How loneliness helped me build the ultimate gathering place

I was walking home, through freezing cold streets in Boston, Massachusetts, carrying this huge, fluffy white cat in my arms that I had just spent what little money I had on adopting from the pound. She had bashed her way through the cardboard crate they’d given me, which she didn’t like at all, and was much happier gazing at the street lights lining the road we walked down. She was an impulse buy. I visited the cat place on my lunch break and the woman working there told me this cat had been there for ages, no one wanted her because she was so old. It broke my heart. Decision made.?

The truth was, I was so desperately lonely at the time, a rat looking at me might have become my pet that day. Mine is not an interesting story about loneliness; and one probably all too familiar for many. I was 18, living in a new city on my own, with all of my friends either on exciting gap years, or starting university, posting pictures on facebook of all their new friends, amazing parties, and saying nothing that would indicate anything was missing from life whatsoever. I felt unbelievably dull by comparison, struggled to make new friends, and found it hard to feel happy. It was like a dullness that settled around me. Nothing dramatic, just a faded version of the kind of life I thought I should be having. I was embarrassed that I’d totally failed at having an amazing, formative gap year like my other friends seemed to be having. I was lonely, and ashamed to be. The cat helped a bit.?

Fast forward a few years of university, and into my social work career in London, which I loved. I was a lot happier at this point, nearer family and friends, and felt like I had a purpose. But loneliness was something I felt more attuned to, and something that appeared in most, if not all of my cases. Lonely mums and dads, lonely kids, feeling like no one understands them, isolated from their communities, not feeling able to trust anyone, feeling like they’ve failed. It touches everyone in society, the poor, the wealthy, and no one talked about it at that point. But it was there, and we could all feel it.?

It’s the shame that stops us saying we’re lonely. It feels embarrassing, like we’ve failed to be interesting enough to have lots of friends around us all the time. But let’s be clear, we can be lonely even if we have people. That feeling of disconnect, feeling unseen, untethered, and rootless. That’s been my experience, but I know others will have different words to describe it.?

It was an interesting process starting Kindred. I knew nothing (and still feel that way on many days), but I did know why we were doing what we were doing. Because loneliness is a thing, a tricky thing at that, and it touches all of us. My theory was that the physical spaces that brought people together and fostered community were a compelling antidote to what I considered to be a shallower form of community found in online settings, (which is my bias, I know that many have found fulfilling communities online - it’s whatever works for you). I thought, if there was a space where everyone sees you, knows what you’re about, remembers what you had talked about last, and notices when you don’t show up, that could be truly special. Knowing someone’s name is the starting point, but it’s the extra stuff that makes you feel like you belong. Our campfire motif throughout the business (and our very real fireplace in the building) is meant to illustrate the feeling of gathering, coming in out of the cold, and tapping into our deeper, age-old need to be in the company of others.

The pandemic quickly threw loneliness into the light. We suddenly began to say the words, I feel lonely. Because there was justification for it. It was the pandemic’s fault or the government’s fault, but definitely not my fault. The old stigma had been lifted, we were being kept apart by disease and laws designed to keep us alive, it wasn’t that we find it hard to make friends, hard to connect, hard to communicate who we are - or even to know who we are.?

And now the world is moving on, leaving many behind. Those who are fearful, or grieving, or still struggling to heal, are feeling lonelier than ever. But it’s hard to stay interested in loneliness, because eventually after its moment in the spotlight, it returns to becoming the dull hum in the background, no longer unifying, only isolating us.?

This is the bit where I say, it's ok, I have the answer! But I don’t I’m afraid, I’m not sure any of us do - because the reality is, we’ve built ourselves a world full of inequity and comparison, and ‘never enough’, and so many other things that make it hard for us to just connect. There are things that we can try though, and Kindred is one such attempt. If you feel a sense of belonging as soon as you walk through our doors, and that sense of feeling genuinely seen, then we’re doing our jobs right… and if you don’t feel that, then please, tell me, and let’s talk about new ways to make our neighbourhoods warmer, more human, and more connected places to be.?

Kindred is an open house in Hammersmith, London. A space to gather for coworking, events and food & drink. Visit www.wearekindred.com for more.