Only the Lonely

Originally sent to subscribers on April 30, 2026.

There's an older man I often see seated in the lobby of my building. He's there almost every day reading a book in a little nook near the entrance. He sits so still that sometimes I'll walk by and wonder, Is he lonely? Is he still alive? But then he'll turn the page and continue reading. Not that I would have stopped to check for a pulse. I have important responsibilities, like returning Amazon packages. It's a great spot though—quiet enough that you can lose yourself in a good book but with enough foot traffic that you'd never feel lonely.

He always sits in the same chair, which is one of four. Originally put there to provide seating for people waiting for taxis, they're now mostly occupied by travelers who have just learned that Airbnb is illegal in New York City for reservations less than 30 days. That is, of course, unless the owner is present in the apartment, which I always thought was a creepy arrangement. I feel bad for these international drifters, or at least that's what I'll write. But when you're stressed out, looking for last-minute backup accommodations in a bustling foreign city, these chairs are pretty comfortable.

I've sat in them a few times. Once was during Covid. My parents had flown across the country the day before and we'd gotten dinner. The next morning I woke up with a sore throat and a fever. My Covid test came back positive, so instead of Christmas dinner at our place that night, we opted to exchange gifts in the lobby. It wasn't the Christmas we'd planned, but at least we had comfortable seats.

Another time I was selling a tripod on Craigslist and didn't realize that some people on Craigslist aren't looking to buy stuff, they're looking to make friends. They'll say something like, "I know the listing said two hundred and sixty dollars, but would you accept eighteen and a hug?" And you have to be the cold voice of reason. “Sorry,” you say. “Covid.” You might throw in a sneeze for good measure. They always capitulate, and you always smile like you understand and maybe would have asked the same question, until they’re done peeling off the two hundred and sixty dollars and leaving the building.

I don't really fault the guy for wanting to chat. We're all looking for connection in one way or another, and if your way of connecting is buying “like new” goods from strangers you met online, good on you. At least you're being proactive. But I think some people take it too far.

We've all heard the refrains of people telling other people not to be loners. "Speak up," they say. "Make friends," "take your hand out of your pants!" We're told we're social creatures and I believe that to a certain extent. But sometimes I think it's more a reflection of the person saying it to than the person they're saying it to. Even if that person is mumbling to themselves, alone in the corner with their hand in their pants. 

Maybe solitude isn’t the same thing as loneliness. Maybe some people aren’t lonely. 

Maybe they’re just quiet.

The other night I heard comic Matt Ruby joke about the male loneliness epidemic: when women get lonely they buy cats, but when men get lonely they buy guns. I like the joke, but I don’t quite get how talking endlessly about loneliness is supposed to help lonely people. Wouldn’t it be better to reach out? Talking about it feels like we're letting ourselves off the hook. If we're not going to be part of the solution, why are we making such a fuss about the problem?

The older I get, the happier I am participating in solo activities: gardening, making bread, sex. Even telling jokes on stage to a room full of people, despite all appearances, is a very solo affair. But doing those things makes me happy—especially making bread—and isn’t that what we’re all trying to get more of?

I'm trying to shape my life to maximize happiness. Not the smiling, superficial happiness we see in commercials. I'm talking about the satisfaction that comes from doing a good job and crafting a great joke—things I'll never actually achieve. The kind of contented happiness that comes from reading a good book in a really good chair.

Maybe the older guy reading in the nook is living his best life.

Who knows? Next time I walk by, I should ask. If it weren’t for all these darned Amazon returns.