Narrator: For nearly all of human history, to be alone was to be in peril. From the Old Testament, where God declares, "It is not good that the man should be alone," to Aristotle, who argued that an isolated man must be "either a beast or a god," solitude was seen as a curse, a punishment, or a sign of profound failure. Yet today, a silent, massive social experiment is underway. In the United States, 28% of all households consist of just one person, a figure that ties with childless couples as the most common residential type. Globally, the number of people living by themselves has skyrocketed, rising from 153 million to over 202 million in just a single decade. How did this happen? How did a condition once considered a "living death" become a symbol of success and a common life stage for millions? In his book Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone, sociologist Eric Klinenberg embarks on a deep investigation to unravel this unprecedented social transformation.

Narrator: The explosion in solo living is not a simple phenomenon driven by one cause, like American individualism. Instead, Klinenberg argues it’s the result of a powerful confluence of four major social and economic shifts.

First is the rising status of women. For centuries, economic necessity tethered women to marriage. But as women gained access to higher education and entered the workforce in massive numbers, their economic dependence waned. Between 1950 and 2000, the number of working women in the U.S. soared from 18 million to 66 million. This newfound financial autonomy gave women the power to delay marriage, leave unhappy ones, and build lives on their own terms.

Second is the communications revolution. Before the telephone, internet, and social media, living alone meant being cut off. Today, technology allows for what Klinenberg calls "connected solitude." People can be physically alone in their homes while remaining deeply engaged with friends, family, and the wider world, mitigating the risk of true isolation.

Third is mass urbanization. Cities are engines of individualism. They offer anonymity, freedom from the watchful eyes of small-town communities, and a vast array of social scenes, allowing people to find their "tribe." This urban environment fosters a culture where individual freedom and self-expression are prized, making solo living not just possible, but attractive.

Finally, the longevity revolution means people are living longer, healthier lives than ever before. This extends the period of life after children have left home and often results in one spouse, typically a woman, outliving the other for many years. In 1900, only 10% of widowed elderly Americans lived alone; by 2000, that figure had jumped to 62%, as seniors increasingly chose independence over moving in with their children.

Narrator: For generations of young adults, the path to maturity was marked by marriage and starting a family. Today, a new milestone has emerged: getting a place of one's own. Klinenberg observes a period he calls a "second adolescence," where young people in their twenties and early thirties delay traditional commitments to invest in their careers, education, and personal growth.

This transition is powerfully illustrated by the story of Justin, an aspiring journalist in New York City. For five years after college, he navigated the world of roommates. While often fun, it was also fraught with the minor stresses of shared spaces, conflicting schedules, and a lack of privacy. For Justin, and millions like him, moving out of a shared apartment and into a solo one was not just a change of address; it was a profound rite of passage. He described the feeling of having roommates in his late twenties as "unadult." Securing his own apartment was a declaration of independence, a signal that he had finally achieved a new level of maturity and self-sufficiency. This experience has become a cultural touchstone, transforming solo living from a sign of social failure into a reward for success and a key marker of having finally grown up.

Narrator: While young people embrace solo living as a step forward, for many middle-aged adults, it arrives after the end of a relationship. Klinenberg finds that for divorced individuals, particularly women, living alone is often experienced not as a loss, but as a liberation.

Consider Helen, a writer in her sixties who divorced twice. Her generation was raised on the "myth of romantic love as salvation," the idea that marriage was the ultimate path to fulfillment. Both of her marriages, however, left her feeling constrained. After her second divorce, she had a powerful realization: "without these men, I was gonna make my own life. Nobody was gonna take care of me." For the next thirty years, she lived alone and thrived, concluding that "marriage is fucking boring" and that "there’s nothing more lonely than being with the wrong person."

Her story is echoed by countless others. Women like Kaela, who divorced over differing standards for housework, revel in their newfound domestic autonomy. She no longer has to compromise or feel burdened by unrewarded labor. For these women, living alone means the freedom to prioritize their own needs, indulge their own interests, and be more selective about future relationships. Friends become a "chosen family," providing the social and emotional support that was once expected exclusively from a spouse.

Narrator: Perhaps the most fraught aspect of the rise of solo living is its intersection with old age. The prospect of aging alone evokes deep-seated fears of loneliness, vulnerability, and decline. Klinenberg explores this reality through two contrasting stories.

First, there is Edith, a woman in her late seventies who is a self-described "shut-in" due to severe health problems. Her fierce desire for independence has become what Klinenberg calls a "tyranny." She distrusts the system, refuses public assistance, and pushes away friends, leaving her isolated, in pain, and deeply lonely. Her story represents the profound risks of aging alone, where a lack of support can lead to a devastating decline in quality of life.

But this is not the only possible outcome. Klinenberg also introduces Ava, a woman in her late seventies living in a large retirement co-op. After her husband died, she built a vibrant new life for herself. She has a romantic partner, Victor, but they maintain separate apartments to preserve their independence. Ava is deeply involved in social groups, volunteers, and organizes talent shows. Her life is so full that she has cut back on visiting her children, finding her local community more rewarding. Ava’s story shows that with the right social infrastructure and personal initiative, aging alone can be a period of continued growth, connection, and fulfillment.

Narrator: Given that living alone is a durable social trend, Klinenberg argues that the central question is not how to reverse it, but how to adapt to it. Instead of promoting marriage, societies should focus on creating environments that support singletons. He points to Sweden, a country with one of the world's highest rates of solo living, as a model.

In the 1930s, Swedish social planners recognized the needs of single working women and created the "collective house" in Stockholm. It was an apartment building with small private units but also a communal restaurant with meal delivery, a staffed laundry, and a nursery. It provided the services needed to make solo life viable and fostered a sense of community. This principle—combining private autonomy with public support—is the key. More recently, projects like Färdknäppen, a community-owned building for people over 40, offer a mix of private apartments and shared spaces like kitchens, libraries, and hobby rooms, creating a built-in social network. These examples show that through intentional design and policy, we can mitigate the risks of isolation and build cities that allow singletons to thrive.

Narrator: The most critical takeaway from Going Solo is that the historic rise of living alone is not a sign of social decay, but a reflection of modernity itself—a product of freedom, prosperity, and the human quest for a good life. Eric Klinenberg masterfully dismantles the myth that living alone is synonymous with being lonely. He shows that what truly matters is not whether we live with others, but the quality of the social bonds we maintain outside our front door.

The book leaves us with a profound challenge: to look at our own cities and communities and ask whether they are designed for the way we live now. Are we building housing that fosters connection? Are we providing the social infrastructure to support the vulnerable, especially the elderly? The ultimate lesson of Going Solo is that to flourish in an age of independence, we must learn how to be, and how to build for, being together alone.