Whatever happened to the casual hang?
Nowadays, it seems the automatic location for a girls’ afternoon out is the local overpriced coffee shop that requires you to order at least a latte as the price of entry. Gone are the days of painting toenails or simply studying at the dinner table together, no fee necessary.
Lately, it feels like there’s a price tag on community. But if it costs that much, then can we really call it a community?
When I was a child, my mother and her friends would spend afternoons grocery shopping together, only to make a quick stop at the pharmacy to pick up medication. Or they’d drive together to pick up all of us kids from school and prepare dinner, which we enjoyed at one big, noisy table.
They would hold each other’s hands at the doctor’s office, unashamed to ask for a hand and unafraid to offer one.
On neighborhood walks, I’d wave to the old woman gardening her front lawn, pet passing dogs, or take a moment to talk to the mailman about his display boat collection. Weekends were chock-full of breakfast parties and spontaneous hosting. A surplus of trusted adults offered to be my emergency contact.
Having this in-built network of cousins, grandparents, close friends, aunts and uncles, and neighbors felt like a given. Community was an infinite, regenerative resource, as abundant as wood in a forest.
People were integrated into my life, as opposed to being hidden behind a paywall to simply recount life events during once-a-month, one-hour meetups.
A major reason for the decline in community is the death of third places, a place that’s not home or work where we can authentically meet and connect with others. They are hubs for “casual hangs,” spontaneous meetups, and an opportunity for socializing.
Third places are ideally low-to-no cost, though rising costs make traditionally affordable hangouts too expensive to regularly enjoy. Some common third places include cafes, parks, recreation centers, libraries, religious centers, and more.
Third places are declining across the United States. The problem is, with less places to naturally meet and mingle inbuilt into our neighborhoods and residential areas, the more likely we are to struggle forming long-term communities.
The physical setting we live in must be conducive to maintaining community in order for people to prioritize connection.
College is an example of a physical setting that offers us the community we crave. That is, if you’re a student who’s either dominantly on-campus or, better yet, lives in the dorms.
Because community is a key ingredient in student success and retention rates in universities, intentional efforts go into campus infrastructure and design to reflect this.
For example, meeting both friends and new people takes only a brief walk, with countless readily available and free places to mingle in; in other words, they offer many third places.
Colleges boast open-door opportunities in dorms, shared dining commons, libraries with rentable group study rooms, social clubs and low-stress events, and classrooms with group-facing tables that can bring students even closer together.
Student centers also often feature professional-wear closets, food pantries, health and wellness counseling, and more.
Even commonly overlooked elements like well-lit sidewalks and tight-knit buildings to promote a sense of safety, security, and place contribute to the development of healthy communities.
In short, college campuses are ideally designed to cultivate community, blending academics with living and leisure. This is why, oftentimes, college-aged students have little issue growing their “village,” and later cite their university days as creating some of the greatest friendships of their lives.
College campuses are proof that communities aren’t an art lost and buried with older generations. It isn’t entirely the culture and values of newer generations that are at fault. When the environment is intentional about creating safety for people to explore social relationships, then it’s more likely that communities will be built.
In fact, I would argue that the generational value of prioritizing the individual self over social communities in Gen Z is because there’s such an absence of wider infrastructural and societal emphasis on connection. This feels especially true following the COVID-19 pandemic.
The pandemic physically distanced us, shifting us into an era of remote work and play, with a growing dependence on digital spaces for connection rather than in-person spaces.
It’s no wonder that communities have suffered following that time, and it’s no wonder that we have culturally shifted towards more individual pursuits and largely de-emphasized community.
There’s no easy antidote to this growing interpersonal divide and lack of connectivity. After all, the effects of a pandemic as disruptive as COVID-19 do not disappear overnight, or even in a couple of years.
And despite all your individual efforts to form bonds with others, you still might struggle for different reasons: you largely work remote, you cannot afford to regularly meet up with friends, your residential area is unsafe and unfit for leisurely lingering, and more.
However, although global events, changes in technology, and shifting infrastructure priorities have influenced a cultural devaluation of communities, hope is not lost!
There will always be people looking for a community to rely on, because it’s more than just people that we lose when we lose community.
We lose a sense of belonging. A sense that the outside world can be a safe and accepting place to walk in. Shoulders to lean on on our bad days, and smiles to share on our good days.
When my aunt grieved the unexpected loss of her husband, she had calendars filled with countless friends who signed up for each mealtime to bring over home-cooked food so she wouldn’t forget to eat. When my father was sick overseas, he could rely upon his old college buddies to drive him between hospitals without hesitation.
Communities have been essential aspects of society’s flourishing for all of history. They have a way of restoring themselves with the effort and care of the people that are a part of it. That’s why it’s still worth it to try.
If you can’t afford to meet at an expensive bookstore, why not opt for hangouts at your local library? You can also lean into cyberspaces and video call your friends or play multiplayer video games. In addition, if your living area is safe enough, you could try lost-cost activities like going for walks or chilling at home.
We may be distanced by many things, such as rising costs and unsafe neighborhoods, but humans have a tendency to find their way back to each other eventually.
How has your experience been with finding community? Let us know at @HerCampusSJSU!