I’ll admit it. When I first started hearing about the “loneliness epidemic,” I immediately blamed social media. Made perfect sense, right? Kids glued to screens, endless scrolling replacing real conversation, virtual connections substituting for genuine relationships. Case closed.

Imagine my utter surprise when a little research revealed the truth.

While social media certainly plays a role, the loneliness crisis began long before Instagram was even invented. The numbers tell a remarkable story: 20% of North Americans experience daily loneliness today, and it’s hitting younger generations hardest.

Nearly 30% of adults under 35 feel lonely every day or several times a week. But here’s the kicker—this trend started in the 1990s, well before we were all carrying computers in our pockets.

The Great Shift: From Street Crime to Social Isolation

The truth is, we’ve essentially swapped one societal crisis for another, and most of us haven’t even noticed.

Back in the ’70s and ’80s, violent crime dominated our collective anxiety. Cities felt dangerous. We organized neighbourhood watches and demanded more police. Crime was THE issue politicians had to address. Then something remarkable happened—crime rates plummeted.

Since the early 1990s, violent crime has dropped by over 50% in most major cities. New York’s crime rate fell 75% from the early ’90s to 2010. Irrespective of the country we live in, we’ve solved our crime problem. Cue the confetti, balloons and noise makers.

However, around the same time that crime was declining, another trend was quietly gaining momentum. Robert Putnam documented this in his influential book, “Bowling Alone.” We were all increasingly disconnected from civic life. We stopped joining PTAs, rotary clubs, bowling leagues, and religious organizations. We moved to the suburbs, watched more TV, and spent less time with neighbours.

The social fabric issues that Putnam identified in the late ’90s—declining civic engagement, weakening community bonds, reduced social capital—have evolved into what we now call the “loneliness epidemic.” While we were collectively exhaling about safer streets, the bonds that connect us to each other were quietly fraying.

The irony is striking:

We solved the problem of external threats only to discover that we’d created a crisis of internal disconnection. We’re safer from crime than we’ve been in generations, yet more isolated from each other than perhaps ever before.

This shift particularly affects the generations who came of age during this transition. While those of us who remember active civic life at least have the muscle memory of community connection, younger adults are trying to build social bonds in an increasingly fragmented world. They’re dealing with the aftermath of our collective retreat from shared spaces and rituals.

Three Simple Ways to Make a Difference

Unlike crime, loneliness is something each of us can directly impact. We don’t need legislation or task forces—just intentional, small actions that create ripples of connection. Here are three simple ways to help someone feel less alone, and I can personally vouch for their power:

• Master the 30-Second Check-In
  Next time you’re at the grocery store, post office, or coffee shop, spend 30 seconds being genuinely present with the person serving you. Ask “How’s your day going?” and actually listen to the answer. Make eye contact. I’ve been on the receiving end of this countless times, and it never fails to lift my spirits. There’s something profound about being truly seen, even by a stranger. It wasn’t that I was lonely—it was that suddenly I felt valued as a human being, not just another transaction. My worth rose in my own eyes simply because someone took a moment to acknowledge me.
• Become a “Connector”
  Look around your circle and identify two people who might enjoy knowing each other—then make the introduction. Send a simple text: “Sarah, meet Tom—you both love hiking and have dogs. Tom, Sarah just moved to the neighbourhood and is looking for trail recommendations.” When someone has done this for me, it feels like a gift. They saw something in me worth sharing with another person. That recognition—that I matter enough to be remembered and connected—creates a warmth that lasts long after the introduction.
• Revive the Lost Art of the Follow-Up
  When someone mentions they’re facing a challenge—a job interview, medical appointment, or difficult conversation—put a reminder in your phone to check in a few days later. A simple “How did that interview go?” text shows you were listening and that they matter. I still remember people who circled back to ask about things I’d mentioned in passing. The message was clear: you were important enough for me to remember, and your experience matters to me.

Here’s what’s funny. Experiencing these small acts of human recognition has gradually transformed me into someone I swore I’d never become: my mother. You know the type—strikes up conversations with anyone, anywhere, about anything. As a teenager, I found her behaviour mortifyingly embarrassing. “Mom, you don’t need to chat with everyone on the elevator!”

But now I understand what she knew instinctively: these brief moments of connection don’t just help others feel seen. They weave us back into the fabric of community that somehow came unravelled while we weren’t paying attention.

Notice that none of these requires joining committees or organizing events. They’re small gestures that fit into life as you’re already living it. But they address something profound: the growing sense that we’re all just passing by each other without really seeing or being seen.

The beautiful thing about addressing loneliness is that helping others connect also helps us connect. Every time we reach out, we’re reminded that we’re part of something larger than ourselves. We’re rebuilding, one small interaction at a time, the social fabric that we somehow let slip away while we were focused on other things.

Perhaps it’s time we channel the same collective energy into creating connections that we once devoted to fighting crime. The streets are safer now. Let’s make sure our hearts are too.