Chapter 1: Loneliness in the Age of Connection
We all know the difference between loneliness as a feeling and being alone as a way of living. There are countless pages that explain it better than I ever could. I won’t try to define loneliness here. Instead, I want you to notice a feeling; one that may have been quietly accompanying you for some time now. No matter where you are, or what your story is, there is a chance you know exactly what I mean. That subtle, familiar presence; LONELINESS!
If this resonates, let’s move gently into something else you might have experienced. Have you ever placed your fingers under boiling water? Or perhaps you’ve tested the temperature of the shower with your hand or toes, only to find the water unbearably hot. In that first second, before you pull away, something strange happens; you freeze. Or think of ice, pressed against your lips as a child, out of curiosity rather than intention. In the moment it sticks, fear rushes in and suddenly, the cold burns. It no longer feels like ice, but like fire.
This seems to be part of nature’s logic, a pattern that quietly repeats itself across many different cycles.In the late 1970s, just before a revolution reshaped everything, Iran, stood among the most modern societies in the region; alive with social movements, art, new ideas, and a belief in progress. What followed was its opposite. A sudden turn away from modernity, toward rigidity and dogma, where belief was no longer a choice but a command. For decades, 44 years to be precise, life unfolded under the weight of certainty, leaving little room for doubt, difference, or desire. And yet, in 2022, something began to stir. From the very heart of that extremity, a new voice emerged. Women started demanding autonomy, dignity, and the simple right to choose. It was as if the pressure itself had created its counterforce. When control reached its peak, resistance found its way. The extremity to fade and let the modern beliefs shine.
These moments have stayed with me. This is how I define it: when things reach their extreme, they begin to resemble their opposite. Boiling water can feel freezing. Ice can feel like a flame. In the same way, extremity and dogma seem to give rise to their opposites: free thought and creativity.
I wonder if the same is true for connection. We are living in a time where communication has reached its peak. No matter where we are in the world, we can reach people we love within seconds. Distance, once a barrier, now feels almost irrelevant. It’s a beautiful idea isn’t it? We can stay close despite geography. And yet, I keep asking myself: are we truly connected?
Today, more than ever, we have the tools to stay in touch. We know what is happening in each other’s lives. Who is dating, who got married, who changed jobs, or who is afraid of losing one. We know the headlines of each other’s days; but is it enough?
I live in London, and my friends are scattered across the world, thanks to issues and circumstances that slowly pushed many of us away from home. I speak to them often. I know the outlines of their lives. But connection, at least for me, lives somewhere deeper. It lives in the small, ordinary details. Did my best friend enjoy her lunch today, or did she eat in a rush before a meeting?
What colour jumper was she wearing? Did it feel like a good day or a heavy one? Connection, to me, is sitting together after watching the same film and letting it unravel between us. It’s disagreeing over a book we are both reading. It’s smelling your best friend’s cologne as he gets ready for a first date and helping him choose between two shirts. It’s seeing the colours, touching the fabric, noticing the silences. It’s being present for moments that will never make it into a message or even a video call.
While the world celebrates unlimited access and constant communication, something else grows quietly beneath the surface. We appear connected, always reachable, always informed, yet many of us feel more isolated than ever before.
Perhaps this is the paradox of our time: the peak of connection giving birth to isolation. And maybe, if history and human nature have taught us anything, this isolation will eventually create its opposite too; when it reaches its own extreme. But when will that moment come? I don’t know. Only that it doesn’t feel close.
