which can help alleviate the pain of lost times.

The point is, I now understand the holiday blues people spoke of. This year hasn't been as bad, because I've been consumed with my book, but it simmers in the background, like the lonely burnt gravy residue stuck to the holiday table. It's there.

The point is, I understand the holiday blues people spoke of. This year hasn't been as bad because I've been consumed with my book, but it simmers in the background, like the lonely burnt gravy residue that is stuck to the holiday table. It's there.

I end this post of mixed thoughts with one of my favorites, an excerpt from Charles Bukowski’s, Love Is A Dog From Hell:

there is a loneliness in this world so great

that you can see it in the slow movement of

the hands of a clock.

people so tired

mutilated

either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other

one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich

the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.