After high school, striking out on my own and getting my own apartment as soon as possible was extremely important to me. I was raised by baby boomer parents who instilled in me the importance of being as independent as possible, and I definitely took it to heart.
For many living in the west, our culture pushes the idea that personal growth and stability comes from a solely inward focus. Self-sufficiency is the name of the game, and more people are choosing to live alone, despite housing affordability going down. One needs only to look at the way those who still live at home into adulthood are treated as the butt of a joke to see this mentality.
When I moved into my first dark, damp, and very illegal basement suite, the satisfaction I was chasing wasn’t only about financial stability or social status. It was also, I told myself at the time, a step towards happiness. I convinced myself that working constantly to maintain my roomie-free status was just part of the hustle, and to depend on others was a sign of failure. I was a strong, independent woman putting herself through school, damn it! I would daydream about getting to the end of my degree and getting to tell people that I had done it all “on my own,” whatever that means.
Meanwhile, between my split-shifts and fits of self-delusion, I was dealing with bouts of depression and anxiety so severe it was hard to leave my apartment some days. Doom and gloom in the news was too much to bear, and I had a particularly bad time with what I now know is referred to as climate-grief or eco-anxiety — an increasingly common issue rooted in uncertainty about the imminent dangers of a changing climate. I often felt alone or misunderstood in these intense worries, and spent much of the pandemic turned inward, feeling like I had to solve everything on my own.
Then over the summer, a combination of rising inflation and burnout finally drove me from my one-bed-one-bath cave of brooding and into the open arms of a communal housing project in my neighborhood. Overnight, I went from no roommates to twenty roommates. Although I have only been here a few weeks, it has changed my whole perspective.
Last week, when wildfire smoke gave us some of the worst air quality in the world, I felt the same old panic and dread bubble up inside of me. Then, I broke bread with some of my housemates at a communal dinner, and we talked about all the things that frustrated us about the situation. I saw the worry and frustration reflected in the people around me, and heard different ideas from some of them about action that could be taken to try and increase the biodiversity of our forests. It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
I’m still terrified for the future of our planet. I’m also confronted with the fact that we’re all in the same boat, and the name of the game is actually emotional resilience. I am cooking more, I’m sleeping a little better, and I’m finding little moments of joy in the small things again, which in turn has given me energy to research things that I can do to help. For example, I’ve decided to do some volunteer work at the community garden, so I can try and learn how food is grown. It’s small, but it feels good to do something tangible and practical, and I’ve already started to make social connections there with like-minded individuals.
These are all little things that would’ve felt futile before, had I been stuck ruminating alone. The range of perspectives I now have access to will help keep me grounded. And when I just want space for myself, knowing that I am not alone makes all the difference in the individualistic, isolated world we seem to be stuck in post-social distancing.
Now I’m not saying everybody has to live with roommates, by any means. We all have neighbors, friends and folks circling around us who excel in all the places we falter and I think it’s just worthwhile to remind ourselves of the healing power of a chat with a friend that doesn’t happen over text or FaceTime. That is the part of this experience that I know will go with me beyond this chapter of my life. At a time when rates of loneliness, depression, and anxiety are still high, and uncertain times of environmental disruption lie ahead, finding intentional communities and nurturing them will only become more and more critical.
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