For many years, I believed that loneliness was a mathematical equation. Not enough individuals. Solve for an increase.
So, I brought in more people. I operated a restaurant, which essentially functions as a factory for creating companionship. There were familiar faces each evening, regular patrons who recognized me, a team I cherished, and a dining area that buzzed with energy. Some nights, I would stand by the kitchen pass during peak hours, the restaurant completely full, and feel as though I was viewing everything through a pane of glass.
Carl Jung articulated this reality perfectly, decades before my existence. In his memoir *Memories, Dreams, Reflections*, he stated that loneliness “does not derive from being surrounded by no one, but from the incapacity to express the matters that seem significant to oneself, or from maintaining certain beliefs that others consider unacceptable.”
Read that again. Loneliness isn’t about an empty space. It’s about a crowded room where no one can perceive what truly matters to you.
## The space can be occupied and you can still be craving connection
We gauge loneliness as a mere count. How many acquaintances, how many messages, how many attendees at a funeral. However, the distress Jung refers to is unrelated to quantity. Psychologists describe loneliness as a [disparity between the connection you desire and the connection you’re currently experiencing](https://www.simplypsychology.com/articles/loneliness-vs-solitude-difference), which is why numerical data is often misleading.
You might be encircled yet still feel ravenous for connection. You could have a partner sleeping beside you but feel like you’re carrying a secret that remains unnamed. You might receive birthday wishes from three hundred people online yet not have a single one you could call at 3 am.
I truly realized this as a child in boarding school, thousands of miles from home, in a foreign country. I was never alone in a physical sense. There was always a dorm, a line for meals, a rugby field filled with other boys. Yet, I felt lonelier than ever because the emotions that weighed heavily on me were things I had no one to vocalize.
That’s the trap. Companionship and connection appear the same on the outside. Only one actually nourishes you.
## We become adept at not expressing the genuine sentiment
Here comes the difficult part. Often, our inability to convey what truly matters stems from a quiet decision to not attempt it.
We dip our toes in with something minor. We mention feeling a bit off recently, and the other person responds, “ugh, same, I’m so exhausted,” prompting us to nod and let it fade away, because the true statement, the one beneath the surface, feels too burdensome to articulate. So, we tuck it away. Again. And with each instance, the chasm between what we show and what we feel grows a bit wider.
I engaged in this behavior for years. I’m charming enough to navigate an entire conversation on autopilot. I can host. I can keep a table entertained. And I unknowingly employed these skills to remain undiscovered. If I’m amusing you, you won’t be probing into anything substantial. Brilliant defense mechanism. Dreadful way to exist.
The issue with being adept at the superficial is that it functions until it doesn’t. You construct a life filled with individuals who are familiar with your trivialities but unaware of your deeper emotional landscape.
## Some perspectives are indeed inadmissible, and that creates a deeper loneliness
Jung’s second cause strikes a deeper chord. Sometimes you can’t voice what matters not because you decline to, but because you anticipate the reaction. You hold a belief, a doubt, or a perspective that those around you find utterly unacceptable.
Perhaps you’ve ceased to believe something your entire family still adheres to. Perhaps you’ve re-evaluated how you wish to live, while everyone who loves you is invested in your previous self. Maybe you simply perceive the world slightly differently, and you’ve learned that vocalizing this invites polite, concerned looks.
So, you suppress it. And keeping a genuine part of yourself in constant isolation is its own unique form of loneliness. You’re not merely misunderstood. You’re never given a chance to be understood. There’s a distinction.
Having moved around between Manila, Australia, New York, London, and now Bangkok, one constant is clear: every space carries an unspoken list of thoughts deemed permissible. Cross it, and the atmosphere shifts. Eventually, you memorize the list and modify your speech even before you articulate it.
Editing maintains harmony. It also leaves you isolated in a crowd.
## Solitude is not the foe
Now, a twist that took me an embarrassingly long while to grasp. Being alone and being lonely are not synonymous, and misinterpreting them exacerbates both conditions.
I sold my restaurants during the pandemic, which transitioned me, almost instantaneously, from a life filled with relentless human interaction to one of significant quiet.