At a midtown Japanese restaurant the other evening, I found myself seated near a party of four men in their thirties, doing just what groups typically do in restaurants — ordering large platters of appetizers and rounds of beer. It seemed like a normal night out for a quartet of buddies. What was unusual about it was that they didn't seem to be having any fun at all. As I leaned a shoulder in their direction to eavesdrop a little on their banter, the explanation became clear. They were just gathered for an after-hours work meeting. They weren't really friends at all. Maybe every man at that table had a rich and fulfilling social life outside of their corporate one. Yet I believe their gathering had caught my attention because it had just seemed so strikingly lonely.
Isolation is a public health crisis that affects everyone. In May, the U.S. Surgeon General released a report on the "epidemic of loneliness and isolation in the United States," noting that "Even before the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic, approximately half of U.S. adults reported experiencing measurable levels of loneliness." Yet men seem to be uniquely vulnerable.
