It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday, and the party is gearing up. 

The venue: my Williams double. The drinks: a row of half-empty Gatorade bottles I’ve neglected. The music: my humming vacuum. And the guests of honor? Me, myself, and I.

I put on headphones to drown out the delirious laughter floating through my window. I open Instagram mindlessly, zombie-like. As I scroll through the familiar faces, I wonder which of them are on the T downtown. I wonder which are passing around Doritos in their best friend’s dorm, watching Netflix on a dusty laptop screen. I wonder which are at dinner celebrating a friend’s birthday. I don’t have to wonder who’s alone and gloomy, cleaning my dorm room.

Don’t get me wrong—I love a quiet night home as much as anyone. Had I been invited to a dinner or movie night, I very well might have declined. But the last few Friday nights, I haven’t had that choice. I hear that these years are supposedly the best of my life. I see blurry photos of thrilling social gatherings in Instagram photo dumps. Why, then, am I spending my Friday night vacuuming?

In high school, I didn’t fit in well within my school’s competitive, judgmental culture. As such, I struggled to find the right group of friends, so when I came to Boston College, my biggest goal was to find a circle that felt like home. 

I craved a friend group with which I could make memories, whose interests and priorities aligned with my own. For a while, I thought I’d found it. I look back fondly on nights earlier in the semester—back when it wasn’t so cold—spent watching bad movies in lounges or sharing snacks on half-strangers’ dorm carpets. But lately, these memories feel far away.

I’m told the death of the freshman-fall friend group is a so-called “canon event.” Some fizzle out with a whimper as academic workloads steadily swell and acquaintances part ways. Others implode with a bang of gossip and hurt. Personally, I’m left feeling stuck back at square one: surrounded by vaguely familiar faces, but no group chat I feel comfortable inviting to a movie night.

I’m also told that BC’s social environment is cliquey. That’s easy to believe when I hear others talking about ‘their group’ like a club with a waitlist to get in. I’m paranoid that everyone is ‘taken’: that their groups are established and set in stone, making any efforts to involve myself intrusive and unwelcome.

If you find yourself struggling with these same anxieties, know that, ironically, you aren’t alone. You and I can’t be the only ones feeling isolated (although hey, if we are, send me an email and let’s grab dinner). There must be hundreds of us feeling the same, and believing they’re the only ones. So, how do we start venturing beyond square one?

Firstly, we can embrace the one-on-one. Being part of a group fulfills a distinct social and psychological niche from having multiple individual connections, sure. But some human connection is still better than none. Indeed, it’s easier to manage one set of social cues over a two-person coffee than juggle 10 voices around a dinner table. Plus, sometimes one friendship acts as a gateway to more, as easily as a “want to join us?” text.

Secondly, we can start saying yes more. I admit that this advice is a bit hypocritical: I’m not proud to say I’ve sent countless “sorry, but I’m really tired tonight” responses over the past month. Isolation is a deadly cycle in which the less we connect with others, the less energy we have, making it even harder to connect. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately), there’s only one way to break that cycle: by saying yes to the invitations before they stop coming. If that feels too overwhelming, remember you can always compromise—you can stop by for just a few minutes, or replace a meal at a dining hall with a FaceTime call. Any step to interrupt the downward spiral of loneliness is a good one.

Thirdly, we can learn to get comfortable with solitude by differentiating between ‘alone’ and ‘lonely.’ I don’t mean to tell you to stop chasing meaningful friendship—only to stop waiting for others to permit us to experience joy. 

When no one wanted to go to the store with me, I put on my favorite music, bundled up, and walked there myself. If you crave adventure, don’t wait for other people to join.

Remember those first few weeks when everyone was a stranger, and therefore a potential friend? As much as being at square one hurts, there’s also beauty in it. Not having a place now means we could go anywhere. So don’t give up just yet—you never know which passing stranger might cure your Friday night blues. 

(P.S. I was only half-joking earlier—if you’re lonely, let’s get dinner. My vacuum can afford a day off.)