You may wonder why I’m writing about community building, when just last week I was going on about how full my life is?
Well, I’m a walking contradiction - like any other normal, healthy human. But also, I don’t view community building as an extra burden on my time, I see it as essential to my wellbeing.
(Before we go on, I’ll briefly give my interpretation of the word “wellbeing”, because the current one we’re most often fed is reductive, and wrong. Wellbeing is not yoga and a green juice. It’s not a spin class or a nice candle. It’s nothing purchasable. It’s nothing to do with aesthetics. Actual, true wellbeing is complicated and multifaceted; It doesn’t just incorporate your emotional, mental and physical health, but also the health of your finances, loved ones, environment, community and more. And crucially, what it looks like changes person to person and day to day. Your definition of wellbeing is different to mine, and mine today is different today than it was yesterday.)
So, community building is part of my definition of wellbeing: the more connected I feel to my community, the better I feel, full stop. It’s taken some time for me to appreciate this, and even longer to articulate it. But I’ve steadily realised that although I love being on my own, (if I were to be annoying, at this point I would describe myself as ‘such an introvert’), I’m also a ‘joiner’ who thrives in certain groups and values that specific type of connection in life.
And obviously, I’m not alone (excuse the pun!)
For 99% of all of our evolutionary history – basically, forever – we existed in small communities. We lived in groups of 20, maybe 30. We worked, cooked, played, laughed, cried and died around one another. For the most part we shared values, opinions, and needs. Whether we liked one another or not, we were innately connected.
I’m not here to glamorise ancient societies – for most of history we didn’t have access to hot water or waste disposal and the average life expectancy was at least half what it is today – but while life was full of tangible, immense struggles, connectivity wasn’t one of them.
It’s only very recently that we’ve lost this connection. Around the 12th century households began to be organised around the nuclear family, but they were far from isolated – with various townspeople, orphans, widows, elderly parents, and tenants often living alongside them. And it wasn’t until industrialisation, in the 1800s, that single families living in individual homes began to emerge and communal living was mostly lost. 300 years; blink of an eye in evolutionary terms.
And it’s only very, very recently – 30 years? – that our local, in-person connections have eroded – do you know your neighbours’ names? – while our worldwide, general connectivity has skyrocketed. We are constantly surrounded by millions of strangers, on our commutes and at our fingertips. People we don’t know, and probably never will. All with differing values, opinions and needs.
I hate the word ‘tribe’, because I associate it with Lululemon, Soulscyle and other such profit-first wellness brands that commodify community. But, reminding ourselves that for most of evolutionary history we’ve lived in tribes with similar values et al, that we are social animals with innate instincts to seek strength in numbers, can be helpful in identifying an aspect of wellbeing that may be missing from our modern lives. We are tribal animals; we need a tribe.
I think my primal longing for community has been influenced by leaving a magazine job to go freelance, followed swiftly by having two children bookending a pandemic. There’s plenty of studies emerging on the impact of the various lockdowns/social isolation on people’s mental health (top line: not great). There’s also a lot of information around the challenges and mental health implications of parenting in our individualistic society (top line: as above - it takes a village, and all that. The women I met through NCT have been crucial here, and have developed into some of my closest friends!)
But, placing my own, personal circumstances aside, while relationships are one of the most important aspects of being human, most of us live in a society and community of strangers. Which, it seems, is really not great for our health. Studies have linked the emotional strain of loneliness (the kind caused by social isolation) to physical illness, heart disease, weekended immune system and even premature death. There’s even an argument that the high levels of anxiety and depression in our modern societies are created by a general scarcity of community and belonging. Yikes.
(FYI: Of course, loneliness is subjective - a person can be socially isolated but not feel lonely, or be surrounded by people and feel lonely to the core.)
Our health and happiness are inextricably linked with our meaningful connection to others; close friendships are essential to our wellbeing in general, but strong communities are also critical to a sense of belonging and purpose. The energy and connectivity we feel in a community is different from a heart to heart with a close friend. Both equally rewarding, but each also with their own important place in life. Studies show that people in neighbourhoods with higher levels of social cohesion experience lower rates of mental health problems than those in neighbourhoods with lower cohesion (regardless of levels of deprivation or affluence), while a sense of community belonging is also associated with a reduction in depressive symptoms in older people.
Communities exist in many forms, both formal and informal. Formal would be ones such as schools, faith-based organisations etc. but I’m much more interested in the informal – book clubs, barber shops, co-working spaces, volunteer groups and the rest. Informal communities offer unique support particularly to individuals from underrepresented groups, who may not have access to or feel comfortable in traditional organisations rooted in inequity (Ryan Lanji actually talks about the queer community and the importance of club culture on Priorities, and his ep drops tomorrow!)
In our social media age, I think micro-communities will become increasingly popular (both on and off-line) as we navigate living in a quantity-over-quality world when it comes to relationships. Small communities will become more important, ones brought together by location, identity, circumstance or interests. Perhaps collective spaces for sharing (like the women’s circles Abigail Bergstrom writes about here), where genuine opportunities to foster connection, kinship and support will be at the forefront? Sounds quite nice…
Right, enough theorising! What have I actually done recently to build my community?!
- Started a monthly, local mums book club, where we meet for dinner and talk about something other than our children. (Sometimes no-one has read the book and we mostly talk about our kids. And that’s okay too.)
- Agreed to be a parent rep at my daughter’s pre-school, solely with the aim of bringing the parents together for coffee and wine (I won’t be reminding anyone of half-term dates. Not your PA, thank you!)
- Attended 2 neighbour’s drinks parties and joined their WhatsApp group (which, so far, is not annoying at all!)
- Created this Substack platform - I want less social media and more genuine connection with the people who interact with my work (i.e. you).
- Joined Farrah Storr’s writing group.
- Finally, I’m looking into where to hold a retreat - one of my favourite ways to bring people together - in 2023. I’m thinking Ibiza, who’s with me? :)
Do you prioritise a sense of community, or does the idea fill you with pure dread? Done anything recently to build a community? I’d love to hear.