When the U.S. Surgeon General sounded the alarm back in May 2023, calling Loneliness a Public Health Crisis, most of us nodded along, maybe even thinking of someone we love who’s been carrying too much. Then, this spring, the office went a step further and named chronic loneliness a Public Health Emergency. That’s strong language, but honestly, it matches what many of us have been seeing in our own communities.
I hate to admit how quickly time has slipped by, but almost twenty years ago in nursing school I started memorizing what counted as “WNL”—within normal limits. The whole point was simple: learn what healthy looks like so you can spot trouble. Later, in the ER, my studying and training sharpened to triage.
Now, here we are, facing a public-health emergency with symptoms hiding in plain sight. First: declining community participation as seen in fewer people in the pews, fewer hands showing up at civic meetings, and fewer volunteer hours logged. Second: reduced civic engagement, or lower voter turnout, less involvement in local decision-making, and a growing distrust of institutions. And maybe that’s the symptom that feeds the next: polarization and social fragmentation, where people drift toward extremes or identity-based groups just to feel like they belong somewhere.
The Surgeon General’s advisory goes on to include how loneliness affects productivity and workplace cohesion. Socially disconnected communities show lower economic prosperity, reduced resilience, and lagging academic performance for youth. Loneliness is also tied to a worsening in public health outcomes such as higher rates of heart disease, stroke, diabetes, depression, and anxiety.
BUT HOW DID WE GET HERE?
I’m going to sound like an old fuddy-dud, but my first year of nursing was also the last one where paper-charting was thing. Ever since we’ve embraced so much technology, humanity has lost something. Convenience culture has a cost.
Convenience trains us to expect frictionless experiences, yet friendship and people are inherently friction-full. The “cost” of showing up (driving, hosting, listening, remembering) feels heavier when everything else in our lives has been optimized. Digital ease—”liking” or texting—has created the illusion of connection but without the warmth.
Modern life has eroded the rhythms that once made friendship natural. I’m not championing for us to rewind to the days where women went to the well for water and news, only asking us to consider: where are we meeting today? Outside of the seasonal bleachers for youth sports, our third spaces have thinned. Churches, coffee counters, even the local bar—the places where everybody knows your name (and cares)—have faded from our regular routes. Now, we sit and scroll in our cars, wait for our groceries to come out, knowing good and well the deli cuts aren’t what we requested and that we would’ve chosen different bananas.
THE REMEDY
Maybe this is where Etiquette enters the room and holds open the door for Hope. Real etiquette is the small, embodied habits that make communion possible again. It’s the daily practice of honoring the image of God in every person. When we look someone in the eyes, listen without rushing, write a thank-you note, or teach a child to greet an elder with respect, we’re recognizing the dignity of the person before us. This kind of etiquette smooths over and patches the tiny frictions that make relationships real.
In a world that worships efficiency and super-smart-artificial-everything, real etiquette re-humanizes us. It slows our pace to something more like the Gospel. Etiquette becomes a way of discipleship, a way of proclaiming through our words and actions the love of Christ.
If loneliness is the emergency, these are skills can help us take that first step toward healing: By loving thy neighbor.
*Feature photo by Alexander Mass on Unsplash
