So this guy John Donne says, “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent.” Sounds poetic, deep, old-school philosophy. We’re all supposedly connected, pieces of one big landmass, one world. No one exists in a vacuum, we all depend on each other. You live, you die—it’s not just your life, it’s part of something bigger that supposedly binds us all together.

But let’s be real. Donne talks about the bell tolling for funerals, saying when it rings, it rings for all of us. That someone’s death is everyone’s loss. Sure, it sounds noble. But try explaining that to someone who’s lost someone they care about. You stand there, muttering something about how we’re all connected, part of this “continent,” and all you’ll get back is silence or a smirk. Because when someone important to you dies, who the hell cares about the bigger picture? It’s just pain. And no continent’s gonna fix that.

That bell rings every day. Maybe you don’t hear it, maybe you pretend it’s not for you, but it’s always ringing. It rings for others. Maybe not for you—yet. But sooner or later, it will. Every damn moment, someone’s losing something. Someone’s leaving. Someone hears that bell and realizes the world they knew is gone. The bell tolls for all of us, whether we notice it or not.

But here’s the thing: Donne might be right in theory, but in real life, we’re all damn islands. Yeah, I get his metaphor. We’re supposed to be connected, part of the continent. But how can you be part of something when no one hears you? When you don’t hear anyone else? This “continent” is a lie. Everyone’s running around, someone’s dying, someone’s being born, and you’re standing there in the middle of the chaos like some lost island in the middle of a raging ocean.

Hemingway got it too. In For Whom the Bell Tolls, Robert Jordan thinks about duty, his mission, love. But even surrounded by people, he’s still alone. He’s got his own bridge to blow up, his own task. In that moment, he’s not part of anything, he’s on his own. And he knows it.

So when the bell rings and you hear it, remember this: maybe you want to believe you’re part of something bigger. Humanity, the continent, civilization. But in the end, it’s all about you. One. Island. Surrounded by an endless ocean of other people’s stories you’ll never understand.

Maybe I haven’t figured it all out yet. Maybe one day I’ll get it. But right now, despite everything, I feel like an island. A lonely island.