Conquering Existential Dread Through Community

The studies are in: Americans are the loneliest we’ve ever been. 

It might be easy to blame social media. After all, while social media can bring people together and make communication easier, interacting with others solely through digital means can make one feel isolated and hollow.

However, this might not be the full story. Feelings of loneliness persist across age groups, regardless of how many companions (digital or in-the-flesh) one may have. As a nation, we are also spending less time with our friends, families, and volunteer organizations than we did decades ago.

What is the cause of all this? Well, it might have something to do with the rupture of community in America. Nearly three-fourths of Americans feel no sense of belonging at the workplace, the nation, or our local community. This has coincided with a decline in “third places” — tertiary spots such as church groups, book clubs, or dance classes where folks can fraternize. 

We have witnessed the decline of one “third place” in particular: the church. Though the church has never been a welcoming space for everyone, in recent decades, they’ve morphed from small, charity-focused organizations into giant, money-hoarding, tax-exempt institutions. Instead of helping their local communities, these mega-churches funnel their donation dollars into the pockets of Republican politicians, who work to take rights away from poor people, women, LGBT+ folks, and other marginalized groups. Considering that nearly 30% of Gen Z identifies as queer, and even more harbor progressive politics, it’s no wonder our belief in Christianity is in decline. And since this country’s far-right Christian minority has such a stranglehold on our politics, many young people no longer believe in democracy either, despite our immense potential power as a progressive voting bloc. 

This is not to suggest we should increase our sense of civic duty/community by becoming more patriotic or going to church (though, if you’re interested in the latter, there are plenty of progressive denominations out there). Many young Americans, especially our country’s most disenfranchised groups, have a right to feel disillusioned with traditional institutions. We have no reason to share a sense of kinship with other Americans who use such institutions to strip us of any rights we may have. 

But it’s important to focus on what this disillusionment is doing. Is it causing us to construct new communities and dismantle the old? In some cases, yes. After all, people at the fringes of society have always had to fight hard to exist and create their own spaces. 

However, more often than not, instead of building community to change our world, we feel the world is too far gone for saving — that things are too hopeless to even bother trying. It’s understandable why we feel this way: the economy is brutal, outside is getting hotter and more expensive, and we’re all working a million side gigs to make ends meet. More so than previous generations, we don’t have a sense of collective downtime. And of course, many of us spent the most important developmental years of our lives in lockdown, where hanging out with others was literally deadly. The only thing our generation shares is a collective sense of doom — doom for our financial futures, our country’s politics, our health, and the health of our environment. We’ve forgotten there are others out there who feel the same way, who can change the world using our collective anger, frustration, and sadness.

When we forget about the power of community, we find it tempting to just give up. Instead of going out after a long day, we give in and scroll through our social media feeds, which are designed to be addictive. On these social media feeds, we are told that rather than spending time with others, we should focus on working even more and building our careers. We are encouraged to be “self-made” (even though nobody, unless they were born changing their own diapers, has ever been entirely “self-made”) and to not accept “handouts” from the government. In other words, we are told to deny community at every level to survive in this world. This, of course, coincides with the rise of hustle culture, which I discussed in my previous chapter.  

The great irony here, however, is that this uniquely American brand of individualism makes us less able to survive and deal with the problems that plague us. It actually traps us in the very systems that disempower us to begin with, robbing us of our collective strength. When we doom-scroll through our phones for the third hour in a row instead of talking to others, we let the addictive algorithms win. When we fail to vote because we no longer believe in democracy, we deny our civic voice and cede ground to the American far right (a party that has less than half of the nation’s support!) When we fail to protest climate change because we think the situation is hopeless, we let polluting companies put the last nail in Mother Nature’s coffin. And when we refuse to accept help from others, we are less able to help ourselves. Furthermore, we miss out on any sense of joy we might gain from helping others — joy that can catapult us through the bleakest of times. 

So, it’s crucial that we connect with others, in any way we can— whether that’s through a chorus, a church, a queer book club, a protest group, or a charity organization. If you cannot give money, volunteer your time. If you cannot volunteer time, give your money. If you cannot give either, gladly accept help from others until you are able to give it back — if that time ever comes. You won’t change the world — nobody can on their own. But at least you’ll make it a slightly better place.  



By Renee Ricevuto

Renee Ricevuto is pursuing a double major in English and Music at Hunter College, along with a certificate from the Thomas Hunter Honors Program. She has published her work at the University of Chicago’s Harper Review and received writing awards at her institution. She’s currently working on a research project with the Mellon Public Humanities and Social Justice Scholarship Program. When she’s not writing or researching, she loves to read, draw, sing, and embroider.


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