Five Years Later: From Failing the Pub Test to Finding my Fellow Weirdos
The alone ranger isn’t alone anymore. We’ve found each other.
This is an article published this week on Elephant Journal, where I reflect on the first thing I ever wrote about loneliness almost five years ago. You can see the article here.
In February 2021, I published a piece on Elephant Journal that began with these words:
“I’m 54 years old, and recently, I realised I’ve been lonely my whole life.”
The response was overwhelming, with dozens of comments from people who saw themselves in my story, who had been carrying the same silent burden of chronic loneliness.
Now, five years later, at nearly 59, I want to share what I’ve discovered on this winding journey. Not because I’ve “solved” loneliness—that would be dishonest—but because I’ve learned to dance with it differently, and because that dance led me to create something meaningful: a community.
The Unexpected Plot Twist
After writing that article, something unexpected happened. I met someone who changed everything. My social life experienced what I can only call a resurgence. We became pivotal members of a highly successful pub trivia team, attended parties, celebrations, and birthdays. I encountered new people who offered the possibility of eventual friendship and connection. My ideas about writing on loneliness receded into the background. How could I revisit that theme when everything seemed so positive?
Then, without warning, one day it all came crashing down.
Our relationship ended abruptly, not by my choice. I found myself a lower priority in their life. I packed their belongings and returned them via courier, declining an offer to “talk about it” because my overloaded mind simply couldn’t handle it.
Back to square one. Or so I thought.
The Pub Test and Male Loneliness
During this period, I used what I call the “pub test”: Can you pick up the phone today and call three male friends out of the blue to invite them for a beer?
I failed this test spectacularly. The loneliness experienced by men, I discovered, is pervasive and rarely discussed.
After my separation years earlier, almost nobody reached out. One guy did. He and I have had lunch a few times in the last six years. It’s not much, but I am deeply grateful that he took the first step. That single gesture taught me something profound: sometimes the bravest thing you can do is reach out first.
From Alone Ranger to Building a Community
The phrase “alone ranger” from my original article stuck with me—I’d relied on being this lone figure all my life, figuring out challenges independently. But here’s what I’ve learned: being an alone ranger doesn’t mean being isolated.
It means being comfortable with solitude while remaining open to connection.
This realisation became the foundation for my Substack community, Alone Rangers. Through it, I’ve connected with people worldwide who understand that loneliness isn’t a character flaw—it’s often the price we pay for being thoughtful, introspective people in a world that values surface-level socialising.
The Friendship Experiments Begin
Slowly but surely, my life began to change after that relationship ended. I encountered new people who introduced me to fresh perspectives. Instead of waiting for friendship to happen to me, I started taking action.
I began volunteering for various events and festivals as part of tight-knit groups of people who genuinely enjoy being part of something larger. I’ve helped out at everything from a hospital (I was a family support volunteer in the emergency department at the Royal Children’s Hospital in Melbourne for nearly 10 years) to a kink festival. These diverse experiences taught me that some of the most rewarding activities involve connecting with people who have different lives and backgrounds, many neuro-diverse with stories of isolation and challenge.
I started deliberately setting aside time each week to send messages to friends, male and female. WhatsApp became my friendship hub. Often, those chats led to “What are you doing next week?” or “Hey, been a while, let’s get together.”
Redefining Success in Friendship
Five years ago, I measured friendship by a very specific standard: the casual, effortless connections I observed in others. I’ve since learned that friendship isn’t one-size-fits-all, and my version doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s.
I stopped trying to be the person with a packed social calendar or vast network of close friends. Instead, I learned that my sometimes introverted nature wasn’t that at all; it was simply a repression of my real personality, which enjoys and thrives on meaningful connections. I gave myself permission to have a small circle of deeper relationships rather than a large network of casual ones.
Today, I can genuinely say I’ve moved from completely failing the pub test to having people I can call at short notice to suggest dinner, a movie, or a drink. It’s a remarkable transformation that required vulnerability, intentionality, and taking action to make moves toward deeper sharing.
