December 26, 2015, was my first day living in New York City. I stood on the sidewalk and looked fondly at the dirty building that was my new home. I was an adult! I was in the East Village!
This big moment, which also included me quietly singing “Welcome to New York” by Taylor Swift, was interrupted by my mom, who screamed as a rat calmly walked over her foot.
I was not fazed. She was.
Understandably, my parents were not thrilled that this rodent-infested place was my first home outside of college. Nevertheless, they helped me move into my fourth-story walk-up, treated me to dinner, and left me to unpack the rest of my things.
I could not have been more thrilled to get them out of there.
Sitting on my twin bed, surrounded by stuff that I soon realized would not fit into my tiny room, I eagerly texted a friend. A few days prior, he’d promised to take me out for my first real night in NYC. I hopped in the shower, buzzing with the anticipation of my initiation into New York life.
When I emerged from the bathroom — which literally had flecks of dirt painted into the tub — I saw that my friend still hadn’t responded. I dried my hair. Put on makeup. No response. Changed my clothes. Changed my clothes again. No response. And then—two hours plus a few follow-up texts later—I still hadn’t received a message back.
Ugh.
Suddenly, the elated balloon in my chest felt like it was ripped open, filled with concrete, and dropped into my stomach.
It hit me all at once. I had zero close friends in New York, no job, and no clue what I was going to do with myself. All I knew was that I wanted to be a comedy writer… and I didn’t have a plan for how to get there either. At that moment, I became hyperaware of the fact that my support system was nonexistent.
As I tried to fall asleep—a neighbor’s salsa music bumping outside of my window—I was hit with a familiar feeling: I am deeply alone, and I’m powerless to do anything about it. I have no one to share this moment with.
After barely sleeping, reading my lease to see if it was breakable, and contemplating what I could tell my parents in order to head back to Connecticut, I woke up determined to reframe things in a more positive way.
“I don’t need other people’s permission to grab NYC by its beautiful, grimy hands!” I told myself. “I’m going to make the most out of this experience. I’m going to have an adventure!”
So, here’s what I did in my first week of being a New Yorker:
- Went thrift shopping
- Made a new friend and went to a dive bar
- Took a yoga class in a clothing store
- Visited the Brooklyn museum
- Downloaded Tinder and went on a date
- Saw a comedy show
- Signed up for improv class at the Upright Citizens Brigade
- Joined a gym and worked out
- Filled out four job applications
- Got hired to write reviews of Off-Off-Broadway shows
- Saw my first Off-Off-Broadway show
- Googled “how to write play reviews.”
Sounds awesome, right? From then on, every week was packed with new experiences. Who’s lonely? Not me! I got this. And yet… I didn’t feel better. I felt busier, but not more connected. In fact, I might have felt emptier.
Sure, I had filled up every minute in my calendar and was surrounded by people. Yet at the same time, it felt like no one really cared or understood who I was. And I had no idea who I could turn to with that pain.
Yet rather than wallow in self-pity, I stuck with my “I don’t need anyone” attitude and continued to attend events, festivals, and retreats all by myself.
In one week I would meet more new people than I had in my last six months of college combined. Yet somehow, I never felt filled up by the connections I made. I still felt like I didn’t have anyone to rely on.
Why Meaningful Congregation Matters
Looking back on that time in my life, I now understand that I hungered for more than companionship.
Yes, I was lonely. Yet this feeling was rooted in something even deeper and more primal than a need for conversation. What I really desired was intimacy and to feel like I belonged. In order to make that happen, I needed to fundamentally change my social life. This realization, which led to me finally finding my people, is the backbone of my book.
I had to create my own congregation.
Before you panic and close this sacrilegious article, let me assure you that I am not here to preach a made-up faith. I will not propose that I, or Arianna Grande, or a ball of string that I found under my couch will save you. (Although how convenient would that be, right?) However, I will argue that intentionally congregating with others in a healthy way can.
For all of this to make sense, I should back up and explain a bit about America’s religious landscape right now. You see, 39 percent of Americans ages eighteen to thirty-nine have no religious affiliation at all. That number has nearly quadrupled from 10 percent in the past 30 years. In America as a whole, 22.8 percent of people are religiously unaffiliated. In addition, 15.8 percent identify as “nothing in particular.” This religious makeup is totally different than fifty years ago when most people in the United States relied on a single religious community.
