Where Did Our Villages Go?

They Say “It Takes a Village”… But Would You Trust Yours?

In times gone by and still today in many cultures, children are raised by more than just two parents. Extended families, neighbours, family friends and schoolteachers all play a part in instilling certain values into growing children in their developmental years. But it's easy to assume an idyllic image of that in more traditional or tribal cultures... Our modern/Western ‘villages’ look very different now. 

Some of our villages are loud, critical, fragmented places. We have parents shaming other parents, neighbourhoods where people don’t know each other’s names, communities where competition has replaced care and online spaces filled with opinions but lacking compassion. 

If those are our villages, it's no wonder parents look around and think, “I’ll do this on my own, thanks.”

And don't forget, the influential people children spend a large majority of their time with are, that's right... Other children! Children learning from children. Not elders, not mentors. Meaning that the ‘village’ shaping them is still developing itself.

There was a Trevor Noah clip I watched not long ago that blew my mind, just for the simplicity of what he said, and how obvious it is now I've heard it.

He talks about how we have been slowly conditioned to give up our communities, those who used to support us, but to buy back those services that we used to exchange for free: the neighbour who cooked for you, the friend who watched your children, the people who helped you move, supported your family, shared knowledge, shared life.

But now, instead of community, we have commerce.
We buy the things community used to give us for free.
We pay someone to cook, clean, babysit, coach, organise, even to keep us company.

The saddest part is that we didn’t even notice it happening. We were told community didn’t matter, until we were sold it back in subscription form.

But it does matter. We feel it. And we’re aching for it more than we realise. We’re nostalgic for a community that doesn’t exist in the same way anymore.

Surrounded by People But Still Feeling Alone...

The loneliest I’ve ever been was to be an adult in the town where I'd grown up.

The place where I knew everyone, where people lived two streets away, where we shared classrooms and playgrounds… yet somehow no one was actually available.

People are busy.
People are overwhelmed.
People live close by but exist miles away.

That kind of loneliness hits harder than being in a city full of strangers. Travelling to other parts of the world where I knew absolutely nobody was a lovely feeling. Almost peaceful. None of the influences of others who we unwittingly allowed to shape us, our values, our behaviours, even the music we listened to. Being alone among strangers is almost freeing!

Because in an unfamiliar place, solitude feels like a choice, but in a familiar place, loneliness feels like rejection.

I've found it harder to build a consistent community in the place I thought was my village, than with transient strangers in hostels!

Despite that this used to be a struggle for me, that my craving for friendship when I first came home was met with full diaries and last minute brunch cancellations, over recent years I've become the prime example of how not to grow and strengthen a community... Always busy, work to do, lots of solo hobbies.

Not to make excuses, but several years of feeling let down combined with some of the behaviours mentioned earlier that I witness in so-called communities left me a little bit put-off from making any real connections.

So Where Did We Used to Find Our Communities?

The shift to remote and hybrid work — a change so big it’s almost invisible — has also played a major role for a lot of people. When we left office life, we didn’t just leave commutes and desktop computers behind; we left behind our longest standing ready-made community.

Offices used to provide the micro-moments of connection that softened the edges of our days:
little chats in the corridors; laughing at the same ridiculous email; walking together to get lunch; the ritual of boiling the kettle together for a good skive.

Now, people need to be dragged in kicking and screaming for enforced in-person meetings, not for mingling. The social glue has lost its sticky!

And interestingly, many younger colleagues entering the workforce seem to be actively avoiding workplace social life altogether. Some of this is anxiety, some is preference, and some is simply that many young adults entered the workforce during the 2020 lockdowns and never learned the rhythms of an office-based social life.

At the same time, the old British pub culture — the classic post-work bonding ritual — is now slowly fading. Probably for the better, but it leaves a hole that a lot of people haven't yet worked out how to fill...

And what replaces it if you’re not a drinker?
What’s the alternative if you don’t resonate with dark, sticky-carpeted rooms that smell of yeast and regret?

Many people haven’t figured that bit out yet.

So Where Do We Find Community Now?

Despite all this, I don’t think community is dead. I think it’s just changing shape.

Instead of inherited villages, we’re slowly learning how to create chosen communities, often built around shared movement, creativity or similar interests:

• Dance classes
• Yoga groups
• Sports teams
• Choirs
• Running clubs
• Book groups
• Painting classes
• Craft workshops
• Coworking spaces
• Support circles

These places give us something both simple and profound: A village of our choosing.

That’s what I love about the pole dance community. This was a hobby that started for me back when it was a fun class for two work friends to try together, but for one of us it became a way of life — the camaraderie, the vulnerability, the encouragement, the “Yes queen!” energy when someone nails a move they’ve been terrified of trying. It’s a space built on celebration, not comparison.

The people on the other side of those doors form a village where we cheer for each other’s progress, where people hold space for one another, where bodies of all kinds are celebrated rather than judged. Most of my social interactions outside of those doors are now with people I've met behind them and I couldn't be more grateful for those wonderful people.

Maybe this is what modern community looks like. Not something you’re born into, but something you gently, deliberately build around yourself.

So How Do We Rebuild Our Villages?

Perhaps the real challenge of modern life isn’t that we’ve lost community, it’s that it’s no longer automatic. It doesn’t just appear because you share a street or a job title. 

We have to cultivate it.
We have to show up for it.
We have to choose people who feel like home, and let them choose us too.

Maybe the question isn’t “Where have our villages gone?”
Maybe it’s “How do we create the villages we actually need now?”

Because it still takes a village — but these days, we get to decide who’s in it.