Urban Confessional: Stories from a Lonely World
A chronicle of experiences with the movement that is changing the world, one listener at a time
Of the many issues facing the United States, there is one that impacts everyone but that very few people prioritize or even think about: loneliness. Studies have found an increase in social isolation and a decrease in social engagement and connectedness from 2003 to 2020.
If your first thought upon reading that was “So what?”, consider this: every society, government, system, and organization in existence arises from the fact that humans are a hyper-social species. The spread of ideas—technology, science, philosophy, etc.—would not be possible without a spirit of connection and collaboration. The personal impact loneliness has on each individual has the potential to become something much more threatening. Radical polarization has increased significantly in the United States, in no small part due to the growing inability to connect with people of other viewpoints. Additionally, loneliness has been found to have a negative impact on almost every aspect of one’s life, including physical health and longevity. But one movement has been working to combat the prevalence of social isolation in cities around the world: Urban Confessional.
Originating in Los Angeles in 2012, Urban Confessional is an anomaly. Members make hand-made signs with the words “FREE LISTENING” and take them out into public spaces. They stand on street corners and unashamedly “open their hearts to anyone who needs to laugh, cry, scream, or chat.” This isn’t just for the fun of breaking social conventions. Research shows that feeling heard is a vital part of communication and can reduce rates of loneliness. The warriors of Urban Confessional are providing a real and important service to members of their communities. The project has reached almost every US state, over 70 countries, and six continents. But numbers can only go so far—the real impacts of this mind-boggling social experiment must be felt in real-time. So, I have decided to strike out on a new adventure and record my experiences with Urban Confessional first-hand.
Day One
After spending more than two hours making my beautiful sign and waiting for exactly the right moment, I set out into the wide world of Iowa City with my mission in mind and my sign tucked under my arm.
Mistake of the Day: Selecting the month of February to sit outside and listen to people…in the Midwest.
Thankfully, Iowa City has a beautiful public library with a spacious (and warm) entry hall, which sees a constant stream of foot traffic throughout the day. If you take anything away from this account, let it be this: libraries are a cornerstone of communities and connection (check out Mia Annillo’s article for more on the importance of libraries).
The first time I sat down on what would come to be ‘my’ bench in the library entryway, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Frankly, I was experiencing serious apprehensions about the project. I wouldn’t call myself a shy person, but I like to respect social conventions. And the convention that says you shouldn’t talk to strangers has been so thoroughly welded into my brain that sitting out there with my sign was physically painful for the first thirty minutes.
I smiled and greeted everyone who walked past. Many refused to make eye contact. A few people did glance up and, realizing their mistake, offered a curt nod as they sped past. I was an object. This was the first of many perspective shifts that would completely tilt my understanding of the world by the end of this journey; I couldn’t help but think of the homeless man camped outside of my local Target, whom I pass every other day and, like most people, carefully avert my eyes from. This experience has thrown a bucket of cold water over my own habits and failures: I have been, all my life, dehumanizing individuals because I don’t want to look an uncomfortable reality in the eye. I quietly resolved never to pass a homeless person in the street again without at least pausing to say hello.
After a while, there were a few breakthroughs. One woman carrying a small stack of books stopped on her way out to ask what I was doing. I explained Urban Confessional and she seemed impressed. If she wasn’t so busy, she would stop and talk, she explained. But this was a really good thing I was doing, she assured me. I asked if she had anyone in her life who she could talk to. Two minutes later, when she hurried away, I knew that 1.) she lived alone, 2.) she had a sister who worked as a flight attendant in Colorado, 3.) she was a single mom, and 4.) she wished her children would call her more often. As soon as I was done that day, I called my mom as I was walking home, just to chat.
After that woman left, the floodgates seemed to have opened. There were still plenty of people who walked by without acknowledging me, but also many who were curious about what I was doing. Another woman stopped and confided that she didn’t have anyone she could talk to when she felt sad, and it seemed like we were about to have a meaningful conversation before her son emerged from the library and she had to leave—places to go, people to see, to-do lists to cross off. Schedules were rapidly becoming my worst enemy in this endeavor.
Finally, about forty-five minutes in, I had my first full conversation. A young woman walked into the library, made unflinching eye contact with me, and walked straight to my bench without hesitation. Immediately, I could tell this was someone I wanted to be around. She was brimming with positive energy and she hadn’t even opened her mouth yet. I made room for her to sit next to me and she plopped down, dispelling the awkwardness that unfamiliarity usually breeds between strangers. With very little prompting, she began talking about her life and philosophy. She was a graduate student at my university and talked about her research, which she was passionate about. She’d gotten to work with her first patient recently and was feeling optimistic about the project. When she first moved to Iowa City, she didn’t have any friends. But she loved to find places where she could connect with people, and since then she’d built up a strong support network that gave her a sense of belonging. She talked about her love of crafts and books. For twenty minutes, we chatted about life and people. Then she had to leave for an event (schedules!) and I was back to sitting alone on my bench with my sign, significantly happier than I had been twenty minutes earlier.
My solitude lasted about fifteen seconds. I spotted another young woman approaching from the corner of my eye and smiled. I suspect she had passed by while I was speaking with the last conversant because she seemed to understand what I was doing. As with the previous encounter, she sat down next to me without hesitation. Immediately, I discovered uncanny parallels. She, too, was a graduate student. She’d just moved to Iowa City that fall and was also working on a project as part of her studies. But that’s where the similarities ended. Rather than feeling fulfilled by her work, she felt drained. Her superiors hadn’t trained her for the work and she was floundering, stressed out, and feeling incompetent. She didn’t have many friends and was struggling to form connections. She was, in essence, the complete opposite of her predecessor. The largest difference between them? One found meaningful connections in their community and the other did not.
