When the Eclipse Unexpectedly Removed the Loneliness

I forgot about the eclipse yesterday. I forgot to get the glasses, forgot it was even happening, hopped on to the tube to meet a friend visiting from the States, for dinner.

At Kings Cross tube I stepped out into a bright sunny day, with scores of people looking up at the sky. Some with paper glasses, others squinting, trying to see the eclipse.

Ah! The eclipse. My friend was late, and I sat for a while on a bench under the shade of a large Linden tree, watching everyone look up. A young man put the glasses on, looked at the sky, as his face broke out in a disbelieving smile. I tried to look up, but just saw blinding light. I walked over to a woman who had just taken her glasses off, and asked if she could actually see anything.

“Want to try?” She said, handing me her glasses. I put them on, and saw the crisp crescent across the sun where the moon was slowly moving across. It felt surreal, and magical. I didn’t expect to see it so clearly, and my own mouth dropped open. “I didn’t expect this!”

“I know!” The woman laughed in delight. It felt magical, and as we stood talking, people stopped by us, with her handing her glasses around. We all laughed in stunned delight, as our crowd grew bigger. It felt like magic, like a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and, it felt like community.

I love people, I thought, as I stood, making delighted conversation with strangers. To feel so connected to so many strangers was a magical thing indeed, particularly at a time when so many of us feel increasingly isolated, increasingly alone.

London inevitably starts to become deeply lonely by the end of summer. I usually stay in a lovely borrowed flat in Covent Garden, surrounded by people (although granted, mostly tourists), but everyone’s away, or busy with their lives, and I float around the flat wondering what to do, visit galleries on my own, sometimes theatre, feeling more alone than I would like.

Unlike Marrakech, which thrives on spontaneity - I can call any number of people and say, drinks later? Dinner? Coffee, knowing they’ll be free, London requires booking in advance. I’m much better at spontaneity, deciding on the day what kind of mood I’m in, whether it’s a peopling day, or a solitary one.

Once the social whirl of the first few weeks being back passes, London always seems to force isolation upon me. This year, however, I’ve taken a flat, with Twin B, the youngest son. We have our own spaces in the flat, can give each other room, but we have each other to run across the road to the pub for a drink, or to make dinner together, curling up to watch Line of Duty together.

My loneliness has been assuaged this summer, and I have found myself thinking about a new study published in the journal Science, proving that people working from home (of which I am one) are more socially isolated, anxious and depressed.

I have long said that we are living through a crisis of loneliness and isolation. We are busy hiding behind screens, fooling ourselves that we are more connected than ever before, when in fact we may be communicating more, may have access to everything we think we need at the end of our fingertips, but we are not more connected.