In 2018, the United Kingdom became the first country in the world to create the position of Minister for Loneliness. It sounds like a joke from a dystopian novel, but it's real. By 2023, similar initiatives had emerged in Japan, where the phenomenon of "kodokushi" (dying alone) had become a national concern, and in several European countries.
The reason is simple: research was showing alarming numbers around the world. More than 9 million Britons reported often or always feeling lonely. In Japan, over a million people live in a state of "hikikomori"—complete social isolation. In the United States, Surgeon General Vivek Murthy declared loneliness a public health issue comparable to smoking.
But here's what's interesting: in that same year of 2018, statistics showed that the number of single-person households reached a historic high not only in the United Kingdom (28%), but also in Sweden (52%), Germany (41%), Japan (38%), the United States (28%), and even in traditionally family-oriented countries like South Korea (31%) and Italy (33%). And this number continues to grow.
People live alone—and yet feel lonely. But correlation does not imply causation.
I began my research with a simple question: is being alone (the state of being physically solitary) always equal to loneliness (the feeling of isolation and longing)?
The answer turned out to be: no.
Two Types of Solitude
Psychologists around the world—from the University of California to the University of Tokyo—distinguish between two fundamentally different phenomena:
1. Emotional loneliness—the painful feeling of isolation, longing for connection with others, a sense of being misunderstood and abandoned. This is what society rightly calls a problem.
2. Existential solitude—the conscious choice to minimize social contacts for the sake of inner peace, autonomy, and self-sufficiency. This is not the absence of connections, but their selectivity.
The first is pain. The second is choice.
The problem is that society doesn't distinguish between them. If you live alone, don't go to parties, don't post selfies with friends every week—you automatically fall into the category of "problematic loners" who need to be saved.
But many of those I interviewed for this book said the same thing: "I'm not lonely. I'm alone. And that's a big difference."
Maria's Story: Financial Analyst, 34, Amsterdam
Maria has been living alone in a studio apartment in Amsterdam for eight years now. Every time she mentions this at work or in conversation with acquaintances, she sees the same look: a mixture of pity and bewilderment.
"People immediately think there's something wrong with me," she says. "That I can't find a partner. Or that I have childhood trauma. Or that I'm just weird."
In reality, Maria has had three long-term relationships. She's friends with colleagues, regularly video-calls her family in Portugal, meets with two close friends once a month.
"But then I go home—to my apartment, where there's no one. Where I can read in silence, eat what I want, sleep when I want, plan my weekends the way I like. And this isn't loneliness. This is freedom."
When I asked her if she feels lonely, she paused to think:
"You know, sometimes—yes. Sunday evenings can be sad. Or on New Year's. But it passes. When I lived with a partner, I felt lonely constantly—because I was with someone I couldn't be myself with. That was much worse."
The Statistics of a Silent Revolution
Maria is not unique. She's part of a global trend.
In the United States, the percentage of single-person households grew from 17% in 1970 to 28% in 2020. In Japan, this figure reached 38%. In Sweden—52% (the highest in the world). Even in China, where the traditional family has always been sacred, the proportion of single urban dwellers has risen to 20%.
The average age of marriage has reached historic highs in almost all developed countries. In the United States—30 for men and 28 for women. In South Korea—33 and 30. In Japan—31 and 29. In Scandinavian countries—over 30 for both sexes. In 1960, these figures were 7-10 years lower.
The proportion of people who have never married has tripled over the past 50 years in most developed nations.
You can look at these numbers as an apocalyptic scenario of societal collapse. Or you can see in them an evolution: people gained economic independence, contraception, feminism, technology—and many of them decided that the traditional family model isn't for them.
Why Society Panics
Society's reaction to the rise of solitude resembles a moral panic.
Headlines scream from London to Sydney: "Loneliness crisis kills more people than obesity!" (citing research from Brigham Young University that showed a correlation between social isolation and mortality).
"Gen Z is the loneliest generation in history!" (based on Cigna Health surveys and similar studies in Europe and Asia, where young people report feelings of isolation).
"Loneliness costs the economy billions!" (calculating healthcare expenses for people living alone in the US, UK, Germany).
But these headlines conflate two different phenomena: unwanted isolation (genuinely a problem) and voluntary solitude (a personal choice).
No one asks: what if some of these "lonely" people are actually happy?
Society isn't ready to accept this possibility because it threatens fundamental narratives about what a "normal" life means.