Bob Neal

The blowback surprised me more than did the article about older folks needing to make and keep friendships.

The Washington Post reported a couple of weeks ago on a study about fending off loneliness as we grow older, and it fed right into my thoughts about how our circles dwindle as we age.

The article is part of a recent drumbeat about loneliness. A New York Times story reported that we are losing our “weak” — I prefer the word “casual” — relationships, those with people we see at the store or at school, at church, or at our favorite restaurant and the like.

On Tuesday, the surgeon general, Vivek Murthy, put forth proposals for decreasing loneliness. And on Wednesday, I stumbled onto this surprise: Maine ranks No. 1 in loneliness, as judged by divorce rates, searches on dating apps and the number of people living alone.

The loneliness that can come from loss is bad for our health, the docs say. It increases our likelihood of heart attack and stroke by about a third, our susceptibility to dementia by half.

Loss is never far off. We are born to mourn those closest to us. Spouses, parents, grandparents, siblings. That’s inevitable. The fortunate never have to say goodbye to a child, as my mother did.

The focus lately in the prints has been laments that the casual friendships are disappearing.

One might think the end of the pandemic would open new and renewed occasions for human contact, especially for us old folks who hunkered down so stringently. Maybe not. Here in New Sharon, for example, I miss the monthly bean suppers at the Methodist Church and potluck senior suppers. Each offered a couple hours of rubbing elbows. Neither returned after COVID.

People who study loneliness may have missed an important in-between group of friends. Many and perhaps most of us have friends who are close but still not family. People with whom we can confide, people toward whom we head when they need help.

These friends may go back to school days. Those of us who moved around a lot find it hard to nurture those friendships. In a career that took me to 10 places in two countries, I lost track of my best buddies from high school and college.

I’m lucky to have got back in touch. The two guys with whom I hung out in Columbia, Missouri, for three high school years are in Washington, D.C., and the wrong Portland (Oregon). I talk for at least an hour a week with John in D.C., every few weeks with Frank in Oregon.

My best buddy in college retired back to Kansas City, and we speak every few weeks. We got back together in 2014 when we met in New Jersey to visit a favorite college teacher, and we picked up right where we had left off in 1969 when he left for Cincinnati to lobby for Kroger and I left for Nashville and grad school.

In those nine years, we have visited, here and in KC, at least four times. We haven’t yet crawled all the barbecue joints in Kansas City, but we will. Or die trying.

And, when my other best buddy from college was dying of cancer, I headed toward him as fast as Amtrak could take me to share memories and to say goodbye. He died within a month.

I began reading the statistics and theories about loneliness, thinking it was particularly acute for us old people. Here’s my second surprise. It’s worse for the young. The younger-than-25 set have 70% fewer contacts. But, aren’t they always being “social” on their phones?

Apparently not. Murthy and others stress the importance of face-to-face contact. Their studies — Murthy wrote a book back along about curing loneliness — show that digital “social media” are anything but social. In fact, they are a weak substitute for real contact. Or even destroy it.

Some of Murthy’s remedies: Talk 15 minutes a day with others; avoid anti-social (my term, not his) media; don’t screen calls, pick up the phone and talk; serve other people; volunteer; etc.

So, you might believe making and keeping more friends would top everyone’s to-do list. Not so. Responding to the Post article, a reader calling herself “Old Lady who lives in the woods” wrote that she is “perfectly happy being alone and try to avoid being around others as much as possible. Retirement is wonderful because I can avoid others for days and days at a time.”

Another reader minced few words. “Articles like this promulgate the myth of extroversion being the only healthy way to exist. Screw that.”

Neither, so far as I could tell, lived in Maine, the “loneliest” state.

Finally, the loss of people we don’t know can open empty spaces in our minds. In the past 11 days, Harry Belafonte and Gordon Lightfoot died. Belafonte recorded a sweet version of my late wife’s favorite song “Try to Remember,” and Lightfoot cemented my love of trains with the “Canadian Railway Trilogy.”

They, too, cannot be replaced.

Bob Neal is one of the 31% in Maine living alone. He tries not to be lonely. He eats out twice a week and shops in local stores. He saw 67 basketball games this year, kept quiet during none. Neal can be reached at bobneal@myfairpoint.net.