At the same time as attendance in religious services is plummeting in America, loneliness is skyrocketing. The average person in the US only has one close friend. To make things worse, 75 percent of people are not satisfied with their friendships. Bleak, right? To top it off, only 53 percent of people in the US have meaningful in-person social interactions, like an extended conversation with a friend or spending quality time with a family member, on a daily basis. This makes me question what happens in the office, considering the fact that most people spend one-third of their lives at work. Given these statistics, it’s clear that our companies are not fostering an environment for forming meaningful relationships.
Yet people being lonely isn’t just sad. It’s also terrible for our health. Believe it or not, loneliness is just as tied to early mortality as smoking fifteen cigarettes a day, being an excessive drinker, or being obese. Think about how many times your health teacher lectured you about the dangers of binge drinking when you were growing up. Did they ever mention how crucial intimate relationships are for your well- being? Probably not once. They were too busy telling you how having sex will make you get pregnant and die. (Shout-out to Mean Girls.)
To summarize all of this in a simple equation: A decrease in the amount of meaningful congregation in America, combined with increased isolation, has resulted in a loneliness epidemic. It’s literally killing us, and we’re not doing enough to fight it.
The solution? Create consistent, healthy congregations that fulfill us in the way that organized religion used to.
At first glance, that statement is probably confusing. When you read the word “congregation,” you typically think of a group of people who gather for religious worship. In fact, if you look in the Webster dictionary, that’s pretty much what you’ll find. Yet if you flip forward a few pages to “congregate,” you’ll find something different.
Congregate: To collect into a group or crowd.
Were you expecting something cooler? Me too.
So, while it hurts my English major heart to do this, I have to disagree with the dictionary. I believe the act of congregation is about more than people simply existing in the same space. It’s about coming together with intention and creating the container for moments of healing, transformation, and community.
When we gather purposefully, we experience a sense of shared humanity. We feel less alone.
How To Create A Secular Congregation
Being welcomed into secular congregations has changed my life. These gatherings have given me the space to share what’s on my heart, heal from trauma, repair my relationship with my body, and genuinely feel like I matter. While organized religion could have offered me those same benefits, it didn’t feel like the right place for me. It still doesn’t.
I know many of you feel the same way. And I’m here to tell you, just because you’re not gathering around a God doesn’t mean you can’t feel like you’re part of a sacred space that can improve your life. You deserve that feeling, and I hope my work can help you find it.
My friend, singer Tim Victor, once told me, “I don’t call myself a gospel singer. I’m a singer. Because church isn’t in the building. It’s in the people. It’s in the feeling of connection. That’s the sacredness.”
For most of my adult life, I didn’t belong to any religious institution. Yet I often wish I had a place I could turn to for consistent connection and spiritual growth. While I’m part of communities that I love, these gatherings are all missing some of the key elements of a healthy congregation:
- They happen every week
- The same people show up consistently
- There is space for vulnerable conversation and deep reflection
- There is mentorship and spiritual guidance, especially from elders
- There is an easily accessible way for members to give back to the community
This is exactly what organized religions, and healthy congregations in general, excel at.
For example, Bible study provides a space to learn and grow in your connection to a higher power. Coffee after the service allows you to connect with your peers. Volunteering offers the opportunity to give back and feel a sense of fellowship with the congregation. Plus, there’s a big bonus. No matter where you move, you can immediately find a place where you share a ritual and similar values.
Like many twenty-something Americans, I don’t feel at home in any organized religion. So I have to ask myself, “Where do I belong?”
It took a long time for me to find the answer, but now I have a community that’s richer than anything I could have imagined a few years ago. I want to teach others how to find that for themselves and then take the reins to create more spaces that foster this sense of connection.
Know that you’re not alone in feeling lonely — and you also hold the power to create the space for rich and rewarding connections in your life.
If you’re looking for support, I hope that my book, Un-Lonely Planet, will become a tool for you. What I have learned in my work with thousands of people like you, as well as my own personal journey, is that there is no singular way to cure loneliness. But the first thing I can do is acknowledge that the problem exists and share how you can do your part to fix it.
I hope I can inspire you to find your people and leave the world a little more connected and loving than it was before.
Right now, this planet is filled with people who feel like they don’t matter. They’re our neighbors, our lovers, and our friends. This worldwide sense of disconnection is a problem of epic proportions and one that I’ve only scratched the surface of.
I’m here hoping to turn that scratch into a crack. Together we can rip the issue of loneliness wide open.
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Previously published on medium
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Photo credit: iStock
