So, looking at different neighborhoods in Louisville, we assembled a dossier of risk factors for each, using standard measures in the field: economic stability, bodily ability, and good transportation options, etc. The results were striking. Some neighborhoods we evaluated lit up with warnings.

So, we braced for the next stream of data: the survey responses that would testify to the disconsolation of being alone. But when we looked at the answers from seniors in neighborhoods across Louisville, the relationship wasn’t neat. Structural vulnerability and reported loneliness didn’t line up the way our team expected. The data was good and surveys were performed to standard. It didn’t make sense.

The mismatch made us dig deeper. We noticed in the surveys that when older adults describe their days, the radius of “possible” is sometimes much smaller than we assumed, regardless of physical ability. You can be able-bodied, live near opportunity and still be confined to a narrow loop: home, one errand, a clinic, and back.

Turns out the issue often wasn’t with people or with the availability of belonging “assets”. Instead, it was the connections between them.
Concurrent with our work, Simmons College’s Jesse L. Jackson Center for Racial Justice was out in the field observing seniors going about their days in these neighborhoods. That really underscored what we’d realized from the surveys. When you walk a neighborhood with the question, “How easy is it for an older adult to have a normal day that includes other people?” you stop seeing the city as a map of places and start seeing it as more like an obstacle course.

Is the sidewalk continuous or does it vanish? Is there somewhere to sit if you need to rest? Are crossings timed for someone who can’t move quickly? Are places of connection visible and welcoming, or hidden behind doors that look like they aren’t meant for you? Subtle cues matter too: whether it feels safe to linger and if you look forward to returning. Physical and psychological barriers, often seemingly small ones, have a big impact.
“Third places” refer to convening places outside the home or workplace. But easy access is rarely considered. A park, library, or café can exist and still fail to support belonging if it’s uncomfortable, confusing, inaccessible, or too hard to reach without stress. Whether or not design decisions account for the obstacle course determines if someone will leave home, how long they can stay out, whether coming back feels natural, and, ultimately, if being known is even possible.

For us, working at the neighborhood level has made Louisville feel larger. There are many Louisvilles with different opportunities and constraints. In some places, the barriers are obvious: hardship, illness, and transportation limits that make leaving home expensive in every sense of the word. These barriers turn up in the usual places, and can be easier to mitigate with actions and tax dollars to make things to do and places to visit more accessible.
In other places, there may be more amenities, but less connection. It can be easy to access places but impossible to access each other. Loneliness is about felt connection, not counted contact. What counts is if you feel seen, that relationships feel reciprocal, and that you matter without having to prove usefulness first. This barrier shows up in surprising places, such as the neighborhoods that we would usually look at and say- “They have it all,” but it is something that simple tax dollars cannot fix.

Data can never show us the whole story. It doesn’t show the connective threads: informal networks, small routines, and the practical signals of welcome. Does it feel safe to sit outside? Does it feel okay to take your time crossing the street? Does it feel like you can be in public without buying something? If you say hi, will the other person respond with friendliness?

When public space is designed for people who move quickly, spend money, and don’t need much help, anyone outside that template experiences a steady drip of small rejections.

Belonging is something you can design for, protect, and practice. And the path toward it doesn’t always start with persuading someone to be more social. Sometimes it starts with making it easier to leave the front door and comfortable enough to stay out long enough to be seen and to see others.