A step we can all take to become happier & healthier

And my mantra for making it happen. Part 1 of a series on community.

This is part one of a three-part series on community, a theme I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. The next two parts will be for paid subscribers only.

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Here’s a fun fact you might not know about me. Being in community doesn’t come naturally. Put another way: Truly enjoying community without any neuroses has always been a struggle. 

I’ve never liked the messiness. The sense of pressure and obligation. The clashing of personalities. The hurt feelings. The people who have no filter or the people who just like to stir the pot. All of these things bump up against my own sensitivities, my mental rigidity, and my genuine enjoyment of being alone with my thoughts.

I can easily bring to mind countless memories of social events throughout my life that have left me feeling drained. My Dad’s summer work picnics where, starting at age 9, we had to introduce ourselves to the adults. The horror of a daylong work retreat forced where the destination was a surprise. I had to get on a boat with co-workers I barely knew for an unknown amount of time and do bonding exercises. (I drank as much wine as possible on said boat, called Jason, and had him pick me up as soon as we docked.)

I can also bring to mind events where I held onto some perceived moment of social awkwardness or a slight that made me cringe for months after, like a birthday party where friends said they were picking up the bill, but then squabbled because one friend didn’t have wine and didn’t want to pay as much, yada yada yada.

At a certain point, I think I stopped trying to build community. San Francisco is an incredibly transient city where friends moved away year after year. So, maybe it felt like too much effort. Or the benefit didn’t feel worth the pay-off. Or, quite simply, the structure of modern life made it feel too difficult.

But then COVID hit. And even our tiny, extremely introverted family unit missed people. Like, almost lost our minds missed people.

I missed all of the little moments of community I’d taken for granted — running into neighbors at the grocery store, chatting with my barista friends who served me my daily coffee, catching up with parents at pick-up. 

But even after those “normal” rhythms came back, I realized that COVID changed me. I value community much more now. Given the recent podcasts, books, and news outlets reporting about epic levels of loneliness and depression in the U.S., it feels like something we should all be thinking about: According to The Good Life, Lessons from the World’s Longest Scientific Study of Happiness:

• About one in four Americans report feeling lonely — more than 60 million people.

• In China loneliness among older adults has markedly increased in recent years.

• Great Britain has appointed a Minister of Loneliness to address what has become a major public health challenge. one in three people often feels lonely.

As writer and podcaster Ezra Klein said in a recent podcast, The Quiet Catastrophe Brewing in Our Social Lives, “You should look at data like that and not just say, ‘Aw that’s too bad.’ It should make us say, ‘Where did we go wrong? As a country we got richer and we got much more lonely?’”

Klein views loneliness as an outcome of our social structure when he says,

“We make choices as a society about what we value. We chase our jobs, we live far from our families, we move away from our friends. We spread out into suburbs and into single family homes set back behind fences and lawns. We sprawl out with automobiles. We design for atomization and isolation. So, no wonder we get lonely. 

But that raises this deeper question of why did we choose that? And what would it then look like to choose otherwise not just as individuals, but as a society. What would it mean to structure for community?

We’re having a hard time hanging out, being in the presence of others. And that might sound small but to lose the skill is a profound problem.”

That last phrase blared out at me, “We’re having a hard time being in the presence of others…to lose the skill is a profound problem.”

COVID exacerbated this skill-deficit by highlighting how difficult it is to create health policy amidst a novel disease for such a large population. It’s been exacerbated by regional divides and political divides. It’s been ignited by social media where people comment in ways they would never dare to if they were face to face with the person.

And so, all of this combined with my own self-reflection has helped me to internally reframe my relationship to community. 

The reframe for me is this: Don’t let perfect be the enemy of the good. Creating community and social support is a skill worth cultivating. We know this. 

What we often forget is that it takes mental flexibility. It takes being accepting of others’ differences.

That part of me that was hurt by an offhanded comment at my birthday party or irritated by a moment of thoughtlessness now tries to take a big step back and look at the macrocosm: We’re mammals and we need each other.

Last weekend, we drove up to LA to spend Mother’s Day with my mom and sister. When we set up the trip, it sounded so sweet and cozy and relaxing. Living closer to my mom means I can drive to see her now and hanging out together for the day sounded so special.

The trip turned out nothing like I’d envisioned. There was horrendous traffic, late guests who didn’t want to eat what everyone else was eating, kids with headphones on who kept randomly yelling “What?!” in the middle of our conversations. I had to fight off my anxious desire to get back on the road and get home the entire day.

Past me would’ve felt really disappointed by the day and I’d have probably found someone or something to be annoyed with. But present me — post-COVID me — had a few precious moments of presence when I was grateful to have my mom on Mother’s Day, when I was thrilled to see my toweringly tall nephew who’d just come back from college, and when I felt patient when Sofia was whiny and bored. Being bored spending time with people isn’t such a bad thing, I thought. There’s comfort in the ritual of spending time with the people you care about and she’s experiencing that comfort —even if she’s not aware of it now. 

Embrace the messiness. Don’t let perfect be the enemy of the good. I’m practicing this right now. And it feels worth it.

How are you feeling about community these days? If it’s a struggle or you feel lonely — what are some reasons why? What can you do to make space for others in your life?