What college students can learn from loneliness



As major universities continue to embrace a corporate bureaucratic model, the idea of a “liberal arts education” has been hollowed out.

Not only have standards of academic excellence slumped, increasingly favoring mediocrity, but coursework has become results-oriented, focusing more on conferring marketable credentials rather than on fostering deep learning.

The way I lived my friendships was permeated by a drive to consume. I treated my friends like tools I could use to stave off boredom and loneliness.

Instead of encouraging open inquiry, teachers present material within narrow ideological agendas that more often than not flatter their charges’ pre-existing assumptions. All of this in the name of keeping “customers” satisfied.

Restless hearts

Countless screeds have been written from voices on both the left and right, from both religious and secular perspectives, bemoaning how inadequately such an education prepares students to participate in civic life.

While this is true, in my time attending and working within universities, I’ve come to observe the more immediate consequences of treating students as interchangeable consumers. Depression, anomie, and loneliness have metastasized in schools that fail to offer space in their curricula for the fundamental, existential questions about truth, virtue, and love.

And yet, I continue to find examples of hope — starting with my own experience as an undergraduate student. Thus why I try to make it a point when working with undergrads — especially those making the transition from high school to college — to directly face questions about loneliness, sadness, and meaning, at times even risking sharing my own discoveries.

Department of dopamine

I remember asking myself as a student why I often felt so lonely, even when surrounded by groups of people, whether physically or digitally. I found that even when hanging out with people who care about me, when we’re having a good time enjoying each other’s company, that loneliness crept in. Even when I received those little dopamine-inducing digital indications of approval and affirmation called likes on social media, I still felt the need for more.

I attempted desperately to acquire more and more friends with whom I could fill my time. I was keenly aware of my need to be liked, to know I mattered, and to know that what I did had meaning. Finding myself bored with classwork and scrolling through Facebook aimlessly, I waited for someone to text me so that I could find something more stimulating to do. Every time I thought I heard my phone buzz, my heart leaped.

Higher education

I spent much of my freshman year pursuing such highs, hoping each one would be more intense than the last. We watched movies together, went to concerts and nightclubs, and tried all different kinds of cuisines.

And yet, even in the midst of my enjoyment, I’d feel dread creeping in: the knowledge that this moment, like all the others, would soon come to an end. My mood would crash as I remembered the abyss of “life as usual”: boring homework, tedious chores, and worse — the loneliness that always seemed to accompany being alone.

The way I lived my friendships was permeated by a drive to consume. I treated my friends like tools I could use to stave off boredom and loneliness. I was constantly anxious that they didn’t like me enough or that they would want to spend time with someone more exciting and interesting than me. I tried to find ways to convince them, even going so far as to guilt them into spending more time with me.

Looking inward

This anxiety pervaded everything I did, until I met a friend who didn’t seem interested in constantly chasing after new and exciting experiences. Instead, he wanted to talk about life. I was used to conversation as distraction, but he wanted to discuss just the subjects I used conversation to avoid.

He opened up to me about his experience of loneliness, boredom, powerlessness. He shared with me his desire to find meaning in his schoolwork. He wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable, to talk about his neediness, and he was audacious enough to ask me if I ever felt the same way.

What kind of person is this? I thought. He seemed to have no interest in using me to fill his time. Rather, he seemed interested in me — in understanding my life and in walking with me toward the answers to the questions that plagued us most. I had never met someone who wasn’t afraid of being alone, of feeling all those dark feelings I hid from.

When I was with him, I felt free to be myself, to talk about whatever was happening in my life. I didn’t feel like I needed to put on a show and market myself; I didn’t have to make myself “interesting enough” for him to want to get to know me.

Why is he like this? I needed to know.

‘The Long Loneliness’

He invited me to meet his other friends, who I soon realized were just like him. When they got together, they weren’t seeking to escape reality. They weren’t obsessed with going out, getting wasted or high, or filling themselves with entertainment ad infinitum (which is not to say they never did those things). Instead, they were more interested in facing life together, talking about their experiences, asking the questions that were heaviest on their hearts, and seeking the truth in all aspects of their lives.

