Living in Wimberley for 3 years was gorgeous and quiet and, at first, a welcome escape from the chaos of city life during the upheaval of a pandemic. But over time, the isolation and lack of meaningful connections wore on me. Though the Hill Country held a certain magic, without community beyond our close friends, I often felt like our house on the hilltop - a lone, overlooked house on a winding country driveway, beautiful but unknown.
Loneliness is a quiet plague that seems to be raging among American men - one that claims lives in far greater numbers than we realize. Research reveals that 15% of adult men under age 60 report having no close confidantes at all, a figure that has quintupled since 1990. Almost a quarter of men 65 and older are considered to be experiencing social isolation. Studies link this steep rise in male friendlessness to mounting rates of despair and suicide ideation in recent years.
How did healthy boyhood capacity for intimacy curdle into such adult isolation? As boys grow up, a restrictive masculine culture forces painful choices: Conform to norms of stoicism and invulnerability, or risk social exile. Many men feel that letting down their emotional guard, even among friends, would undermine their masculinity itself. So, they pull away from the very relationships that might save them.
By midlife, these decades of scarcity and secrecy around friendship leave many men profoundly vulnerable - unable to ask for help, starving for meaning and self-worth. The acute lack of true fellowship plants seeds of resentment, numbness, and even thoughts of ending one’s own life. Yet still, the masculine code shames men for every small struggle, locking them in silent suffering. Healing this culture of male loneliness requires prying open that awful, armor-plated isolation to at last let humanity and hope come flooding back inside men’s hearts.
After three years of quiet beauty tinged with loneliness, I realized I needed to prioritize connection over scenery. So we made the decision to move back to Austin, drawn by memories of walks with friends, shared meals, chance encounters, and a sense of belonging within a larger community. Now, just a couple of weeks after returning, I’m remembering what it feels like to be known. Surrounded by old friends and family, I’m trading isolation for conversation, trading hilltop views for heartfelt bonds. And I know that beauty has many forms - including the beauty of feeling held within human togetherness once more.
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