The Power of Shared Struggle
Perhaps the most profound discovery has been that sometimes the most meaningful connections come from sharing our struggles rather than hiding them. Writing about loneliness publicly was terrifying, but it connected me to more people than I’d ever imagined possible.
I realised I wasn’t uniquely broken; I was part of a vast, invisible tribe of people who had somehow missed the handbook on how to maintain friendships past childhood. The comments section of that original article became a confession booth where strangers shared their own stories of isolation.
Loneliness as a Teacher
I’ve stopped viewing loneliness as my enemy and started seeing it as my teacher. Chronic loneliness taught me radical self-reliance, deep introspection, and the ability to be comfortable in my own company—skills that serve me well.
It also taught me to value genuine connection over social performance. When you’ve lived with real loneliness, you develop a finely tuned detector for authentic relationships versus social theatre. You learn to appreciate the friend who shows up during difficult times over the one who’s only available for celebrations.
What I’ve Learned About Men and Connection
Research shows that the percentage of men who report having no close friends has quintupled since 1990. As men age, friendships often slip away quietly, not by choice, but as a consequence of life’s growing demands and societal expectations that discourage emotional vulnerability.
I’ve learned that many men suffer from what I call “friendly loneliness”. We’re surrounded by people, especially at work, but disconnected emotionally, just moving through life like automatons. The risks associated with this isolation are comparable to smoking, obesity, and physical inactivity.
The Alone Rangers Vision
Through this journey, I’ve developed a clear vision for what Alone Rangers represents: the quiet spaces between loneliness and connection, the shifting nature of relationships, and the emotional complexities of modern life. It’s not about fixing loneliness—it’s about understanding, articulating, and making space for deeper, more honest conversations about how we connect with others and ourselves.
I write particularly for men navigating midlife, friendship, and emotional depth, but also for anyone who has ever questioned what it truly means to belong. We’ve created a space where being alone is normalised, not pathologised.
Perhaps the most important lesson has been giving myself permission to be different. I’ve stopped apologising for my introverted nature, my selective approach to friendship, my preference for depth over breadth in relationships.
This isn’t settling—it’s aligning my social life with my authentic self rather than trying to conform to extroverted ideals that never fit me anyway.
To My Fellow Weirdos and Alone Rangers
When I read the comments on my original article, one phrase appeared over and over: “I relate.”
People between the ages of 28 to 71 wrote variations of “This could be me.” and “I don’t fit in anywhere.” Someone said they felt like they were “looking from the outside in.” Another called themselves a “lone wolf.”
But the comment that moved me most was simple: “I’ll be your friend!”
If you’re reading this and thinking “This could be me,” here’s what I want you to know: You’re not broken.
You’re not alone in feeling alone. That sense of “not fitting in anywhere?” It’s shared by more people than you can imagine. Those acquaintances you have but can’t quite call friends? You’re in good company.
As I told one commenter years ago, “weirdo” should be a badge of honour. Who wants to be normal anyway?
Through Alone Rangers, I’ve discovered something remarkable: there’s a whole invisible tribe of us—thoughtful, introspective people who’ve somehow missed the handbook on effortless socialising. We’re the ones who prefer depth over small talk, who’d rather have three meaningful conversations than thirty superficial ones, who sometimes feel like we’re speaking a different language than everyone else.
I’m not here to fix your loneliness or teach you networking tricks. I’m still figuring this out myself, still working up the courage to make that phone call or send that text. What I can offer is community with others who understand that being an “alone ranger” isn’t a defect, it’s often the price we pay for being thoughtful in a world that rewards surface-level socialising.
Whether you’re 28 and feeling like loneliness has aged you, or 71 and wondering if it’s too late to change, you belong in this conversation.
Whether you moved as a child and never quite planted roots again, or work colleagues surround you but have no one to call for a beer, your story matters here.
The alone ranger isn’t alone anymore. We’ve found each other.