What Happens When You’re Cut Off From All Human Contact?

MAUGHAN: Somebody help me.  

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DUCKWORTH: I’m Angela Duckworth.

MAUGHAN: I’m Mike Maughan.

DUCKWORTH + MAUGHAN: And you’re listening to No Stupid Questions.

Today on the show: what happens when someone is completely isolated from other people?

MAUGHAN: “There was no end and no beginning. There is only one’s mind, which can begin to play tricks.”

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MAUGHAN: Angela, today we have a very fascinating question that I think is going to lead to a fun debate between us. “Hello, Mike and Angela. My name is Barry Douglas. I am Rebecca Lee Douglas’s father.”

DUCKWORTH: Oh, my goodness. Our Rebecca Lee Douglas!

MAUGHAN: Our Rebecca’s dad wrote in.

DUCKWORTH: Okay, I’m on his side, whatever it is.

MAUGHAN: He said, “In a recent episode of the show about the psychology of groups, Angela said, quote, ‘Nobody’s all that interested in how you act, think, or feel on a desert island,’ unquote.” And then he says, “I would contest that the blockbuster movie Cast Away suggests differently. I find the ways in which Tom Hanks’s character changes psychologically throughout the movie to be fascinating, and I would love to hear more about how complete isolation from society can affect a person’s brain and behavior. Sincerely, Barry.” Here’s the debate I want to have with you. Which one of us would last longer on a deserted island?

DUCKWORTH: Oh, that is such a good question. Okay, Mike Maughan on a desert island. Angela Duckworth on a desert island. I’m going to go with you outliving me. And here’s why. I think that if there’s one thing that I have figured out that enables me to survive, it’s asking for help. And there’d be nobody to ask on a desert island. Like, I would be, like, trying to charm hermit crabs into figuring out how to build a fire, and like, it wouldn’t work.

MAUGHAN: That’s such a fascinating insight that your kind of secret is you ask for help.  

DUCKWORTH: Okay, what about you? Like, Who would you pick? Because I do think it reveals sort of, like, you know, how you get by in life. 

MAUGHAN: First of all, I actually think we would both have a decent chance because I think that you have enormous grit — and I’m not just trying to go off your book.

DUCKWORTH: Thank you.

MAUGHAN: But I have — I have another question, which I was thinking about in thinking through people and deserted islands. And it’s what would take us down first?

DUCKWORTH: Dehydration. Lack of fresh water.

MAUGHAN: But I think that you can figure that stuff out with rain and set up a catch basin. But I think I would go crazy from, like, rodents, and bugs, and stuff like that.

DUCKWORTH: I was thinking about the movie Cast Away, and I thought you were going to say I would go crazy from lack of social contact. Oh wait, first of all, have you seen this Tom Hanks movie? You’ve seen Cast Away, yeah?

MAUGHAN: Yes, I loved it. There’s this screenwriter, Bill Broyles, who wrote Cast Away. His first screenplay was Apollo 13, about being lost in space. He then did Planet of the Apes and then he goes on to do Cast Away. But what’s interesting is he comes up with a lot of the ideas for Cast Away when he goes to what is deemed a “survival camp” on an island near Mexico’s Sea of Cortez. And he stayed out there for several days. And this is coming from a journalist, Sarah Hepola, in the Austin Chronicle in 2000, who wrote an article about this, “Lost at Sea and Back Again.” So Broyles goes to “survival camp,” and he spears stingrays. He learns how to open coconuts and drain their juices. He made his own lean-to from bamboo and palm leaves, he spends — he spends a day and a half trying to make fire and finally is like, “Somebody help me. I can’t eat any more raw fish.” But this is what I thought was really interesting. He said, as he’s going through all of this, he realized this wasn’t just a physical challenge. It would be an emotional and spiritual one as well. And that’s where one of the big insights or moments that becomes huge in Cast Away comes to this guy. Broyles says one day he saw a volleyball lying on a beach and he started talking to it. And he called it Wilson after the name of the brand.

DUCKWORTH: Oh, wait, this actually happened to him before he, like, wrote it into the script?

