Hi Friends! I’m back! As you can see, I’ve rebranded my newsletter to Observations From The Wild and transitioned it to be the official Rewilding Collective newsletter. You can expect similar musings on life in addition to upcoming gatherings and offerings. I appreciate all of your support as I’ve navigated this year of my life and hope you stay with me as I enter this next chapter of my writing.

So much love to you all 🫶

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🏡The phrase “everyone wants a village, but no one wants to be a villager” has been popping up on my news feed lately. I’ve been thinking about this a lot as I pour my energy into creating spaces for people to gather. It’s made me contemplate the deeper meaning of what it actually means to belong somewhere, and why humanity both craves and resists it at the same time.

Being a villager requires something of us. It requires:

A village isn’t built on convenience — it’s built on mutual responsibility. And in a world that has optimized for personal efficiency, responsibility to others can feel unfamiliar, even burdensome.

As we look back into our shared human history, we see a strong foundation for how humans have consistently come together to band resources and survive as one. Back in the day, being isolated and alone most likely meant death, and humans learned quickly that you were more likely to survive as a group.

And it wasn’t about losing yourself in the group — it was about a shared responsibility. The individual existed within the collective, not separate from it. Identifying your unique skillset and how you could contribute to the survival of the greater whole was of utmost importance. Everyone played a role:

🏹 The hunter who ensured everyone was fed
🧓 The elder who ensured wisdom was passed down orally
🧵 The clothes maker who kept everyone warm
🛡️ The guard who provided safety to the tribe
🍲 The cook who prepared the food

Each person brought something different to the table, but all worked together to survive.

From Ancient Egyptians to Indigenous tribes, community was always viewed as a sacred duty. In African Ubuntu philosophy, the phrase “A person becomes a person through other people” was passed down for generations, and wellbeing was measured by the health of the community, not personal achievement.

Fast forward to today, obviously, we’ve evolved to a place where survival looks very different. It’s no longer about working together — it’s about looking out for yourself. We’ve been fragmented and isolated. We’ve been taught that independence is the highest form of success. That you don’t need a village to survive — only yourself. And over time, being a villager has come to feel inconvenient, even unnecessary. Isn’t it easier to just sit at home? You’ve been working a 40+ hour week, and now you’re ALSO meant to contribute to the village?

It’s really not our fault. It’s a deep conditioning that happens at the earliest parts of our lives. It’s created a loneliness epidemic where, according to one study by Gallup, 1 in 5 US adults state that they feel a sense of loneliness every day. Every system designed to eliminate inconvenience also eliminates opportunities for spontaneous connection.

The deeper truth is that people don’t just want support — they want to matter.

Villages weren’t just support systems. They were identity systems.

They gave each person a role, a place, and a sense of being needed. When you didn’t show up, it was noticed. When you contributed, it meant something. Opting out doesn’t just remove support — it removes the mirrors that remind us who we are. Over time, the cost isn’t just isolation, but the quiet erosion of feeling significant in the lives of others.

We become more comfortable and more lonely at the same time, and these two conditions are not a coincidence.

It was also reinforced structurally through the disappearance of what sociologists call third spaces — the places that are neither home nor work, but neutral ground where social life can form organically. The ancient Greeks had the “agora,” spaces for philosophy, trade, conversation, and connection. The internet has become our agora — but what do we lose when our agora is transformed into the digital space and we stop connecting with people IRL?

We see a disappearance of social infrastructure:

Faced with friction and social discomfort, we retreat. We optimize our routines and minimize unplanned interaction. Control feels like safety. We are paying for convenience with disconnection.

So how can we turn this around? How can we start to gather in intentional ways and invest time into getting to know those who live around you? The poet Gary Snyder once wrote that we should each aim to “get famous within five miles.” Be known in houses up and down your street. Meet the neighbors, help fix that fence, go to community meetings, speak to the local coffee shop owner. I know it’s easier said than done, and I’m not asking you to become the head of the local events chapter - especially for those living in dense urban environments. But if everyone chooses one small way of showing up, it can have ripple effects beyond our imagination.

🌱 Maybe we meet a friend who relates to one of our passions, and we feel a bit more connected in this world.
❄️ Maybe we make friends with the elderly neighbor who struggles to shovel their driveway every winter.
🕰️ Maybe we connect with a fellow parent who needs someone to watch their kid for an hour while they go to a job interview.
✨ Maybe we meet a local business owner who needs help spreading the word about their new business

The opportunities are endless, and you know what? I bet that if you did one thing outside of your comfort zone this month in service of community, you would feel a little lighter.

Because the truth is, a village is not something you find — it’s something you help create. It exists through participation. Through presence. Through small, repeated acts of showing up. Every time someone chooses to contribute instead of withdraw, to engage instead of observe, the fabric of community strengthens.

A village is not a location. It’s a behavior.

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These experiences are small by design. Each one is an opportunity to step out of routine, meet others that are asking similar questions, and experience the ethos of The Rewilding Collective live.

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Each month, I share something that has shaped the way I see, listen, or move through the world as an offering to the village.

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In the spirit of community, those of you who haven’t read The Art of Gathering, by Priya Parker would highly recommend. Some key lessons I learnt from the book: