Alone Together: The Connections Waiting To Be Made
"Being socially connected is our brain's lifelong passion …. It's been baked into our operating system for tens of millions of years.” Matthew Lieberman, PhD
Before reading further, spend about thirty seconds simply looking at Edward Hopper's painting Nighthawks (below or at link). Resist the urge to analyze it. Just notice what you feel. Four people share the same brightly lit diner on a dark city street. Nothing dramatic is happening, yet many viewers describe the same emotion: loneliness—even “existential loneliness.” Hopper somehow captures the paradox of being surrounded by people and still feeling alone. Every time I see it, I wonder if he unintentionally painted modern healthcare.
Not long ago, with this blog marinating in my head, I was walking through clinic after a full day. Every workstation was occupied. My partners were finishing charts. Nurses tidying up loose ends. Yet something felt strangely absent. We were together, but all in our own little world. Though it was just a snapshot, it also became a metaphor as I wondered how many would leave that evening carrying things that no one else knew they were carrying—a difficult patient interaction, the diagnosis that came too late or just won’t come, a mistake that still lingers, or even uncertainty about their own future. And too often, even as we are remarkably skilled at standing shoulder to shoulder while caring for patients, we quietly carry these burdens alone.
Research reminds us that this matters. Former US Surgeon General Vivek Murthy, MD has described social connection as a fundamental human need, and studies consistently show that trusted workplace relationships are associated with lower burnout and greater professional fulfillment among physicians. The irony is hard to miss: we spend our lives entering the stories of others while too often hiding our own. We know how to be with another, but not always how to care for one another.
Perhaps that is why I keep returning to Nighthawks. The painting never tells us what happens next. I like to imagine one person turning on the stool and quietly asking, "You seem quieter than usual. How are you...really?" Nothing outside the diner changes. The night remains dark. Tomorrow's work still awaits. But everything inside the diner changes. A stranger becomes a companion. A colleague becomes a witness. No one has solved anyone's problems, but no one is carrying them alone.
This week, look around your own "diner." Who sits nearby, quietly carrying more than you know? Perhaps all that is needed is a chair turned slightly, a genuine question, and the willingness to stay long enough to hear the answer. Consider sharing this painting with your PeerRx partner or another colleague and reflect together. Sometimes the smallest act of connection changes the entire picture. Let’s stop making it okay for anyone to be caring alone.