Lonely or what?

There's still a lot of talk about the "epidemic of loneliness" and what can be done about it. The general conclusion is that lonely people need to get out more and spend more time with other people. But I don't think it's nearly that simple.

My own view of loneliness is quite complex. For me, I would say boredom is more of a problem than loneliness. If I'm totally absorbed in something then I don't feel lonely because I'm just not thinking about other people.

A feeling of loneliness is said to arise if you can't find people who're on the same wavelength as you, but I don't expect people to be on my wavelength. Society is now so fragmented into umpteen tiny groups of like-minded people that the chance of my happening to meet someone I see eye to eye with is pretty slim.

If I'm not on the same wavelength as other people, that makes me feel isolated or unusual but not lonely. But then I was brought up in a family who had very different views to myself, so I'm used to being out on a limb.

What I really need isn't people on the same wavelength but people who can give me useful advice about how to deal with life's problems. That's where I feel a lack. Like someone who can diagnose a faulty washing machine or fill in a complicated application form or just give me a more optimistic view of the horrifying world we now live in.

There's more to loneliness than meets the eye.

Fancy a chat?

The growing problem of loneliness has prompted a new initiative you might call "opportun-ities to chat". Coffee shops have introduced "chat areas" and train companies are experimenting with "chat carriages".

The idea is that people who want some social contact can head for these chat areas and strike up conversation with others in the same boat.

Alexandra Hoskyn was 33 when she started the Chatty Café Scheme three years ago. Her son, Henry, was four months old and she felt isolated and deprived of adult company. So she encouraged coffee shops to set up chat areas where lonely people could meet and talk.

Now more than 1,000 cafés, hospitals, council offices, supermarkets and other venues have set up chat tables and the trend is catching on.

It seems like a great idea to me. You can chat to someone knowing they also want to chat, instead of risking a brush-off or just keeping yourself to yourself.

I don't know of any such "chat areas" in Northern Ireland, although Costa Coffee and Sainsbury's have introduced them elsewhere. Mind you, the Northern Irish are naturally chatty and will natter away to anyone anywhere. Sit next to someone on the bus and you could very well hear their entire life story by the end of the journey.

Loneliness has been linked to many medical conditions such as dementia, obesity, high blood pressure and mental disorders, so it seems a no-brainer that anything that makes it easier to link up with other people can only be a good thing.

I'd like to give it a try. Just as long as I'm not landed with some gung-ho political nerd who wants to discuss the finer details of Brexit for at least half an hour....

City dweller

I've always been a city dweller. I lived at various London addresses until 2000 when Jenny and I moved to Belfast. I've never lived outside a city and never anywhere seriously remote. I'm an urbanite through and through.

No doubt a rural dweller could list numerous drawbacks about city dwelling, like nosy passers-by, traffic noise, litter, dog shit, raucous young men, hideous apartment blocks, annoying neighbours and air pollution, but they are all things I'm totally used to and seem quite trivial compared to the benefits - such as good public transport, masses of cultural events, all the shops I need, and plenty of bank branches.

I can't imagine what it's like living somewhere totally secluded and isolated. I'm both bemused and admiring. Bemused because I wonder how people handle everyday emergencies when they're so far from shops, tradespeople, doctors or hospitals. But admiring because I'm impressed by their ingenuity, resilience, determination and adaptability. I'm sure if I found myself living in some such isolated spot, I would be in a constant panic about whether I could cope and what on earth I would do if the roof suddenly collapsed or I was snowed in overnight.

I watch programmes about life on tiny islands like the Isle of Eigg in western Scotland (population around 83) and I'm amazed how cheerful and happy the residents seem to be despite their difficult lives. In fact they appear to thrive on the difficulties and their ability to overcome them.

I suppose one important factor is the close-knit community that develops, which means there's always someone ready to help if you have a problem. Very different from cities where households often keep to themselves and don't care what's happening two doors down the road.