When I came across Dorothy Day’s book “The Long Loneliness” several months later, I realized that this was the type of community she was talking about. I found that loneliness is not something we can use other people to eliminate, but instead something that we need to share with each other. Loneliness — which is tangled up with our infinite longing for fulfillment, as well as with the variety of human weaknesses and flaws we inevitably grapple with — will never completely disappear.

“We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community,” Day wrote.

Heading for the hurt

We need other people not to “fix” our loneliness, but to help us find the courage to delve deeper into that loneliness and to embrace it. Above all, we need other people to walk with us on the journey toward the ultimate source of truth and love for which this loneliness calls out.

I naively attempted to smother the voice of my heart when I was younger, hoping that my friends would be enough for me. I found that a true friend is able to acknowledge that she is not and never will be enough. It’s this kind of friend who is able to embrace the truth of my need, and it’s in this embrace, this unity, that I begin to experience my loneliness not as a curse but as a gift that propels me ever closer to the higher love I crave.

RELATED: How I rediscovered the virtue of citizenship on a remote Canadian island

Buddy Mays/Getty Images

A deeper orientation

Universities may no longer consider it their duty to guide students in their pursuit of transcendent meaning, but the hunger for such meaning remains. And if the rapidly rising suicide rates among the college-aged and younger are any indication, well-meaning but overly sentimental therapeutic approaches to “happiness” are woefully inadequate substitutes.

Despite this bleak state of affairs, we should remember that it only takes one classmate, professor, or administrator to broach the subject, to help students understand that the loneliness they feel is the loneliness that always has driven humanity’s attempts to understand itself and its place in the world.

This fall, like every fall, colleges across the country will have welcomed incoming students with what is generally called “orientation” — practical advice on navigating the academic, social, and logistical challenges of the task before them. Let’s hope that somewhere in that rush of new experiences these young men and women are also afforded the time and the opportunity to orient their souls.

This Is Your Sign To Throw A House Party For Your Gen Z Friends

The long-term consequences of removing physical social spaces for kids have changed the fabric of American society.

Extravagant Bachelorette Parties Give Friendship A Cover Charge

The bachelorette industrial complex is bleeding friendships dry and draining thousands of dollars along with them.

Church is cool again — and Gen Z men are leading the way



Amid a broader spiritual collapse, one trend stands out: Young men are returning to church in growing numbers. Generation Z, in particular, seeks structure, meaning, and community in a world fractured by chaos and alienation.

For decades, the dominant story in the West told of religion’s slow death. Church attendance dropped year after year, while “nones” — those who reject any religious affiliation — surged. But recent data complicates that narrative, especially among younger Americans.

The return of young men to the church is a cultural reckoning and a budding flower of renewal.

Gen Z remains the least religious generation on record, with 34% identifying as unaffiliated — higher than Millennials (29%) or Gen X (25%). Yet signs of revival are breaking through. One recent survey found that 31% of Gen Z attend religious services at least once a month, while 25% actively practice a faith.

Similar trends are occurring in the United Kingdom. A report by the Bible Society reveals that Catholics now outnumber Anglicans by more than two to one among Generation Z and younger Millennials. In 2018, Anglicans made up 30% of churchgoers ages 18-34, while Catholics accounted for 22%. By 2024, these figures had changed to 20% Anglican and 41% Catholic.

According to the Becket Fund’s 2024 findings, members of Gen Z attending religious services at least monthly rose from 29% in 2022 to 40% in 2024. Similarly, those who consider religion important in their lives increased from 51% to 66% over the same period.

Religious is the new ‘rebellious’

What explains the sudden shift? For generations, youth pushed back against the dominant order, and for much of the 20th century, that order was Christianity. But what happens when Christianity fades, replaced by atheism or whatever postmodern creed happens to be in vogue? The instinct to rebel remains. Only now, the rebellion turns back toward order, tradition, and moral clarity.

