Lonliness and a Community Crisis
We weren’t meant to do life alone. It sounds obvious, right? And yet, so many of us are navigating our days with this quiet, persistent feeling that something’s missing. We have group chats and Zoom calls, likes and DMs - and still, there’s this ache. A sort of invisible emptiness. Like we’re connected, but not really known.
We’re living through what U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy has called an epidemic of loneliness and isolation. It’s not just a mental health issue. It’s a public health crisis. His 2023 report revealed that the health risks associated with chronic loneliness are comparable to smoking fifteen cigarettes a day.
Before the digital age, community was built into our everyday lives. We bumped into people all the time - at school, at work, at the grocery store, in our neighborhoods. There was a kind of natural rhythm to human interaction. You didn’t have to try so hard to feel like you belonged somewhere. Now, we live behind screens. We work remotely, order food and essentials online, and check in with friends via emojis instead of meaningful conversations. We might technically be “connected” all the time - but deep down, a lot of us are starved for real connection.
Growing up, my parents took us to every social event - weddings, birthdays, family gatherings, card parties, concerts. We’d meet other kids there, form instant little friendships, run wild until we were tired, and eventually find a corner to fall asleep in. At the end of the night, they’d bundle us up and carry us to the car, half-asleep but safe and full from the chaos of connection. That was normal. That was community. These days, it’s different. Most dinners or events I go to now are adult-centered. Kids are left at home, or they’re not really included in the shared experience. I rarely see my friends’ children, let alone really know them. And honestly, they’re missing out too - not just on social interaction, but on the feeling of being part of something bigger. They don’t get to watch their parents in community, don’t get to feel what it means to be supported, held, seen by a larger circle.
The recent UK Lonely Boys study made this painfully clear. It looked at how loneliness is affecting young men in particular, revealing that many are struggling to form deep, lasting friendships. There’s a cultural script that tells boys to toughen up, to hide emotion, to avoid vulnerability - and those messages stick. Over time, it creates adults who don’t know how to express what they’re feeling, who don’t reach out, and who end up emotionally isolated. But honestly, it’s not just men. Disconnection is everywhere - among women, teens, parents, retirees, and even people surrounded by others every day.
And it’s not just emotional pain. As Dr. Gabor Maté has shown through his work on the mind-body connection, loneliness and emotional suppression don’t stay neatly contained in the mind. They show up in the body. Chronic stress, unprocessed grief, and disconnection from others can lead to physical illness, inflammation, addiction, and burnout. Our emotional health is our physical health. We carry what we don’t express, and if we don’t have people to turn to - people we can be real with - that burden gets heavier.
Dr. Murthy’s report calls for a return to community, to meaningful, face-to-face relationships. He talks about rebuilding the social fabric by prioritizing things like presence, ritual, vulnerability, and shared space. But for me, this went beyond just understanding the problem. It became personal. It became the reason I created Lucky Tribe.
Lucky Tribe was born from this ache - from the realization that so many of us are longing for more than digital check-ins and surface-level conversations. I wanted to create a space where people could return to something deeper: connection that’s lived out in real time, in real spaces, with real people. A space for shared experiences, laughter, reflection, support, and showing up - fully and honestly.
This isn’t about big, dramatic transformations. It’s about simple moments that matter. Sitting in a circle with others and realizing you’re not the only one feeling what you’re feeling. Laughing over shared experiences. Watching your kids form friendships while you reconnect with your own. Being part of something that doesn’t require you to pretend or perform. That’s what Lucky Tribe is about. A return to presence. A return to community. A chance to remember that we’re not meant to do this alone.
So if you’ve been feeling that quiet ache too - if you’ve been craving something real - consider this your invitation. To step out from behind the screen. To show up. To reconnect.
Because in a world where disconnection has become the norm, choosing community is one of the most powerful, healing things we can do.
