Actual community
What destroyed my individualism
When the Eaton Fire took my home (I know, I’m tired of talking about it, too) along with every possession, I learned something I didn’t expect as an ardent individualist: community does indeed matter. I know, it was hard for me to accept, too. I’d long prided myself on not being dependent, influenced, or even interested in others. This worked really well when things are going well. And if I’m being honest with myself, without being woken up by the blunder-filled Eaton Fire response, I’d happily be living my private individual life.
But since then, I’ve realized, whether I’d like to admit it or not, we do in fact need a community, and that community imposes certain expectations.
In the immediate aftermath, some people were incredibly supportive of me and my wife. They called daily to check in on us. They commiserated with us. They drove a 1.5 hours to see us at our temporary home. They brought us food and shared happy memories of the home we lost. Someone we had only met once gave $15k to our GoFundMe. A few friends, and even strangers, went above and beyond in ways I’ll never forget.
But that didn’t last long.
The reality is that a lot of “help” offered was what I would consider pleasantries. Bags of clothes from the back of a closet, moral support via text messages, a quick “let me know if you need anything.” They were basically empty offers of assistance that were impossible to count on or expected to be fulfilled. By the time our shock had faded, so had most support.
And that bothered me, but not because I’m entitled to endless support. I realize there are lots of people in this world who have gone through worse and more frequent tragedies than this. But this highlighted something I didn’t want to admit: I didn’t have real community to begin with.
Individualism, meet reality
This hit especially hard because I’ve always been an asshole libertarian. Not the adolescent “don’t tread on me” version, but the idealistic type that believes people should coordinate their lives voluntarily without any obligation or imposed duty. You do your thing, I’ll do mine, and we’ll worry about coming together when we have to. This is the libertarian ideal, which is delusional when confronted with the reality of modern society.
Voluntary cooperation works when things are normal. But when things actually collapse, voluntary goodwill is not enough. It’s too fragile. Too sporadic. Too conditional. It’s useless if it’s only considered an expectation when it is necessary.
A real community has expectations and requires commitment. Real community means you don’t have to ask, since it’s not a favor economy.
And I didn’t have that because I never invested in it.
What actual community looks like
Most relationships today are digital first; messages, memes, likes, photos, group chats are our main modes of interaction. What is now obvious to everyone is that the more connected we get online, the less rooted we become offline.
My “community” was mostly people whose company I enjoyed, not people whose lives were meaningfully intertwined with mine. There was no shared vision, destiny, triumphs or challenges. Just dinner and drink partners, really.
Going way back, if someone in your tribe needed a home built, everyone showed up and just built the house. No sign-up sheet, no GoFundMe, no moral performance. They did this because they knew if the harvest was coming up, that dude with the new house would be the first to help out. And if they didn’t, they were probably ostracized. Community wasn’t an optional accessory to individual existence.
Even in more “modern” times, when civilization exploded in size, religion, trade associations, unions, fraternal organizations, immigrant communities, and professional guilds all acted as local community proxies. You belonged to one or two groups that gave you a shared identity, a shared story, and a shared future. That was enough to bind people into a “we”.
But we’ve winnowed all of that down. Religious affiliation has cratered. Professional groups are transactional now (basically being nothing more than lobbying groups). Unions are hollowed out. Neighborhoods are collections of houses, not networks of people. And digital life tricks us into thinking ideological proximity is the same as connection.
So if we want an actual community, we have to rebuild the expectations:
Showing up in person: Not just for parties, but for work: fixing a fence, helping move furniture (no matter how much that sucks), childcare swaps, shared gardens, launch days for big personal projects.
Lending without being asked: Tools, time, a truck, an extra room.
Sacrifice: If someone’s dealing with illness, disaster, or burnout, the rest of the group steps in. We should expect that from each other, not treat it as an extraordinary favor.
Expectation of reciprocity: Not “you owe me,” but “we all know it’ll be someone else’s turn next month, next year, next decade.”
Shared identity: Not ideological. Lived. “We take care of each other here.”
This isn’t utopian. It’s literally how humans survived every century up until the hyper-bizarre present.
Here are myriad recent examples where I regret not being a good member of my communities.
Not inquiring more when someone says they’re fine when I know they’re not.
Sent calls to voicemail when it was someone I didn’t want to talk to, even though it ended up being important.
Crossing the street or avoiding eye contact when I don’t want to talk to someone, even though they’ve been nothing but friendly to me.
Not visiting a friend in the hospital after (cancer!) surgery.
Not offering my neighbor a hand when they were struggling get furniture and dog out of the car.
Not even checking on some of my previous neighbors, who went through the same exact fire and lost the same exact life that I did.
Where this leaves me now
If you want community, you have to build it. And that sucks. Sometimes it means hanging out with people when you’d rather watch Netflix. Instead of being on your phone, you need to actually listen to the people you’re with. It means actually going out of your way to check in on people. Even if you’re eager for community, it takes time and effort that is easier dismissed in favor of staying mad online.
I used to believe voluntary association was enough. I don’t anymore. Not because people are bad, but because life is hard and getting harder.
I’m grateful beyond measure for every person who helped, even the ones whose help came in small or imperfect ways. But I’m also recognizing that I want and need something deeper than what I had. I want relationships that don’t vanish when the smoke clears. I want a life where I’m not just surrounded by people, but embedded among them.
We’re not meant to, and we will not, survive alone.