For years, legacy media and Hollywood told young men they were disposable — interchangeable, expendable, even dangerous. That narrative failed. And now, young men are driving the revival.

Historically, women filled the pews in greater numbers. But in 2024, that dynamic flipped. According to the Alabama Baptist, 30% of men attended weekly services compared to just 27% of women — a quiet but telling reversal of a long-standing pattern.

Men lead the charge

Traditional, structured worship has become a magnet for young men seeking discipline and meaning. Orthodox and Catholic churches — with their rituals, hierarchy, and deep historical roots — have seen a marked rise in male converts.

A 2022 survey reported a 78% increase in conversions to Orthodoxy since 2019. Catholic dioceses across the country have posted similar gains. From 2023 to 2024, some reported conversion spikes of up to 72%. The Archdiocese of Los Angeles alone welcomed 5,587 people into the Catholic Church this Easter, including 2,786 baptisms at the Easter Vigil — a 34% jump over last year.

But this resurgence goes deeper than doctrine. Churches offer young men what the modern world fails to provide: real community. According to the Barna Group, 67% of churchgoing adults report having a mentor — often someone they met through church. Among Gen Z and Millennials, that number rises to 86% and 83%, respectively.

Small groups and discipleship programs allow young men to wrestle with challenges, seek counsel, and build genuine friendships. These are exactly the structures secular society neglects — and precisely what my generation craves.

Cultural shifts have accelerated the return to faith. The internet may connect everyone digitally, but it often isolates people in the real world. Local churches still offer something screens can’t: brotherhood, accountability, and face-to-face contact. In a culture that demonizes masculinity and treats male virtues as liabilities, the church remains one of the last institutions to honor strength, discipline, and leadership without shame or apology.

A cultural mandate

Many young men today feel discarded by a society that marginalizes their natural instincts and virtues. Christianity offers them something different — a call to action rooted in service, discipline, and brotherhood. It gives them a place where effort matters, strength is welcomed, and belonging isn’t conditional. The need to connect, to matter, and to be respected — long ignored in secular culture — finds real expression in the life of the church.

This return of young men to the pews marks more than a spiritual revival. It’s a cultural reckoning. In many ways, it echoes the moral foundation laid by America’s founders. Though denominationally diverse, the founders agreed that freedom without faith could not last. George Washington said it plainly: “Religion and morality are indispensable supports” to political prosperity.

Today’s young men appear to understand what many in power have forgotten — liberty without virtue cannot endure. As America drifts, a new generation looks not to slogans or screens but to God — for strength, clarity, and the courage to rebuild what has been lost.

‘New York Sack Exchange’ Examines The Vagaries Of Football And Friendship

For football fans, 'The New York Sack Exchange' provides a look back at one of the most dominating defenses in the game’s history.

‘Joy’ Rhetoric Is An Orwellian Attempt To Hide Democrats’ Hatred

The Democrat machine has not yet come out openly to declare that ‘hate is love,’ but they might as well. Because getting people to hate one another is their goal.

Stop Scrolling And Use Your Phone To Reach Out To Others

The strength of our community is only as strong as the commitment we make to maintaining it.

This Christmas, Conquer Loneliness Better Than The Grinch

[rebelmouse-proxy-image https://thefederalist.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/Screenshot-2023-12-20-at-9.21.26 AM-1200x675.png crop_info="%7B%22image%22%3A%20%22https%3A//thefederalist.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/Screenshot-2023-12-20-at-9.21.26%5Cu202fAM-1200x675.png%22%7D" expand=1]When you feel alone, what is your version of stealing Christmas trees and presents?

To have what cannot be bought



How do I find friends? Where can I go to live in a decent community? After the pandemic exposed the extent to which our social and cultural institutions have broken down, these questions are universal.