MAUGHAN: Yes. This is the genesis of the idea. So, he’s alone, he’s at survival camp. He sees a volleyball on the beach. He starts calling it Wilson. And that’s what becomes, and he says, “my favorite character in the movie,” which is rude because I think there’s basically two characters in the movie, Wilson and Tom Hanks. I mean, there are others, but and that’s where it becomes this really interesting pairing with a nonhuman element.

DUCKWORTH: Well, this idea that we might anthropomorphize inanimate objects in our desperate attempt to recreate what is a basic human need — I think it’s so interesting. And I remember when I watched that movie, I mean, I wasn’t a trained psychologist at that point, but I thought that was the message, right? That in addition to water, and food, and shelter, it’s a basic — it’s like a fundamental drive that we have to connect with other people, so much so that we would make a person out of a volleyball in order to, like, you know, get our fix.

MAUGHAN: Absolutely, and I think that it’s interesting — I was just reading a book called This Tender Land about Native American schools. And there’s one child in it who is constantly sent to solitary confinement, this room. And there is a rat there in the room that becomes like his buddy. And I think it’s the same idea that we need this psychological connection to something. So, here’s where I think I’d love to go with Barry’s question, is: I think there are two types of isolation that I’ve been thinking about. One is this involuntary isolation. So, think about that —.

DUCKWORTH: Like, solitary confinement.

MAUGHAN: Solitary confinement. You get lost in a shipwreck and are cast away like Tom Hanks. Then there’s voluntary isolation. And I think we can look at both of those, because I think it provides a different structure to think through, “What do those do to you?” On a very simple level, I will say this. On nights when I have been invited to do lots of things or have different events I can go to and I choose to do something alone, that is peaceful. And I enjoy that. But on nights when I have nothing to do. I’m like, “Wait, does nobody care?” — which is, again, a very, very small microcosm of what we’re talking about, but I think points to this difference between involuntary and voluntary solitude. So, let’s start with involuntary, because we’re talking about Cast Away and Tom Hanks. What does that do to a person?

DUCKWORTH: Well, I’ve never been in solitary confinement, but I was like, when have I been in the closest thing there is to solitary confinement in my own life? So, let me start with that. I will just say, this is nothing like actual solitary confinement. Like, when you’re in actual solitary confinement, you know, your cell is often the size of a king-size bed, like the entire thing. And that includes everything, because of course you do not have a king-size bed. You have, like, a tiny little cot and then there’s a toilet and there might be a sink — I mean, everything is in this tiny little cell, oftentimes without any daylight. So, this is nothing like that, slash, it was really hard for me. So, a few years ago, I’m in Miami with my family. I’m sure I’ve told you some version of this, but remember when my mom almost drowned? And I’ve told Stephen about this too, but basically, long story short, it’s Christmas Eve, as a big indulgence, as a kind of like, “What the heck? You only live once,” we got a snorkeling boat to take our family out off the coast of the Florida Keys or something. And he drops anchor, and Jason, Amanda, and Lucy, they jump in. Pretty soon, I can’t see them. They’ve swum off. And then, it’s my mom’s turn. Okay, she was 86 going on 87, and I was assured by this confident captain that it was entirely safe, right? So, she jumps in, and then I go in last. And holy smokes. I was — I mean, every curse word that I know went through my head when I hit the water, because the current was so strong that day. I mean, it really pulled us. And my mom did nearly drown. And then, as the story progresses, we’re, like, out of the hospital and, you know, I’m sort of nursing my mom in this in this hotel room. And then, I test positive for Covid. And I quickly make a series of phone calls to physicians in my family and they’re like, “Get into the bathroom, put on an N95 mask, put a towel under the door. And by the way, you can no longer nurse your mother.” So, we managed to get my mom back to Philadelphia, and now I’m in Miami with a 10-day quarantine. And I neither could afford to, nor wanted to spend 10 days in this hotel, so I basically decamped to a friend’s house in Miami. His name is Warren, and Warren is really wealthy, so this was not solitary confinement. You know, it was just a gorgeous house. And I have to say, Mike, that despite the fact that I had every physical convenience, and even, like, luxuries, it was, like, the longest 10 days. And I know this is not a sympathetic story, because I was quarantining in a really rich friend’s house, but it was really lonely. And I did feel like by the end — I mean, I wasn’t talking to the coffee maker and, like, you know, making friends out of inanimate objects, but I was like, oh, there is something we need other than food, and drink, and shelter, and basically, it’s other people. 

