The Lonely Bowler and Me – On Loneliness, Community, and Social Capital

I remember when I first heard about Robert D. Putnam’s book Bowling Alone. The image stuck immediately: a man going to the bowling alley, rolling the balls, but doing it alone. In the past, bowling was something you did in a league. People laughed together, celebrated strikes, and teased when someone missed. But today? More and more people bowl – or live their lives – alone.

I thought: That’s not just America. That’s us too. That’s me.

Because I have felt loneliness myself. I’ve lived alone for periods, both in Sweden and abroad. I’ve gone from being part of large production teams, festivals, and communities, to sitting alone in a small apartment or on a sailboat in the harbor. And I’ve realized that even though I am strong and independent, there is a limit. We humans need each other more than we often dare to admit.

Single households – the new reality

It’s not just a feeling. The statistics show that we are lonelier than ever. In Sweden today, almost half of all adults live alone. We are actually one of the countries in the world with the highest share of single households per capita.

I myself have lived alone for long stretches. On paper, it looked like freedom: I could decide everything myself, no one to consider, no compromises. But after a while, I discovered that freedom had a cost. I lost the small things, like someone asking how my day had been, sharing a meal, or just sharing silence with another person.

And this is exactly what Putnam means with Bowling Alone: we still do things, but we do them more individually than before.

Social capital – the invisible glue

Putnam uses the term social capital to describe what happens when people build relationships, trust each other, and do things together. It’s nothing you can touch, but you feel it when it’s missing.

I’ve experienced both extremes. When I lived on my sailboat in the harbor of Gothenburg, I had a strong network around me. Neighbors who also lived on their boats, people I met on my evening walks, short chats on the pier. It gave me safety and a sense of belonging.

But I’ve also lived in high-rise buildings where you don’t even know who lives next door. No one says hello, no one shares anything. There, the social capital was low, and the loneliness was almost tangible in the stairwell.

Why is loneliness so dangerous?

Loneliness isn’t just a feeling. It affects both body and mind. Research shows that long-term loneliness can be as harmful as smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. It increases the risk of heart disease, depression, and a shortened lifespan.

I’ve felt how loneliness can sneak up and drain you. When I had no one to talk to, my thoughts got heavier. When I had no one to pull me outside, I stayed in. Loneliness can make us passive. And the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to break it.

But when we have people around us – when we are part of something bigger – the opposite happens. We become stronger, healthier, and happier.

Two kinds of community

Putnam makes an important distinction: there are two forms of social capital.

1. Bonding – the close ties within a small group, like family or best friends.

2. Bridging – the broader ties that connect different groups, like associations or sports clubs where people from different backgrounds meet.

I see it clearly in my own life. Bonding is when I’m with my partner Boryana in Bansko, when we share everyday life. Bridging is when I meet digital nomads, entrepreneurs, or mountain climbers in the same town, even though we come from different countries and cultures.

Both matter. But the bridging is what makes society work as a whole. Without it, we become small isolated islands.

When we lose each other

I can’t help but think about how much we have lost.

• We’ve lost our neighbors. People used to help each other more, today many keep to themselves.

• We’ve lost associations. Fewer join clubs, more choose the gym over the team.

• We’ve lost everyday meetings. Dinners with friends and spontaneous coffee dates have become rarer.

We’ve become more independent, but also more lonely.

I noticed it when I moved to Bulgaria. Here, much of the community is still alive, especially in rural areas. People help each other, share food, and keep in touch. It’s a contrast to how I often experienced Sweden – where loneliness has almost become a lifestyle.

Digital community – is it enough?

A common argument is that we still have community – online.

Sure, I’ve built networks through LinkedIn, Zoom, and digital meetings. They can be valuable. But it’s not the same as sitting across from someone, hearing their voice, seeing their body language. I don’t believe digital networks can carry all our social capital. They must be combined with real-life meetings.

Rebuilding social capital

I believe Putnam is right: we need to rebuild social capital. And it’s actually simpler than it seems.

• Start small. Say hello to your neighbor. Invite someone for coffee. Take the first step.

• Join something. A club, a choir, a sports team – anything where people meet regularly.

• Share. Lend a tool, help someone out. That builds trust.

• Be present. Put the phone down when meeting people. Show that you listen.

• Volunteer. Helping others gives meaning and strengthens bonds.

For me, climbing in the Pirin Mountains has become such a space. When you’re hiking toward a peak together, it doesn’t matter if you’re Swedish, Bulgarian, young, or old. On the mountain, we’re all the same, and we need each other to reach the top.

Conclusion

We are lonelier than ever. Single households are increasing, everyday encounters are fading, and we risk losing the invisible glue that holds society together.

Bowling Alone is not just a book title – it’s a symbol of our times. I have felt it myself, both in Sweden and abroad: the difference between being part of a community and standing outside of it.

But we can change it. We can choose to seek each other out again. To rebuild trust, bonds, and community. Because loneliness may be the great illness of our time – but the cure is close at hand.

It starts with something as simple as saying: “Shall we bowl together?”