The standard advice is to take up various hobbies in order to meet people and to bloom where we’re planted. That’s fine as far as it goes, but these sorts of friendships are often fairly limited — dependent upon the original shared interest, for one thing.

In youth we meet so many people and have so many friends of happy circumstance that we often do not feel the need for more substantial friendships until long after chance and good fortune cease throwing likely candidates in our path. As we pour ourselves into our family and careers, our once-abundant ability to devote ourselves to various superficial pursuits is limited, and thus the lifeblood of most of our youthful friendships slows to a trickle.

It is worth asking the question: If our friends decided to completely immerse themselves in our least favorite hobby — something that just defines pointless inanity for us — would the friendship survive? Would we still want to spend time with them if they took up the most annoying, time-wasting hobby possible? Would our friendships survive a change in career? A change in fortune?

A better question: Was anyone in our lives during the pandemic to whom we could say true, even unguarded things without fear of reprisal? Though they might disagree with us, did we have people who would simply allow us to bare our reality? To give our true, unvarnished account of events as we saw them during that time? Were they capable of participating in reality alongside us, to have deep conversations that didn’t devolve into shouting matches? Those are true friends.

What is the difference between true and superficial friendship? The paradox of life is that you won’t really know until you try it. Or until your friendship is tried.

If anything, the pandemic showed us the extent to which we had been content to bob along in a sea of superficial relationships and how desperately we longed for just a few true-blue friends once the tide went out.

A common life shared with friends who do not ask us to walk on eggshells to please them is foundational to happiness. In youth, superficial similarities are the currency of friendship. As we get older and more intent on the real work of our lives, our friendships become mature enough to admit of sharp differences in personality, interests, income, and lifestyle. This is because our goal — building a good life for ourselves and our kids in a community of like-minded people — dictates all.

In fact, now that I have teenagers, I find the sharp yet ultimately superficial differences I have with some friends to be not only tolerable but desirable. Chances are, most of your children will closely resemble either you or your spouse. But a few might resemble neither.

For those personalities in particular, it is essential that there be several sensible, decent adults to look up to in their social circle. If children can’t exactly see themselves in their parents, it is wonderful for them to find a kindred spirit in one of their parents’ lifelong, trusted friends. What a gift that can be!

What is the difference between true and superficial friendship? The paradox of life is that you won’t really know until you try it. Or, more accurately, until your friendship is tried. Tried by sorrow, by inconvenience, or simply the passing of time.

True friendship takes hold in the deepest and truest part of yourself, such that often you’re not fully sensible of it until the less essential parts of your personality fall away.

In my experience, the best way to find true friends is to decide to throw yourself into serious work. To stop skimming the surface, testing the waters. Most of us are understandably afraid to embark upon any journey we know we cannot possibly complete alone. But that is precisely what life demands, in one way or another. As we fall in love, as we have children and begin to set up our lives and community to support and sustain our families, our true friends will be the people who are essential to that task — the people without whom we would surely fail to reach our goal.

The nature of life is that we chase a series of goods — wealth, beauty, excitement, entertainment, amusement, love, family. And as we seek to hold onto these goods, we find that some will not allow us to keep them for more than a moment or two, some fail to satisfy, and others are always just beyond our grasp. The good things that allow us to take hold of them, keep them, and sustain ourselves in them often bring the most pain and sacrifice and demand a frightful discipline, if not outright purification, as if by fire.

A great sweetness afforded — indeed a true luxury given to us as we fight to hold onto the best things in life while the lesser goods fall away — is the true friends who accompany us, encourage us, and love us more for what we shall become than what we once were when first we met.

Editor’s note: A version of this article appeared originally at Matriarch Goals.

Yes, Hillary Clinton Knows A Lot About ‘The Weaponization Of Loneliness’

‘The Weaponization of Loneliness’ headline over Hillary Clinton’s Atlantic article appears more like a statement of her intent, not the warning I express in my book with the same title.