Last month, Denise Prudhomme, a 60-year-old Wells Fargo employee from Tempe, Arizona, was found dead at her desk by a bank security guard who was investigating reports of a foul odor in the building. Records show that Ms. Prudhomme scanned into the office early Friday morning on August 16, and she was discovered on Tuesday, August 20 — four days later. For me, that was the sad part: She was dead four days before anyone even noticed. Didn’t she have anyone waiting for her at home, wondering where she was?

As I read the story, I thought of Ms. Prudhomme alone, slumped at her desk, forgotten, as the world moved on without her. I hoped that there were people in her life who loved her. I hoped that she didn’t die lonely.

According to Vivek Murthy, the U.S. surgeon general, this country is in the midst of an epidemic of loneliness. In 2023, he issued a public health advisory warning Americans of its growing prevalence and surprisingly harmful health effects — which can include increased risk for dementia, heart disease and stroke. Murthy estimates that the physical impact of loneliness on the body can be like smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Early this year, the American Psychiatric Association conducted a poll of Americans on the subject, and found that “30% of adults say they have experienced feelings of loneliness at least once a week over the past year, while 10% say they are lonely every day.” Loneliness is even more acute among younger adults, 30% of whom responded to the poll that they felt lonely every day, or several times a week. Nationally, among college students, the rate is even higher, as much as 60%.

There are a host of reasons that Americans might feel lonely. According to Laurie Santos, a professor of psychology at Yale, loneliness has “been increasing linearly since the 1970s.” As she explained to John Yang of PBS, “We just don’t have enough free time to connect with the people that we care about … there’s also lots of other interesting demands on our time. You know, back in the 1970s, there wasn’t Netflix and all these video games.” Her comments seem to suggest that for some people, loneliness is a choice.

Louise Hawkley, a psychologist at the University of Chicago and founding member of the International Loneliness and Isolation Research Network, appears to agree. She told Matthew Shaer of New York Times Magazine that she believes some lonely people convince themselves to be lonely. “They are absolutely certain that they’re not worth talking to, that no one likes them, that they’re not a good person and that it’s all their fault.” A sense of shame keeps them from reaching out to others.

The poet Fanny Howe makes a similar connection in one of her poems: “Shame and loneliness are almost one. Shame at existing in the first place. Shame at being visible, taking up space, breathing some of the sky, sleeping in a whole bed, asking for a share.”

Experts agree that the path to feeling less lonely starts with the admission that you are lonely.

Remember loneliness is “a common problem,” advises Santos. “You can feel like there’s something wrong with you if you’re feeling lonely, but if you realize that upwards of 60 percent of people out there are feeling the same, you know, it’s not such a bad thing, right?” There is no shame in feeling lonely. It does not make you less of a person — less pretty, less smart. And, if you don’t want to be lonely there are things you can do about it. According to Santos, once you admit to being lonely, then you can begin to address it.

You must work to reconnect with family and friends, advises Santos. After that, it’s important to make new connections. She suggests one way to build new relationships is to focus on the things you enjoy doing and find a way to do those things with other people. So, if you love watching baseball, find a way to watch the game in a public place — like a bar, or a restaurant. If you love knitting, join a knitting circle. Or, better yet, learn to do something new. The important thing is to prioritize time with others.

There is a quiet, older lady who works at the front desk at my gym. The other desk attendees are energetic, and fun, and always chatting with the customers, but she mostly keeps to herself. She looks like she may be a retiree, and perhaps has a physical ailment. She’s always a little disheveled. She rarely makes eye contact. I see her from time to time, walking slowly to her car after her shift. When I arrive for my morning workout, I smile and say “Hi,” but not much more.

Tomorrow, I think I’ll introduce myself, and ask her name.

K. Ward Cummings is an essayist and social critic. He lives in Baltimore.