The Performance of Self: Our Era’s Collective Solitude

You ran into them at the shopping mall. Ten years later. They recognized you, you recognized them. But you both knew – the person you were recognizing was no longer there.

Five minutes into the conversation, you noticed your voice had gotten a little too high. Just like in those school days. You talked about your job as if it had always been your dream. They talked about their marriage, kids, car. But in their eyes, that old restlessness. Your coffee was getting cold, but you couldn’t let go of the cup – as if it were your anchor.

Sartre once said that the identity we create for others becomes our real prison. But the actual question is – why are we afraid to leave this prison?

Standing there in the mall, you realized your friend was also performing a character, just like you. You were both trying to prove to each other that you were “doing well.” But who defined what “doing well” meant? Who decided that a specific job, a specific kind of relationship, a specific lifestyle equals “success”?

Here lies our era’s greatest paradox. The more “connected” we become, the deeper our loneliness grows. But this isn’t ordinary loneliness – it’s collective solitude. We are alone together. We’re all performing on the same stage, reading the same script, but none of us is having a real conversation with anyone.

Heidegger’s concept of authenticity suggested that facing death, humans discover their true being. But in our case, that moment comes when we realize – our old identities have died. And facing this death, we find our authentic selves.

When you said goodbye, they gave your shoulder a pat. A pretense of friendship. Going up the escalator, you saw them typing something on their phone – probably thinking about their next appointment.

In the parking lot, you realized that in the past half hour, you hadn’t laughed genuinely once. That laughter was performance. You were trying to prove to them that you were happy. But who said happiness always means smiling? Who said being successful means fitting yourself into others’ measurements?

Sitting in your car, turning on the radio, you felt how tense your shoulders were. You had been holding a pose all this time. Perfect posture. Perfect smile. Perfect life.

That night, lying in bed, you wondered – why did I need to prove anything to this person? You tried to remember when you last did something purely for yourself, without fear of anyone’s judgment. The answer didn’t come easily.

Then you noticed that being able to ask this question was itself a beginning. And that night, lying alone in the darkness, you felt for the first time that being alone didn’t mean being lonely. It meant being honest with yourself.