If It Takes a Village… Where Did Ours Go?
“It takes a village.”
We’ve been saying that forever.
But I’m not sure we’re actually living like we believe it anymore.
Back in the day, the village wasn’t just a cute metaphor. It was real. You lived in a community where people knew your name. Families were intertwined. Neighbors were trusted. The person at the bodega would lend you food on credit, and you’d repay them by watching their kid. There was reciprocity. There was care. There was accountability.
The village was cohesive and expansive. Everyone knew everyone. And more importantly — everyone cared.
Now?
We have more access than ever. More information. More boundaries. More awareness about toxic family dynamics. And all of that growth is important.
But somewhere along the way, something shattered.
We are more connected digitally — and more alone relationally. The “male loneliness epidemic” isn’t just a buzzword. It’s a symptom. People are isolated. Suspicious. Self-protective. We’re taught to look out for ourselves first. And in many ways, we’ve overcorrected into hyper-independence.
Some people will say community isn’t necessary.
I deeply disagree.
Community is not a luxury. It’s infrastructure.
A friend once said,
“Community is a complex spiderweb easily spun to help individuals get what they need.”
That image sticks with me. A web. Interconnected. Flexible. Supportive.
But here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud:
Everyone wants a village.
No one wants to be a villager.
I hear it all the time —
“I don’t need anyone. All I need is my partner and my dog.”
And while that sounds sweet, it might be one of the most harmful beliefs we normalize.
One person cannot be your entire world.
We are complex humans with complex brains and layered needs. Emotional needs. Intellectual needs. Play needs. Creative needs. Professional needs. Spiritual needs. The idea that one person could perfectly meet all of those? That’s not romantic — it’s unrealistic. And often, it creates pressure that cracks relationships instead of strengthening them.
We need to get more inquisitive about ourselves.
What do I need that my current life isn’t giving me?
Where do I crave expansion?
What parts of me don’t get to breathe?
The Hard Truth About Building Community
I have a unique experience with this.
I’ve moved a lot. I’ve had to make friends in different settings, different cities, different phases of life. People ask me all the time, “How was that so easy for you?”
It wasn’t.
It was ridiculously hard.
It meant:
Birthday parties alone
No one to go to functions with
Being ignored
Being talked about
Experiencing rejection over and over
I’ve been doing this since I was five years old.
Eventually, you learn the game.
And here’s what I’ve learned:
Intention is everything.
Right now, I’m living in Boston. I’ve had multiple friend groups. Some are still here but distant. Some are scattered across the world. My community is not centralized — it’s intentional.
We’ve become obsessed with being “nonchalant.”
Too cool to care. Too detached to try.
But if you want a village?
Be chalant.
Care openly.
Invite first.
Text first.
Go alone.
Be the one who organizes.
People are so afraid of looking eager that they’d rather look isolated.
If you want a village, you have to be a villager.
That means asking yourself:
What’s stopping me from approaching that person?
What’s stopping me from going to that event by myself?
What’s stopping me from texting first?
If the answer isn’t harm or death — do it.
Because if you don’t?
You won’t have a village.
A Village Is Built, Not Found
A village isn’t something you stumble into.
It’s something you build.
It’s layered.
It’s imperfect.
It takes time.
It requires vulnerability.
It requires rejection tolerance.
It requires you to show up even when it feels uncomfortable.
But the reward?
Support.
Laughter.
Witnessing.
Expansion.
Belonging.
So I’ll leave you with this:
If you could create your own village —
What would it look like?
Who would be there?
What kind of energy would fill the room?
What role would you play in it?
Because community doesn’t happen by accident.
It happens when someone decides to spin the web first.
And maybe that someone is you.