MAUGHAN: But this is where I think the whole idea of involuntary versus voluntary is pretty interesting. Because I imagine there have been different points in your life where you would gladly take 10 days alone in Miami full of no interruptions. But the fact that it was involuntary in a sense — that you were forced there because of Covid, that changes your psychology, and nothing else changed except for your mindset of voluntary versus involuntary.

DUCKWORTH: That’s right. There’s only one researcher that I know who kind of specializes in the psychology of solitary confinement. His name is Craig Haney. He’s a professor of psychology at UC Santa Cruz. Do you want me to tell you some of the things he’s found about solitary confinement?

MAUGHAN: Yeah.

DUCKWORTH: Okay, well, one of the things that Craig Haney points out is that it’s actually much more common than you would think. Apparently our country has one of the highest rates of solitary confinement compared to other countries around the world. I mean, the title of Craig Haney’s report is “Solitary Confinement Is Not ‘Solitude’: The Worst Case Scenario of Being ‘Alone’ in Prison.” And to your point, he emphasizes that it’s not voluntary. And I think he would agree that that’s probably the worst thing about it, like involuntarily being separated from all social contact — which kind of reminds me of, like, you know, things that people had done in the old days, like, excommunicate somebody, or to, like, shun them and push them out of society, or exile them. I guess that still happens. So, that’s one dimension. But in solitary confinement, you’re also deprived of sensory stimulation, like hearing sounds of things that are happening, because it’s oftentimes so isolated and so separate from the rest of the prison community that you don’t hear anything. You also don’t see anything other than the four walls of your cell that you’ve memorized at that point. And there’s also this interesting dimension where you’re physically separated by touch. And you know how we were recently talking about the psychology of touch? Like, hugging and side hugging and — oh, I do want to tell you that I think I successfully completed our eight-day hugging challenge.

MAUGHAN: Ah, well-played.

DUCKWORTH: And I tweeted it — eight hugs a day for eight days — and somebody was like, “Why don’t you do like one hug on the first day, two hugs on the second day, three hugs…” and I was thinking to myself, oh my gosh, that’s so much smarter. Eight’s a lot. Did you hug people for eight days?

MAUGHAN: I tried. Some days I got more, some days less.

DUCKWORTH: But you hugged more.

MAUGHAN: I did hug more, yes, and I was more aware of it. But to your point, we have this need for, for human physical contact. In fact, as you’re talking about solitary, I think the most famous prisoner to have ever gone through solitary confinement is Nelson Mandela. And, in fact, the United Nations has what they call the Mandela Rules, which restricts the use of solitary confinement. And it, it even includes this quote from Nelson Mandela saying that solitary confinement was, quote, “The most forbidding aspect of prison life. There was no end and no beginning. There is only one’s mind, which can begin to play tricks.”

DUCKWORTH: I mean, what’s remarkable about that is that —  you know I’m no student of history, but because I am a big fan of Mandela, I remember reading that, you know, not only was he in and out of solitary confinement, he also had to do, like, a tremendous amount of hard physical labor. And just the conditions under which he was kept — I mean, the fact that he would rank the solitary isolation at the top of the adversities given that period, which was like, what, 27 years, I think? But when Mandela says your mind starts playing tricks — so there has been research on sensory deprivation. So, this is not something that the Tom Hanks character had to deal with because when you’re on a desert island, you get lots of sensory stimulation, right? You get, like, you know, the sounds of the bugs, and the birds, and the water, and so forth. But in solitary confinement, you know, you don’t hear a lot, you don’t see a lot, you don’t smell a lot, and you’re not touching a lot. And there have been these short-term laboratory studies where you put people, like, in a floating tank with, like, your know, their ears stuffed. And one of the findings is that the brain starts to hallucinate. So, when Mandela says, you know, “your mind starts playing tricks on you,” you start to hear things that are not there. You start to see things that are not there. And one of the reasons that scientists think this all happens is that your brain has evolved expecting a lot of sensory input. We are bombarded with too much visual information, too much auditory, too many smells, too many things that you could be detecting that are touching your skin or whatever. That’s the way we’ve evolved. So, what the human brain is doing is trying to manage all that, and that’s what we’re designed for. Then you put somebody in the exact opposite conditions, and the brain, because it’s expecting all this input, basically starts to hallucinate.

