In An Epidemic of Loneliness, How Do I Find People Everywhere?
How PS40 transformed the way I interact with the city.
Recently, I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about connection, community and loneliness. Sydney is renowned for being a difficult city to make friends in, placing third-last on a list of 53 cities Timeout ranked in difficulty to make new friends.
Loneliness has also been labelled an epidemic, with the UK establishing a ministry for loneliness in 2018. This coupled with COVID closures, Sydney’s dire nightlife scene and a cost of living crisis meaning many people can’t afford to eat out, has only exacerbated or at least significantly contributed to these issues.
Spending time alone in the big city during these holidays has made me reconsider what it means to interact with strangers and how we can foster community in simple everyday interactions. The thought of actively going out to make friends remained daunting until my experience at PS40 transformed what I thought it could look like.
At the end of a very long philosophy essay submission, and with no one else free, I decided to go bar hopping alone to celebrate. I have no issue taking myself out on solo dates to cafes, bookstores, dinner and pretty much anything else, but the idea of going to a bar on my own was frightening. Maybe it’s the patriarchy, and a deeply instilled sense of unease when entering spaces that are usually dominated by men. Or perhaps it was simply those external pressures about how ‘lonely’ going to a bar on your own looks to the outside world.
Despite these niggling thoughts, I powered ahead, deciding to stick within my comfort zone by taking myself out to dinner at Hello Auntie in Darling Square. Making friends with the waitress, we discussed my upcoming trip to Vietnam. Being Vietnamese and learning that I was vegetarian, we swapped Instagram so she could send me food recommendations from her home city of Hanoi.
Our conversation throughout the night between brief pauses in service felt grounding. It took me out of my head, helping me to appreciate the person in front of me, whilst also allowing me to listen to the conversations around me during our breaks.
That small act of kindness, of sharing those recommendations, still sticks out as a highlight from my adventures eating out alone, and if that had been the last interaction with a stranger I had that night, I would’ve walked away very happy.
Having finished dinner, I initially aimed to go to Old Mates Place, hoping to enjoy a drink on their rooftop overlooking the city. But on my walk, I remembered that I had seen PS40 recommended frequently on Secondz Instagram so checked to see how far away I was, being right across from Skittle Lane.
Slightly stressed going somewhere new, I circled the entrance at least 3 times to ensure it was the right place and even asked two guys in the laneway to confirm that this was the entrance. My nerves were at an all-time high when I was greeted by one of the lovely bartenders and seated at the bar.
I had only one intention for the night: to people-watch and hopefully gather some content I could write poetry about. Opening my notebook, I ordered a basque old fashioned (which was divine) and took in the surroundings. The candles and dim lighting created an intimate atmosphere, as many bars do, but there was something different about the energy, a kind of lightness that I couldn’t quite place at the time.
Not long after I’d been seated, a guy around his late 50s sat two stools away from me, despite having room further along the bar. My first instinct was to groan internally and immediately be on guard, unfortunately a learnt hyper-vigilance from being a woman in the world. I had zero interest in talking to him and curtly responded when he tried to initiate conversation, recommending the negroni ice cream and asking what drink I’d ordered. That was until we were spontaneously introduced by the bartender.
I don’t think anyone embodies the spirit of hospitality as much as Joffrey at PS40 did that night. After asking my name, he quickly introduced me to Bryan, which meant a conversation was inevitable. I was too polite to ignore him now and figured that any potential danger had been mitigated by the awareness of the bartenders.
And, despite my initial reluctance, Bryan surprised me. Originally from Alaska, he was on a solo trip to Australia after visiting his daughter in Singapore, working as a lawyer back home. We bonded over our mutual love for travel and English literature, finding out that we were both English majors. He even asked what I was writing about, to which I had to awkwardly close my notebook to avoid him glimpsing the observational notes I had written about him (not that he could read my writing anyway).
Our conversation must have looked lively because it drew the attention of Alex, Joffrey’s cousin, who joined us from the other end of the bar. At this point, we looked like the beginning of a punchline: an arts student, a lawyer and a corporate sales worker walked into a bar.
I can only remember the edges of our conversation that night, glimmers of discussions around feminism, explaining it to men at the bar, the perils of modern dating, loneliness and keeping friends, hospitality and what it truly means to bring people together.
What has lingered since is the feeling of walking away afterwards, like floating on air, so alive that the city’s lights felt as though they thrummed within me. Connecting with these strangers opened a door into what the world could look like if we built these random connections more often.
For me, this experience at PS40 was a reminder of what hospitality means. The embodiment of bringing people together and welcoming them into your space, of fostering those connections over a shared love of food and drink, which as our life force is a powerful tool to create connection.
Joffrey took some film photos of us that night which I like to think encaptured these feelings. I searched for months hoping that they would appear, just as a reminder that it was real. If I’m being honest, I still hope to find them.
At the time, I wished that another miraculous moment like this would manifest itself. It would take until, well, now for me to realise that these moments don’t just come out of nothing but out of activating them yourself. Whilst Joffrey was the one who orchestrated the conversation between us all that night, if I sat around waiting for another person to do the same I’d find disappointment quicker than I would new friends.
I spoke to someone recently about the differences between hospitality and retail, and I said that working in retail often feels like you’re just feeding capitalism’s hamster wheel. They said that at least with hospitality you have the food to be proud of, pride in something people need to live. This comment has stuck with me since, as a reminder that there is sanctity in sharing life and giving life through the sustenance of a meal
It has also made me reconsider my recent interactions with waitstaff and bartenders. It’s the simplicity of the bartender at Dean’s Lounge inviting us to sit on the couch and individually guiding us through the menu to drinks we might like. The same at Ezra, where a hand-marked menu made me feel like I was eating in someone else’s home. At Bar Planet, where a hand-drawn cocktail special made the experience feel alive, and the offer of unlimited popcorn like my grandma telling me there’s always more food. Where the waitress at Cash Only said I was her favourite purely because of our shared need for hand cream.
Finding newfound confidence in talking to strangers, coupled with my thoughts on overcoming loneliness, has led me to conduct a little experiment with myself. To see how easy it is to make conversation with people. At Vinnies, I asked the worker what book he was reading, getting an interesting recommendation. I spoke to the guy who works at my tailor, who is the quietest person you will ever meet but had so much to say and many questions to ask after I offered the smallest snippet of my day.
These interactions have given me hope that connection and community are there if you learn to ask for it. The number of times I have walked past strangers and thought their outfits looked cool or that I liked their vibe but never felt brave enough to say anything. How we all sit next to each other on buses or trains saying nothing when a simple hi is all it takes to form a connection.
The image of breaking bread with people sticks out to me because of the image of sharing food, sharing life, together. For me, it means that if we can learn to share this moment of humanness, reflecting on our collective need to be fed, then maybe we can understand that there is so little that separates us. So little between us and making friends across the table.
I hope I can share many more meals with people I love and care about. But I hope I can do the same with strangers and invite them in through our shared need for nourishment but also connection. It’s all there waiting for us: the table is set, the food is ready. All that’s left to do is ask.