“22 percent of millennials say they have ‘no friends.’”

That was the alarming title of a Vox article earlier this year. Reported loneliness among young adults is measurably greater than older generations, and that’s even without the up-and-coming Gen-Z’s being accounted for.

Loneliness is a curious topic for me. I think as a college student, I often associate it with people missing a long-distance partner, or wishing against the lack of one. Knowing that I could increase my “network,” while questioning if I’m satisfied enough with what I already have.

But, Facebook says I have over 1,000 friends; Instagram claims at least 300 people view each story I post, and eventually, someone I text individually will respond to me. What does it mean then to be lonely, when it’s becoming impossible to be alone? I have two thoughts as to why we seem lonely, and maybe what can help to remind ourselves that that’s okay.

1: We’re control freaks.

I’ve often heard the lament that people are afraid of commitment, yet I don’t find this unusual. Committing to anything is a hierarchical trial in a never-ending ladder: plans, dreams, people. Of course we’re afraid of risks - do I have the passion to pursue a new hobby? The talent to try something new? Do I even have enough time to commit to this YouTube video? We survive by compartmentalizing these commitments in manageable bits: a person too close, and we’ll ghost; too far and we’ll grab lunch instead. A significant other today, best friend tomorrow, party with everyone on the weekend. Now, all the bases are covered.

The common denominator? Social media.

That’s not a surprise. Social media is constantly discussed as an incredibly confusing paradox. It connects us with the whole world at every moment, yet makes us feel like we’re being more left out. In asking us to broadcast our uniqueness, it oppresses much of individual experimentation. But I think we confound social media’s loneliness with its most addicting attribute: that we are King. Texting someone is to be the ruler of our own utopia; we each control who we talk to, when, where, and why.

Therein, then, lies a problem: it feels like there’s no longer a possibility to separate ourselves from the online world, because doing so sets you behind the newest trend, alarms the people around you, or maybe even induces withdrawal. Your absence becomes a metaphor for loneliness, and it can insidiously internalize within us. Moreover, we lose that locus of control that just doesn’t quite translate to real life when we leave our screens.

Unplugging is now disconnecting.

2: We “listen” more online.

If social media is an exercise of self-control, then the forums, group snaps, and individual texts serve as our chamber for listening. These messages are all deliberate, high-functioning moments of processing another’s intent, while conversing in person is like taking a test with clouded memory, where morsels of information come and go as you selectively choose which questions to tackle first.

It’s like being in love without asking why. When we reach out to our friends for advice online, we parse together an answer we couldn’t quite reach ourselves. We love the idea of being heard and listened to, but not necessarily for what’s being said. After all, how often do we willingly continue conversations over an hour each day, or before a respite of smartphones takes your words’ place? Thus starts a self-perpetuating cycle of over-reliance for validation, and lack of self-dependence.

I can’t blame this though. It’s so easy to confuse an internet conversation with meaningful connection. Comfort, after all, is a double-edged sword. We need it to be human. But, we also tend to stagnate when we relax, and over time become afraid of that. We’re young: we have to keep improving, right? And that’s when it’s easiest to feel lonely, surrounded by groups of those we call close, unsure if that’s how they feel too.

A name of friendship that teeters on demands that haven’t been met.

So what’s the fix?

I don’t have a concrete answer, of course, but online media often suggests that self-awareness sparks solutions. It might be focusing on work for some, or deleting all social media for others. However, I’m not entirely sure I agree; self-awareness of a problem without certainty of a solution is almost worse for the mind, in my opinion. Many of us I think fall in that category, including me.

I think what we miss most, then, is the acute attention to the mundane. A poorly timed glance, a misdescribed statement, an awkward silence. Technology cleans up those mistakes too surgically, between the carefully placed periods and strategic emojis. An everlasting bubble becomes more ingrained than any passing conversation. And I haven’t even delved into gaming, the modern day’s virtualization for you to escape from reality.

But, I maintain that much of the issue lies in personal mindset. Advice is often either too general or too specific. Being alone doesn’t mean you have to handle everything by yourself, and being lonely doesn’t mean you lack social interactions. Ultimately, it’s the moments we blunder our pronunciations, stumble over words, or pause to think that we learn most from each other. After all, being alone is not the same as being lonely, and we might just be a little happier reminding ourselves the difference.

Or, maybe this was just an essay of fruitless angst, and in actuality, we’re all just touch-starved. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