I have to admit that as a city dweller I'm entirely dependent on the almost instant availability of anything I need, and the thought of suddenly being without them is an alarming prospect.

Weighty secrets

I don't like having secrets. They feel like a burden, a rock on my back. I want to be a totally open person, revealing myself without any inhibitions or squeamishness.

Unfortunately so many people are censorious and intolerant, and likely to trample all over whatever I happen to tell them, that in practice I'm extremely secretive, keeping all sorts of things to myself for fear of the consequences if I don't.

Stuff about sex. About gender. About relationships. About phobias. About prejudices. About extreme emotions.

I find this a tremendous load to bear. There is so much I want to share with other people - to get their views, their advice, their own experience of the same things. But I have to stay silent and work through them all on my own.

Obviously I'm not talking about things people tell me in confidence. Those stay secret for a good reason. But all this other personal stuff locked inside me like junk in the attic - I just want to let it all out, let it circulate, do something with it.

Some people enjoy having secrets, knowing things that others don't know. They like having bits of themselves that are theirs and theirs alone, that can't be taken away or spoiled. The last thing they want to do is share them with all and sundry.

I don't feel like that at all. I really want to let it all hang out. Having so many secrets that aren't public currency makes me feel isolated, shut off, detached from other people like some sort of awkward outsider. And it makes me feel abnormal, weird, perverted, as if I'm harbouring some monstrous tendency that mustn't be let loose.

I want to bare my soul. But not to a hostile audience with axes to grind.

Thanks to Leah for the inspiration 

All alone am I

It seems there has been a big rise in the number of people feeling lonely. Despite all the media images of happy families and wild parties, many of us often feel cut off and isolated.

In 1982, 76 per cent of those asked said they never felt lonely. But in 2010, only 32 per cent can say that. Is there something drastically wrong with society or are people just less self-sufficient, less able to enjoy their own company?

Maybe it's people in general being less friendly. We're so busy coping with the demands of modern life - with our work, our families, our hobbies - that we pay less attention to others. We don't notice if they're lonely, or even if we do, we don't give them the real affection and appreciation they're looking for.

Or maybe it's a personal failing, an inability to get so engrossed in things that the presence or absence of others is irrelevant. We've lost that knack that children have of utter absorption in what they're doing, to the exclusion of all else. We keep thinking that somehow we'd be enjoying ourselves more if someone else was around.

Or when people say they're lonely, do they really mean they feel bored, or afraid, or confused, and they just want someone to tell them what to do or make them feel better? Not so much loneliness as helplessness.

I don't often feel lonely myself, even though I spend long periods alone. I'm very happy with my own company, and I do find it easy to get totally immersed in something, be it books, music, gardening or just freewheeling ruminations. I'm seldom desperate for a chat.

For me aloneness is not a misfortune. It's something to savour.

The loner

In the house behind ours lived a middle-aged man called, shall we say, Derek. He was a confirmed loner who seldom ventured on to the streets. In the ten months we've lived here I only saw him two or three times.

What information I have about him comes from another neighbour and is pretty sparse. It seems he was a retired civil servant with no other interests apart from drinking and watching TV. He wasn't very healthy and several times I saw an ambulance outside.

His parents and his wife had all died and he had no other living relatives except a distant uncle. He appeared to have no friends, and not much contact with his other neighbours. The social services had been in touch with him but whatever help they gave him clearly didn't go far enough.

One evening he rang our doorbell and asked for advice about his TV, which wasn't getting a proper picture. I gave him what tips I could and off he went again.

In hindsight I thought maybe I should have invited him in for a chat, but his rather reserved manner deterred me from doing so.

A couple of weeks ago a policewoman appeared at the door and told me Derek had been found dead. He had probably been dead several days and she wondered when I had last seen him alive. I could only say it was some time ago.

It's very tragic when someone becomes that isolated and cuts himself off so methodically. Something in his personality, some chronic lack of confidence, always prevented him reaching out to others. And in every street there's probably someone similar, crying out for human affection but unable to reach it.