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Something is off. We don’t feel quite like who we were as a community just a few years ago. The streets are quieter, not empty, but quieter. Citizens don’t greet one another as they used to, but they hear the echoes of a time when a friendlier tone moved through our city.
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Researchers say this is the fallout from the pandemic. Yet, it’s also true that in 2019, before COVID-19 descended on us, loneliness, isolation, and depression were rising rapidly, to the great concern of health professionals. One study revealed that 42 per cent of Canadians felt sometimes or always alone. It’s mushroomed since then.
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We took that feeling of isolation into the pandemic years. It’s been given a name: the loneliness epidemic. It is damaging our health and our minds, and by extension it is debilitating our communities in significant ways. A health crisis that forced isolation on us, at first out of necessity, prompted us to stay inside, save lives, and respect the welfare of others.
At first, there was a strong streak of optimism. We encouraged one another, saying the crisis would pass and we could get back to daily life. But as months turned into years, we failed to notice our spirits had lost their capacity. Some families were split apart through disagreements, as were friendships and businesses. Best friends lost one another in the void.
By the time it all ended, we were only a shell of what we were collectively just two years earlier. Everything was quieter, not because people had nothing to say, but because they didn’t know how to say it anymore. The physical distance had morphed into emotional isolation. The long loneliness was upon us. Conversations were reduced to transactions.
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We tried to get back to work, to our places of worship, to our old patterns of life, but things weren’t the same and we knew it. The routines that once anchored us now felt hollow. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. The days blurred together, and time lost its meaning. There were more empty seats at tables, more unanswered messages, more collective feelings that seemed more like grief than anything else.
In the middle of it all, there were moments of light. A stranger holding the door open, a child’s laughter breaking the silence, a friend sending a text out of the blue. These moments were small, but they mattered. The world we knew wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t gone. Connections were still possible. We struggled to figure out how to get back into that world.
The pandemic underscored the fragility of our humanity, and now that the worst is passed, we find ourselves yearning for reunion and closeness, even collectively. We require some kind of catalyst, and maybe this holiday season provides the opportunity to bridge the emotional gap, to build our community on love and respect again, as we once did. We have lost much, but there is now much to gain. But it will take stepping out. It might entail asking forgiveness. It might require us to exhibit a more open mind. Or it just might require a hug, a kiss, a promise of love, or at least a commitment to try.
Holiday traditions provide a sense of normalcy and comfort. These rituals anchor us and can pull us out of our isolation into this new world we must build. We want our community and sense of optimism back. Let’s use these next weeks to rebuild and reconnect, leaving the days of isolation behind us.
Glen Pearson is co-director of the London Food Bank and a former Liberal MP for London North Centre. glen@glenpearson.ca
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