After a half hour of talking, the young woman appeared less anxious. She got up and left almost as abruptly as she sat down, leaving me to wonder if I had really done anything to make her day better. But a big part of this project is hope—hope that someone out there really needs to be listened to on the day you choose to be a listener. Given the high rates of social isolation, that’s almost a guarantee.
Day Two
Day two brought more than one strange encounter, and certainly some fun stories to tell. This time, when no one walked up to talk with me in the first half hour, I refused to become discouraged. Instead of the customary, “Hello!” or “Good afternoon!” I started to ask people how their day was going as they walked by. Eventually, I managed to snag the attention of a man walking by on his way into the library. I wasn’t surprised when he promptly sat down next to me, but I was definitely surprised when he asked me whether I believed the earth was flat or round.
“Uh…”
Mistake of the Day: I responded.
“I think the earth is round.”
I was wrong, apparently. The man had a number of interesting reasons as to why. In summary: gravity is a scam, all of earth’s water would float off into space if it were round, and birds can fly. I quickly gave up trying to explain earth science to him, remembering that my purpose was not to be right, but to listen. After a short rant, he realized I wasn’t arguing with him and moved on to other topics.
Before long, he began to talk about his life philosophy. He doesn’t live on money—he lives on love. He once had a job he felt passionate about, but he’s since lost it and wants to go back to work. He’s living in the shelter now and feels frustrated because he knows he deserves better. And he has a daughter. He spent some time showing me photos of her—she is beautiful. He loves her a lot.
“People are so strange,” I thought to myself. “And wonderful.”
Without warning, the man called out to a woman passing by on her way out of the library. Maybe it was a random coincidence. Maybe he knew her. Or maybe he had a sixth sense that told him this woman needed a listener. Before I could make sense of what was happening, he stood up, gestured for the woman to take his spot, and left. I haven’t seen him since.
I didn’t have time to miss him. I asked the woman how her day was going, feeling a little awkward about the abrupt shift. Her day was not going very well. She is a high school teacher but doesn’t talk much about her job. Instead, she started talking about 9-11. Specifically, she laid out all of her reasons for why she believed it was an inside job. There are a number of Americans who share this theory with her. She went on to talk about how it made her feel to know something to be true and not to be believed. At this point, she became very emotional. She felt so much despair over the corruption of the world and the terrible things that are happening that are out of her control. She began to tear up.
I had prepared myself for this possibility. If someone cried, I was going to sit with them in their pain. I wasn’t going to try to fix it, nor would I try to make it stop. But I wasn’t prepared for how difficult that would be. I broke my resolution almost instantly and offered her a hug. She accepted.
After a while, she became calmer. She changed the topic from her sense of hopelessness to something completely different: she was in a new relationship and experiencing love for the first time in her life. I would have liked the chance to hear more about that, but her car was parked at a meter and she had to go. I felt the strangest combination of melancholy and hope as she walked away.
Day Three
I approached my last day of this project with optimism. Already, I’d had so many beautiful, somewhat terrifying, world-expanding moments. Every time I sat down on that bench with my sign, the atmosphere became charged with possibility.
After the customary thirty minutes of waiting around with no results, a young woman agreed to sit down with me—but only for five minutes; she had to pick up her daughter. She asked what she should talk about, and for the first time I had the chance to use my “conversation cards.” I kept a handful of conversation prompts in my pocket in the event that someone needed ideas, and finally, they came in handy. I pulled a card out at random.
What’s one thing you wish you could change about yourself?
She didn’t have to think long. If she could change anything, it would be the way she saw people. She explained how she came to the United States from Ukraine and has the tendency to see aggression and selfishness in everyone. She wants to be able to see the good in people. I thought about suggesting she try Urban Confessional but decided against it. One of the biggest no-nos for a good listener is giving advice. Eventually, the conversation became lighter. She talked about how she has read Harry Potter multiple times and loves it, but feels disappointed in the movies. As a massive Harry Potter fan myself, I realized that every person from any place and perspective could find common ground somewhere. That was heartening for me.
After that, I had several minor encounters. A man walked past me and mumbled something incoherent. A Catholic priest said he’d never seen anything like this. One man stopped to talk for a minute about how he’d just gotten a new job and he loved it. Another told me about energy vampires. Someone else said, “I confess that I am the greatest” when I explained that my project was called Urban Confessional. But my most impactful encounter yet occurred as I was almost ready to leave. That was when I met Christina Brown.
Christina walked into the library with her small daughter in tow. When she stopped to talk to me, I could tell that our conversation was going to be meaningful. She carried herself with a quiet grace. After a few minutes, I learned that Christina is a mother of two children, a survivor of domestic abuse, and a published author. Her book, My Story Still Holding On, is a memoir about strength, healing, and resilience. In it, she discusses the challenges she faced in her early life, her experience of motherhood, overcoming domestic violence, grief, adversity, the importance of child safety, and faith. The longer I spoke with her, the more I was able to see that she was a true light. She wasn’t writing for money or fame. She was writing to reach people. She was writing to inspire people or even just one person. I can tell she has inspired more than one person with her story, and I am one of them. I ordered her book after she left and found a lot of wisdom and encouragement in it.
“As I look to the future, I know that adversity will continue to be a part of my journey, but I also know that I have the tools and the perspective to navigate whatever challenges come my way.” Christina writes. “Moving forward, I do so with a sense of resilience, gratitude, and purpose - knowing that no matter what happens, I have the strength to face it head-on.”
Of all of the lessons I learned in this exercise, that was by far the most important.
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