MAUGHAN: And that’s you creating things so that you have something to interact with almost?

DUCKWORTH: It’s a little bit like phantom limb. It’s a little bit like, you’ve got all this neurological infrastructure that’s expecting inputs. You know, some of these experiments, all you can really conclude is that we are not designed to be separated from social contact, but we are also not designed to have no sensory stimuli — and by the way, that’s why I think it’s important to note that when you’re on a desert island or you’re on a, like, 10-day retreat in the woods, it’s not like you’re cut off from sensory stimulation. It’s only in places like solitary confinement where you have no input because you’re in a cell.

MAUGHAN: Yeah, I think that’s another important distinction, right? We’re talking about voluntary versus involuntary isolation. And then there’s this idea of sensory deprivation or not. So, Angela and I would love to hear your thoughts on social isolation, whether that’s voluntary or involuntary. Record a voice memo in a quiet place with your mouth close to the phone and email it to us at NSQ@freakonomics.com and maybe we’ll play it on a future episode of the show. And if you like the show and want to support it, the best thing you can do is tell a friend about it. You can also spread the word on social media or leave a review in your podcast app. 

Still to come on No Stupid Questions: How is being with strangers different from being alone?

DUCKWORTH: I don’t want to eat a sandwich on a bridge with a cool British guy that I’m never going to see again.

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Now, back to Mike and Angela’s conversation about isolation.

MAUGHAN: One other example of someone who was involuntarily isolated, but with lots of sensory input was this guy who — they call him the “real Robinson Crusoe,” because this is the story that led to —.

DUCKWORTH: Okay, wait, wait, wait, remind me — Robinson Crusoe is a children’s story? Or is it a person? I do not remember reading that.

MAUGHAN: Robinson Crusoe is a book written about a man who shipwrecked and his experience in this shipwreck.

DUCKWORTH: This sounds like the kind of book I would not want to read. I would be, like, at the library, and I’d be like, “Nope, I want to read the book about horses.” Okay, go on. Robinson Crusoe.

MAUGHAN: So, I read this article in Smithsonian Magazine about Alexander Selkirk, who is thought to be the guy who is the real Robinson Crusoe. The guy he’s based on was a Scottish sailor and he was just really not into his ship and he was trying to —.

DUCKWORTH: Wait, sorry. He was just not really into his ship?

MAUGHAN: It’s true. I don’t know how to describe it.

DUCKWORTH: He was a reluctant sailor.

MAUGHAN: I mean, he’s just not getting along with the captain. He’s not happy. Tries to kind of lead this mutiny, thinking other people will follow him. Nobody does. He gets kicked off the ship.

DUCKWORTH: Oh no!

MAUGHAN: Put on this island, and he thinks, like, “Other people are going to join me.” Nobody joins him, and so now he’s freaking out and is like, “Wait, let me back on.” And they’re like, “No, sorry, you’re on your own.” And so, they leave him stranded there.

DUCKWORTH: They drop him off on an island?

MAUGHAN: Yes, but they leave him with bedding, a musket, a pistol, gunpowder, a hatchet, a knife, navigation tools, a pot for boiling food, some tobacco, cheese, etc. And he thinks, okay, I’m probably going to be here for a few days until a good ship passes by. But it is four years and four months. And he learns to survive. And it’s really crazy, because at first he’s very despondent. In fact, thinks of using one of the bullets to end his own life. And he actually noted at one point that the gnawing hunger that he felt was almost this welcome feeling, because it at least gave him something to think about.

DUCKWORTH: Right! By the way, that counts as sensory stimulation.

