A World of One's Own

A study published in the American Sociological Review, and funded by the National Science Foundation, found that one in every four Americans consider themselves socially isolated, lacking anyone with whom they can discuss personal issues. The size of this cohort has doubled in the past 20 years.

Meanwhile, over the same period, 50 percent more people reported that their spouse is now the only confidant they have. So, here's my take. As friendships have been unraveling all across the land, we've been coupling up, becoming our partner's best friend, putting so much pressure on our partnerships that they almost inevitably break down.

That's when the real trouble begins. Because, when your most intimate friend leaves you, the magnitude of the isolation monster surrounding around you suddenly rears its terrible face, looming in the dark at 3 a.m., night after night. You're alone and you always will be, forever and ever, amen.

This is a bad dream. Of course, there is one thing you can do, and that's reach out and try to break through some of social structures that confine us one from the other, all feeling lonely, isolated, sad, unlovable. As I write this, I suddenly have an image of the men at Guantanamo Bay, held in isolation these many years, and their repeated attempts, sometimes successful, to kill themselves.

The image I have is actually from a stage in the Village, where my girlfriend and I saw that play about the horrors of Gitmo as told in the words of some of the inmates. That is one thing Americans know very well -- the torture of being isolated -- so it is what we impose on those we hate or fear the most, the alleged "terrorists" caught up in our worldwide sweep of potential "enemy combatants."

Where was I? My political anger ran away with me for a moment there. Unlike those being held in caged cells at Gitmo or Bagram, we presumably are only under house arrest, builders of our own traps. My girlfriend has always said, "As long as someone has you in their mind, you are not alone."

I'm not a sociologist, so I don't have a coherent theory about all of this, though I do have a plan. Especially when it comes to facing that scary monster in the middle of the night. As usual, I got my idea from a song, in this case, Bob Dylan:

"I'll let you be in my dream, if I can be in yours."