ROOTED AND RAW: The Village and The Villager

It takes a "village", they say, but these days, most people are stuck building theirs alone, brick by brick. Burnt out, overextended, and silently suffering for connection. The loneliness epidemic isn’t just real, it’s real relentless. Everyone wants the village, but no one wants to be the villager. No one wants to show up, carry the load, or stay when things get uncomfortable. In a culture that idolizes independence and self-sufficiency, many are left trying to do it all, quietly wondering if something’s wrong with them for feeling so alone.

The truth? There’s nothing wrong with you. What’s broken is the system that told us all we had to be everything for everyone—and ask for nothing in return.

We’re living in a time where connection is both more accessible and more elusive than ever. We’ve confused visibility with intimacy, notifications with care. I don’t know exactly when it happened—when community turned into group chats, and friendship became a “like” on a screen—but somewhere along the way, people stopped knowing how to show up.. And started settling for digital crumbs instead of real connections. 

Everyone wants the benefits of connection—companionship, care, a soft place to land. But no one wants the responsibility of being a part of it. People tend to romanticize the idea of a close-knit, always-there-for-you circle—a warm web of support where someone shows up with soup when you’re sick, folds your laundry when you’re overwhelmed, or sits in silence with you when your heart is shattered. But when it comes time to be that person—when it’s our turn to bring the soup or fold the laundry—suddenly, everyone’s too busy, too tired, or too distracted.

This is the great paradox of our time: a generation aching for connection but allergic to commitment. We say we want the village—but forget that it only exists if we’re willing to show up as villagers.

I count myself as one of the lucky ones—deeply lucky—to have known most of my "village" for decades. Some, since birth. Infact, I can't recall what life was like without most of them.. And I don't ever want to. What we share is not perfect. But it’s real. And what is real takes work. It takes presence. It takes vulnerability. It takes choosing each other even when it’s inconvenient, messy, or uncomfortable. It takes accountability. 

The truth is, the village doesn’t magically appear. It’s built.
Brick by brick.
Visit by visit.
Text by text.
Crisis by crisis.
Celebration by celebration.

And most importantly—it’s sustained by the people willing to do the work of being villagers.

So if you find yourself longing for a village, aching for connection, wondering when it will finally feel easier—ask yourself this first: Am I showing up the way I want others to show up for me?

Am I bringing the soup?
Am I checking in?
Am I folding the laundry, sitting in the silence, showing up even when I have nothing profound to offer but my presence?

Because the rarest things in life are not just found. They’re forged. The village you long for is quite literally built on blood, sweat and tears a long the journey. 

My advice? If you want a circle, be the first to stand in it.
If you want a sisterhood, lead with softness and strength.
If you want a village, start by becoming a villager.

The beauty of real community is that it doesn’t require perfection. Just participation. Not constant availability—but consistent presence. Not loud declarations—but quiet, steady love.

In a world that keeps telling you to go it alone, be the one who leans in.
Show up. Stay in the room. Be the friend who brings the soup..

The village you’re searching for is waiting on the other side of your willingness to build it.

You can’t expect deep roots when you never water anything.

Ingredients:

Instructions:

1. In a large pot, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook until translucent, 3–5 minutes.
2. Stir in garlic, carrots, celery, and potato. Sauté another 5–7 minutes.
3. Add turmeric, paprika, cumin, salt, and pepper. Stir to coat the veggies in warm, grounding spices.
4. Pour in lentils, diced tomatoes (with juice), and broth. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 30–35 minutes, or until lentils and veggies are tender.
5. Stir in greens and cook until wilted. Finish with a generous squeeze of lemon.
6. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed. Garnish with herbs if you like. I like to throw in some fresh rosemary from the garden. Enjoy!

Serve to someone who needs comfort. Or to yourself, when you need reminding: showing up starts with yourself. 
This soup freezes well and keeps in the fridge for 4–5 days.