MAUGHAN: Yes. And that’s what I’m saying. He’s getting lots of stimulation here, because trees are snapping in horrible weather, or there are rats that are nibbling on his feet and that are all over the island. But, after he finds food and shelter, then it’s keeping his sanity. What’s interesting is, even amidst all this, he’s aware of who he can and can’t be discovered by. And so, like, the Spanish were known to come capture people, enslave them, etc. And so, a Spanish ship comes by, and you’d think, “Oh, I’m stranded on a desert island. I’ll take anything.” Nope. He escapes and hides from the Spanish, even when they find his island, because he refuses to be captured by them. Finally he is helped and he is taken off the island, he goes back to civilization. But this is what I think is so interesting about his story. The people that found him said some months after first meeting Selkirk, they noticed that the cheerful man they had first encountered had now become burdened by the world. And it was said that he was happiest when he confined his wants to the natural necessities around him. But now that he was back in this, like, world that he had not operated in for so long, he was burdened again by the expectations of the world. And again, he was always a bit impetuous. Let’s be real. That’s why he got thrown off the boat in the first place. But it’s this idea of: re-entry is hard, but also his re-entry was especially hard, because he had learned to almost thrive in this environment when everything else except for what’s necessary is stripped away.

DUCKWORTH: Okay, did not know that story. Obviously, didn’t meet that person. And nevertheless, I’m just going to go out on a limb and say that somebody who is so difficult that he tries to lead a mutiny resulting in him being deposited by himself on a desert island and then nobody following him suggests that he might have some personality issues that preceded his four years and four months on the island. So, I am not doubting that four years and four months on an island could, you know, have some influence on your personality, but like, this was just not a typical person. I do, though, have a recommendation for this person who’s no longer alive. Let me tell you this finding from a study that was done in 1975 that does suggest a kind of prescription for a kind of, you know, Robinson Crusoe who’s trying to get back into normal society and, like, manage social relations in a way that they didn’t have to do before. So, remember we were talking about that very sad research on the little baby monkeys. We were talking about the psychology of touch and I brought up this very old research by Harry Harlow.  

MAUGHAN: Yes!

DUCKWORTH: Okay. Well, you’ll remember that Harlow was really interested in the psychology of love and of attachment and of what a healthy childhood was supposed to be like, and so he created the opposite conditions, and he raised these baby monkeys in solitude. So, basically these monkeys had no affection, no mom, but also, by the way, no siblings and no peers. And monkeys grow up, like people do, right? With not just a mom, but, like, society. So, these little baby monkeys, he discovers: when he, like, let them out and, like, put them in the cages with all the other monkeys, right, all the other monkeys would try to interact with them for at least the beginning of when they would be introduced into their cage and then they had these, like, anti-social behavior — I mean, they had no idea. But here’s the thing that I want to say that was encouraging, and again, possibly a recommendation for all of us. So, this paper is in Developmental Psychology — so, top journal, then and now. And it was published in 1975. It’s called “Social Recovery of Monkeys: Isolated for the First Year of Life, Rehabilitation and Therapy.” And what Harlow did was he took these monkeys who had been alone for the first 12 months of their lives, and he knew that they were essentially destined for a terrible next stage of their life. But then, he gave them, as companions, younger monkeys that were normal. Interestingly, he called these the “therapist monkeys.” And then, what he did was pretty much just let them interact with each other, without a lot of intervention. And what happens is that these awkward, socially-maladjusted monkeys who had just come out of solitary confinement for the first entire year of their life learn how to play. They learn how to groom. They learn how to do these things. So, what it suggests is: what you need to do is start with the simplest kinds of interactions. And in this case, that’s easier if you hang out with somebody who’s younger than you. You don’t want to, like, try playing tennis with Roger Federer when you’ve never picked up a racket.

MAUGHAN: But I would love to try — I mean I’d be destroyed, but I would love —

DUCKWORTH: You’re like, actually, can I go? I know, right? Given the choice.

MAUGHAN: That’s not going to get me better at tennis. It’ll just give me a really cool experience of playing with Roger Federer.

