When Community Is No
Longer Built In

I didn’t realize how much community shaped my life until it quietly disappeared

Growing up, connection felt effortless. School provided structure, routine, and a built-in circle of people moving through life at the same pace. Friendship didn’t require intention, it simply existed. Community was something we inherited - free, constant, and rarely something we had to seek out.

It wasn’t until after I graduated from university that I truly understood how rare that kind of closeness is, and how easily it unravels once the structures holding it together fall away.

I had a close-knit group of friends in high school, but like many friendships, ours shifted once we all went our separate ways for university. Starting at a school where I didn’t know a single person was incredibly challenging. Classes were massive, and because I attended a commuter school, everyone came from different parts of the city and left as soon as class ended. I made a few friends, but nothing felt rooted. Then I switched programs and had to start all over again.

The friendships I did form were often transactional which were built around group projects and shared deadlines. Our common ground was the subject we were studying, and once I graduated, that common ground disappeared too.

After university came the “big girl” job. A 9–5 that consumed most of my day, plus a 1.5-hour commute each way that drained whatever energy I had left. Then COVID hit. Overnight, human connection disappeared. Work moved online, social interactions vanished, and simply leaving the house felt dangerous, especially when you had an immunocompromised family member at home.

When things slowly began to open up again and I moved into my own place, I felt a strong desire to reconnect with people, with my surroundings, with a sense of belonging. But apartment living makes that difficult. You rarely see your neighbours. Growing up in the suburbs, it was the opposite. We were always outside, playing at the park, watching neighbours mow their lawns, running into familiar faces daily. There was comfort in that predictability, in being known.

Now, I live in a building where the only interaction I have with my neighbours is an awkward nod or a quick hello in the elevator. Sometimes months go by without seeing the same person twice.

We spend hours doom-scrolling on our phones with little to no real human interaction. We don’t show up for each other the way we used to. I can’t even knock on my neighbour’s door to ask for something because I don’t know who they are. It’s such a contrast to the way my parents live. They’ve spent over 20 years in the same house, intentionally building long-lasting relationships with their neighbours. They’ve watched people move in and out, while a core group has remained, growing older together.

Community doesn’t just happen anymore. In a digital world, it has to be built intentionally. Sometimes all it takes is a small step to begin feeling a sense of belonging. For me, that step was volunteering with a local organization. It was a youth-led nonprofit advocating for climate action, something I had always been passionate about and wanted to support in a meaningful way. At the time, I had recently switched jobs to something closer to home, was working hybrid, and suddenly had more free time than I knew what to do with. Volunteering felt like a productive and fulfilling way to spend it.

What I didn’t expect was how much it would change my life.

Through this organization, I met some of the coolest people I know—people who became close friends, opened doors to new job opportunities, and helped me discover a deeper passion for community-based work. It reminded me how powerful it can be when people come together around shared values.

I realized that I genuinely love bringing people together. I love hosting, creating space, and fostering that sense of community that feels so rare these days.

The connections I made went far beyond weekly meetings or shared causes. I ended up attending one of my volunteer group member’s weddings—something I never imagined would happen when I first signed up. Who would have thought I’d form such a close friendship later in adulthood? For so long, I believed that the friends I already had were “it”—the ones I’d carry with me forever.

But that isn’t true.

Friendships aren’t fixed. You continue making them as you grow and evolve. You meet people who align with your values at different stages of life, and sometimes you let go of relationships that no longer fit who you are becoming. Community shifts, expands, and reshapes itself, if you allow it to.

And sometimes, all it takes is showing up once.

Community doesn’t have to be large. Sometimes, it’s just a handful of people who show up consistently in your life. They don’t need to belong to the same friend group or play the same role, what matters is that they’re there, in their own way.

Some of the most meaningful connections start unexpectedly. I became close friends with someone I met at the gym after we shared the same machine. What started as such a small, everyday interaction gradually turned into a friendship where we now see each other almost every day. Bonding over our shared passion for health and fitness, we eventually took our friendship beyond the gym by attending workout classes together at another studio, where we quickly discovered just how many interests we had in common.

Moments like this remind me that community isn’t always built through big gestures or formal spaces. Sometimes it’s formed through simple openness, a brief conversation, or the willingness to say yes to connection. These small interactions add up, quietly shaping a sense of belonging where you least expect.

There’s something really beautiful about meeting people who call the same place home, yet remain complete strangers. It feels like an untapped kind of community, one that’s been there all along, just waiting to be acknowledged.