What I found was that I am reliant on the routine of my life, and when left to my own devices I struggle to find meaningful ways to spend my time. My schedule represents my obligations to my little network of people, and it is through acts of service - aka, work - that I connect with, and show my appreciation for, the people that I care about.
Without it, I feel lonely, and it turns out I’m not well-equipped to navigate loneliness as an adult. I wonder if there are many of us that are.
Driving to my brother’s house on Christmas Day I passed a series of men getting stuck-in to one chore or another. They were older, and they were visibly alone. A common misapprehension: “I’m not lonely - I’m busy”.
I thought of the countless and faceless more behind closed curtains, spending Christmas online. Another fallacy: “I’m not lonely - I’ve been talking to people on the internet all day”.
New Zealand’s wellbeing statistics are unequivocal and they are damning. We are spending more time alone and as face-to-face time with friends and family goes down, markers of poor mental health go up. Similarly, the more marginalised someone is within society, the more they report feeling lonely. And, most consequentially, loneliness has real and very negative health outcomes. Research suggests that loneliness is a health crisis equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
This year, we dealt with the tragic passing of a whanau member. I know the end of his life would have taken a very different shape, were he more connected with those who loved him most, and who now must process an almost unbearable grief.
Remember Covid’s Zoom parties, and the ‘Team of 5 Million’ rhetoric? During the lockdowns, isolation was a hot button topic and we reached out to one another with gusto. The issue, I believe, is not a lack of basic empathy. We have shown that we are capable, enthusiastic even, to be kind to one another. The issue is a lack of visibility.
Ironically, as society has opened up post-pandemic, it appears that our social networks have closed back down. We’re back on the hamster wheel and making up for lost time, while the elderly, poor, disabled and other marginalised groups are again relegated to the sidelines, where they suffer in silence. Without outreach, activism, and deliberate dialogue, this is where they will unfortunately stay.
In 2020 and 2021, the excellent Holly Walker put out Alone, Together and Still Alone, Together through the Helen Clark Foundation, examining the climate of isolation in New Zealand and exploring how to redress it through policy. These papers were followed up this year by Reconnecting Aotearoa, a collection of essays on loneliness. Holly and her colleagues’ research is essential and available on the Helen Clark Foundation website.
By way of crude summary: our society bears the scars of the pandemic but we seem to have forgotten how we heal. Loneliness is a silent pandemic in and of itself and requires intelligent policy to improve the outcomes of those affected by it. Failing Government action - likely given the current coalition’s priorities - there is work we can do on the personal and community levels that will meaningfully uplift our fellow tāngata.
Knock on your neighbours’ door and ask, “kei te pēhea koe?”. Call up your mates and tell them you’re thinking of them. Get in the car and head down the line to see whanau, just because. Connection is a two-way street, and we all must walk it.
In too short a time span, I write about the immense grief our whanau is feeling.
On Christmas Eve, we lost our brother Caleb. Caleb was a great storyteller, comedian, an adored father, koro, uncle and mate.
Mostly, Caleb will be remembered for being a genuine, kind soul.
Hutia te rito o te harakeke,
kei hea ra te Komako e ko?
Maku e ki atu, he tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
If you were to pluck out the centre of the flaxbush, where would the bellbird sing? If you were to ask me what is the most important thing in the world, I would reply, it is people, people, people.