DUCKWORTH: But, basically, like, the idea that these younger therapist monkeys are therapists when all they do is engage with the monkeys who need help by probably asking them for stuff, right? It’s, to me, like this kind of twofold moral. Like, one is: you got to, like, be at the level you are and not try to get ahead of yourself. And the second thing is I think miraculous, curative things happen when we’re in the role of the helper, when we’re in the role of, like, “Oh, I guess I’m supposed to be the responsible one.” And I don’t want to go too far, because they’re monkeys and they’re not people, and it was 1975, and I didn’t do this research, but I’ve seen it over and over again with people of all ages, that what brings out our best is when we are called upon to do something for someone who’s a little needier than we are.  

MAUGHAN: For sure. Yes. Yes.

DUCKWORTH: I feel like, for most of human history, we all hung out together, meaning humanity, in these, like, very mixed-age groups. You know, it wouldn’t be uncommon to have a one-year-old with a six-year-old, and a fourteen-year-old, and a twenty-nine-year old, and maybe somebody who was in old age like, all, like, sitting around together. And now what we do is we spend so much of our time, both in adulthood, but absolutely in childhood, in these very homogenous age bands. Like: let’s put all of the first graders together, so that your whole world is other six-year-olds.   I feel like mixed age groups are healthier and human civilization has progressed in a way that segregates us into age groups that’s, like, not healthy either when we’re young or when we’re old.

MAUGHAN: I could not agree more, and one of the great pieces of advice I’ve gotten in the last few years — and I know we’ve talked about this before — is conscientiously cultivating friendships with people who are 20 years older and 20 years younger than you are, because there is so much perspective. 

DUCKWORTH: I remember the Mike Maughan rule of, like, trying to befriend people who were, like, two decades older, but I forgot about your young-person rule.

MAUGHAN: I think it’s really valuable, because, again, match the perspective of a young, hungry, ambitious 20-year-old who — has no cynicism, is just excited about what may happen in life, and marry that with the incredible perspective of someone in their 80s, who has been through so much, seen so many changes. It’s such a valuable perspective to have both on either side.   I, I know we’ve diverged a little from Barry’s question, but to get us back I would love to talk about this idea of voluntary isolation and people who choose to kind of go away. And maybe as a precursor to this, let me share with you a story about a woman who decided to spend 500 days underground, isolated from the outside world. And this comes from a journalist who wrote in the Associated Press. So this woman, her name is Beatriz Flamini. She was 50 years old and from Madrid. And she goes into this cave for 500 days. And she has people bringing her food and water, so her needs that way are taken care of. But outside of that, she’s completely isolated. And she said she stopped counting how many days after, like, 60 days because you have no sense of time.

DUCKWORTH: She’s in a cave, right? So, it wasn’t like she actually had the sun setting and rising, right?

MAUGHAN: Right. In fact, what’s actually pretty interesting about this, and I, I read about this in a different article by Tree Meinch in Discovery Magazine. They talked about another person who had a six-month cave stay. And when they’re in this environment — this has happened multiple times now — people’s wake and sleep cycle actually shifts to, like, a 48-hour wake and sleep cycle rather than our 24-hour one that is based on the sun. In fact, there was one guy who slept for 33 hours and researchers were like, is he dead? And it’s like, no, they’ve just switched to a new cycle, because you don’t have the sun anymore.

DUCKWORTH: Because they’re not getting these cues.

MAUGHAN: Here’s what’s interesting about this woman who is alone for 500 days.

DUCKWORTH: By herself, on purpose, which is mind-blowing.

MAUGHAN: She said, “I didn’t want to come out. I am where I want to be.” And she used the time — again, this is not solitary confinement — she used the time to read, to draw, to weave, to quote, “be,” and to enjoy.

DUCKWORTH: And she was able to leave at any time, right? Nobody was forcing her. And that makes all the difference, right? Like, maybe that’s the difference between solitary confinement and solitude. It’s choice.

MAUGHAN: Honestly, that’s what I got from thinking about Barry’s question and all of these things. You have talked a number of times about how important agency is to us and that that’s almost this fundamental, primal need we have is to make our own decisions. 

