“We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don’t know.” – W.H. Auden
Have you ever asked yourself if you’re a good villager? When a friend invites you to their birthday party during a week when you’re exhausted, do you rally and go, or do you stay home? Do you remember to text your loved ones back? Are you willing to do a favor for a friend in need?
Almost everyone I talk to expresses their desire for a village: a constellation of people they can turn to, rely on and walk through life with. Think about it: Who are the first five people you text when something big happens? Who is your first call when you’re in trouble? More and more, it feels as though it has never been so hard to maintain the traditional “village” modality. The digital world makes it easy to connect, yet so many of us feel stretched too thin, too overwhelmed or simply too tired to keep up with the friendships and communities that matter to us.
But wishing for a community is much easier than actually building one. Unfortunately, like everything, building a community takes work. Building a village requires intention, showing up when it’s inconvenient, checking in even when you’re tired and giving without keeping score. Friendship isn’t transactional, but reciprocal. The people with the most meaningful, supportive circles aren’t always the most extroverted or outgoing, but the ones who make consistent, genuine efforts.
Here’s a little thought experiment: Let’s say you have a flight leaving from the airport and need a ride. You happen to have a friend who you know is available. Would you ask them for a ride? Or would you feel too guilty? On the flip side, let’s say a friend of yours asks for the same favor. Would you do it? Would you feel resentful or put upon by the request?
Many of us don’t ask for the help we need because we wouldn’t want the same to be asked of us. What is to blame? As usual, capitalism. Small acts of care that were once natural parts of community have become monetized and turned into commercial services. A neighbor giving you a ride is now Uber. A friend dropping off soup when you’re sick is now DoorDash. Even borrowing a cup of sugar or running an errand have been replaced by apps, delivery fees and isolation. Beyond that, our work-centered culture leaves us so drained and over-scheduled that every spare minute feels like a precious resource we need to protect. Our time has become currency, and when time is money, generosity starts to feel expensive.
At the root of all this is a quiet truth that we often avoid: We need help. All of us! You need it, I need it, everyone you know needs it. And because we all need each other, there should be no shame in asking for a hand. There is no reward for never asking for help. There are no trophies for walking through life completely self-sufficient. If anything, the refusal to rely on others only isolates us further.
A village isn’t built through grand gestures but steady, imperfect, human reciprocity. The question then is not whether you have a village, but whether you are actively being a villager. In a world where we are urged to stay independent and isolated, choosing to show up for each other is a radical, meaningful and human effort. So the next time a friend needs a little help, try to say yes. And when you need that help in return, trust your fellow villagers enough to ask.
