Many of us have felt a puzzling phenomenon: you can be around people and still feel alone. In my 84 years, I’ve lived in groups—engineering manager and professor, training teams, leading mission work, teaching group dynamics—and our home has often been full of people around home-cooked meals. Yet one Sunday I tried a simple test at church: instead of stepping into the pre-service clusters, I stood a few feet away, smiled, and waited. No one came over. It was a small experiment, but the result was clear—I felt lonely, and unexpectedly sad.

Reflecting on this, a series of diagnostic questions came to mind: What is wrong with me? (Yes—I did take a bath.) I’m right here—why doesn’t anyone see me? Is it because I’m not interested in sports, so my opinion isn’t needed? Is it because they find me as a teacher or leader, but not a person? Is it because I’m old and assumed to have little to offer in their world? And the hardest question: would anyone notice if I weren’t here next week?

I have a Facebook and X account. Most days I read and skim but rarely post. Others post constantly—the same pattern shows up in a few email groups I’m in. It makes me wonder: if they went silent for a while, would anyone notice—or would the feed just keep moving? This is a loneliness shaped by visibility: lots of activity, but not much real notice. And while it’s not only the young, they do seem to live on devices; it’s striking—some surveys suggest roughly two-thirds of Generation Z report significant loneliness. Could constant media use be a major contributor? We used to call it: high tech, low touch.

Have you noticed that some of your busiest, most productive friends and co-workers have little tolerance for small mistakes? Patience isn’t their strength—irritability is. And haven’t we all said, “Let me check my calendar,” when a friend asks for a visit or an activity? Our culture packs everything tight—work, children’s schedules, sports, shopping, church—one thing stacked on another. Since Millennials typically are concentrating on their careers,  they are always busy. There’s no breathing room between events, and when there’s no margin, there’s no space for real relationships. You can have constant contact and still be lonely.

How many people do you know in their mid-forties and fifties who are simply run ragged? Often it’s because they’ve become caregivers for aging parents—an added weight on top of an already packed life. Surrounded by responsibilities that feel non-optional, they have little time left for the companionship they also need. Martha and I both have cancer, and at one point we helped start a cancer support group. What surprised us was this: the caregivers often needed more support than the patient. And from what we’ve read, caregivers tend to stand out with especially high loneliness.

As we’ve gotten older, life has changed in ways we didn’t fully expect. Christmas is no longer filled with the joy of children—and for us, not even grandchildren, since all but one is grown. Job locations and distance reduce frequent face-to-face time. One by one, long-time friends have gone to their reward. Others move away to be nearer their own grandchildren or relatives—one of Martha’s close friends did just that. We miss them dearly. Travel is more limited now. Outside activities—and even gardening—are curtailed. Once-full calendars grow thin. For older adults like us, loneliness often comes from a mix of loss, health limits, and separation as friends and family move, retire, or pass on.

It seems clear to me that loneliness is common. It runs like a thread through life, showing up in different forms at different stages. From my reading, some surveys suggest anywhere from 30% to 60% of adults struggle with loneliness. Yet even when people are lonely, I rarely hear it said out loud—not even among friends. When someone is hurting, I’ve often heard a version of this disclaimer: “I don’t want to sound needy.” Who wants to admit need? So, we hide it—or we try to replace loneliness with activity, staying busy enough not to feel it.

I think this busyness shows up in predictable substitutes. Some engage in constant shopping. Others replace work-as-identity with constant volunteering. Some stay on social media. All of it creates steady engagement, but it still doesn’t reach the root cause.

If loneliness takes different forms at different stages of life, what actually helps? Maybe the better question is simpler: What is our time for? The Commentary that follows turns to that question—and to practical ways we can rebuild real presence and relationships.