DUCKWORTH: Not even almost; it is. Like, we’ve ticked off kind of: well, for survival, you need water, and you need food, and you need shelter. But then, we’re like, oh wait, you also need social contact. I also think that we are wired to need control or agency. So, this woman, for reasons I cannot truly empathize with, like, wanting to be in a cave for 500 days, but it was her choice, and she knew she could leave any time she wanted.

MAUGHAN: Right, and she still had the agency as to how to use her time. And I think that’s what’s so key is, in this idea of voluntary versus involuntary — even the dumb example I used of having way too many things to do, and I love when I have a free evening. But, sometimes, I’m like, “Wait a minute. This is an involuntary free evening. I’m going to go crazy.”

DUCKWORTH: Then, you’re lonely.   I think for me — I’m trying to remember, if I’ve ever wanted to be alone for more than an evening. Did you ever read this book by Cheryl Strayed? What is it even called? She, like, goes on the Appalachian Trail.

MAUGHAN: Is it Wild? 

DUCKWORTH: That’s right. I mean, there’s this woman and she’s having some kind of crisis in her life. It’s beautifully written, by the way. I was like, wow, this woman can write. And the premise of it is, like, she decides to hike the Appalachian Trail, as some people do when they are feeling like they really need to reset their life. And that is voluntary solitude. I don’t want to do it, but I’m trying to remember if there’s any time in my life that I’ve wanted to do even a version of hiking the Appalachian Trail by myself. And I think in my 20s I would do these stupid things — I mean, stupid for me. I would just be, like, “I’m going to buy this rail pass and travel around Europe” — I don’t even know if these things still exist, but there were these, like, train passes and, like, you could take almost any coach train all over Europe with just this student pass, like, without paying for individual tickets. So, I, I remember this time in my early 20s where I thought that was, like, the most genius idea ever, that I could live on bread, and chocolate milk, and just, like, see Europe. And it was voluntary, but Mike, I have to say, that unlike Cheryl Strayed, I was miserable.  Like, I did not come home with, like, epiphanies about my — it was so sad! I have zero desire to be by myself for extended periods of time.

MAUGHAN: I think the difference with Cheryl Strayed is while you are sort of alone, there’s still a lot of human interaction along the trail. You’re meeting other people all the time, you’re engaging with them. I actually think that there is so much beauty to doing things with strangers, because it opens you up to an entire world of people. Whereas if you’re only with your friends and you’re like, “Hey, I want to hike this with just my buddies,” then you tend to group with people who are similar to you. So, that’s where I think with Cheryl Strayed, yes, you’re on your own, but it also opens you up to so many experiences by choosing to do something on your own versus just hanging out with your group.

DUCKWORTH: Okay. And I recall during my little European adventure — I mean, I have this one vivid memory of being on a bridge and, like, eating a sandwich, you know, my legs dangling over the side with somebody I’d met at a hostel. I remember his name. His name was Michael and he was, like, British, and I mean, like, one of the first British people I ever met. It was like, “Oh my gosh, coolest accent ever. Oh my gosh, you went to one of those little prep schools that I’ve read about in books.” Like, it was super cool. And I still don’t want that. Like, and I’m not saying, like, nobody should want that. I’m just saying Angela Duckworth does not want that. I don’t want to eat a sandwich on a bridge with a cool British guy that I’m never going to see again. I, I —.

MAUGHAN: Want to eat a sandwich with Jason on a bridge.

DUCKWORTH: I know, I want to basically eat a sandwich with Jason. Or, you know, Amanda, or Lucy, or Mike Maughan. I mean, you know, I have other people. But I’m not saying that that’s wrong. I think there are people who enjoy meeting — you know, it’s like your paths cross, and then your paths don’t stay together and, like, that’s a beautiful and wonderful thing. But I don’t know. It’s just very interesting. I, I agree with you about voluntary versus involuntary, but I think some people would choose to have that kind of voluntary solitude. And other people, at least at times in their life, would say, like, I do not want voluntary solitude. Like, you know, if you’re giving me the choice, because this is all about choice, then like, I choose not.

MAUGHAN: Look, I think that overall, life is better when shared with people and especially with people that you love.

DUCKWORTH: And I think if Barry had the choice of eating a sandwich on a bridge — his legs dangling over the side — by himself or with his daughter Rebecca, I think we know which one he’d pick.

Coming up after the break: a fact-check of today’s episode and stories from our NSQ listeners.

Michael CARTIER: One or two times per week, I quote, “work” a three-hour shift where my job is to sit there and cuddle babies.

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And now, here’s a fact-check of today’s conversation:

William Broyles Jr. did write the scripts for Apollo 13, Planet of the Apes, and Cast Away — all films whose protagonists struggle to survive away from civilization as they know it — but Mike got the order wrong. Apollo 13 came first, then Cast Away, and finally Planet of the Apes. Later, Angela says that prisoners held in solitary confinement are deprived of sensory stimulation. However, as psychologist Craig Henley explains in his book chapter “Solitary is Not Solitude” solitary confinement is a, quote, “problematic combination of too little and too much sensory stimulation.” While prisoners certainly experience a “reduced and monotonous” environment, he writes that they’re often subjected to “loud noise, bright lights, foul smells.” The reduced environmental stimulation that he discusses in his research refers to the lack of positive stimuli only.

Also, Cheryl Strayed’s book Wild is about the author’s experience hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, not the Appalachian Trail. And finally, you can still buy a Eurail Pass, which allows customers to travel within 33 European countries by train. That’s it for the fact-check.

Before we wrap today’s show, let’s hear some thoughts about last week’s episode on physical touch.

Jordan CAPELOTO: Hey Angela and Mike, this is Jordan calling from Denver, Colorado. I also grew up in a low-touch household, but pardon the pun, started “embracing” the idea of hugging friends and family in my high-school years. When I got to college, I learned to swing dance and noticed that a great side-effect of the experience was that I was receiving a lot more platonic touch than I was in my everyday life before that. I’d suggest it for anyone that is feeling a lacking in the touch department, and is able to, to go take some partner dancing classes — be it swing, salsa, bachata, blues, zouk. The communities are typically very welcoming, and you don’t need to bring your own partner. It’s a great way to socialize, increase your amount of platonic touch, and expand your horizons.  

Michael CARTIER: Hi, Angela and Mike. Michael from Michigan here. I’m a 63-year-old retiree who is lucky enough to serve as a volunteer cuddler at our local hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit. One or two times per week, I quote, “work” a three-hour shift where my job is to sit there and cuddle babies, holding, stroking, singing. We cuddle babies who are: one, having a bad day; two, have a chronic condition, usually alcohol or opioid withdrawal; and three, perhaps most importantly, do not have much interaction with family, typically due to economic circumstances — parents working or a lack of resources to be able to travel to the hospital.  It’s good for the babies, it’s good for the sometimes overwhelmed nursing staff, and selfishly, it’s good for me, too. At least once per week, I get a three-hour cuddle.

That was, respectively, Jordan Capeloto and Michael Cartier. Thanks to him and to everyone who shared their stories with us. And remember, we’d love to hear your thoughts about voluntary or involuntary isolation. Send a voice memo to NSQ@Freakonomics.com, and you might hear your voice on the show!

Coming up next week on No Stupid Questions: What are “values,” really?

MAUGHAN: Do you vibe with being a mobster or do you vibe with caring about the world? 

That’s coming up on No Stupid Questions.

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No Stupid Questions is part of the Freakonomics Radio Network, which also includes Freakonomics Radio, People I (Mostly) Admire, and The Economics of Everyday Things. All our shows are produced by Stitcher and Renbud Radio. The senior producer of the show is me, Rebecca Lee Douglas, and Lyric Bowditch is our production associate. This episode was mixed by Jasmin Klinger and Jeremy Johnston. We had research assistance from Daniel Moritz-Rabson. Our theme song was composed by Luis Guerra. You can follow us on Twitter @NSQ_Show and on Facebook @NSQShow. If you have a question for a future episode, please email it to NSQ@Freakonomics.com. To learn more, or to read episode transcripts, visit Freakonomics.com/NSQ. Thanks for listening!

MAUGHAN: Take that, psychology.