the loneliness tax: why your dm slide game won't save you

unlearning isolation in the age of infinite connection 🔌🧠💔

tl;dr: we're all paying a hidden tax on our well-being by sucking at real community. and i’m saying this because i’m noting that i am doing it too. here's how we can work to stop throwing money at the problem and start building the connections we actually need. let me know what you think in the comments.

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Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

hola bellezas,

i guess you can say i've spent a lot of time lately thinking about community. it's been on my mind like a catchy reggaeton beat you can't shake off, persistently demanding attention. maybe it's because i just had a wonderful pride weekend not too long ago here in san diego. i used the opportunity to connect with my friends, with neighbors, with organizations - seeing the exhibition of queer joy and solidarity that felt both familiar and strangely new. this vibrant celebration of community was a stark contrast to the cocoon i'd built around myself in recent months, a self-imposed exile that left me wondering: how did i get here? and more importantly, how do i find my way back?

you see, community - real, messy, beautiful community - isn't just some buzzword or hashtag. it's the lifeblood of our queer existence, they are the people we choose to be the family that holds us when the world feels too heavy. but lately, it seems like we're all struggling to navigate this terrain of connection and disconnection, of dm slides and ghosting, of infinite digital possibilities and profound real-world loneliness.

A live look at me in isolation… except I can’t have a pet. Kidding. This is Queen Victoria with her Pomeranian called Turi. This was sometime during the last few years of her reign while in isolation at Osborne House in the Isle of Wight. Source: The Southern Daily Echo.

my personal struggle with isolation

over the last seven to eight months of my life, i've withdrawn. i don't want to paint an image of queen victoria locked away in the isle of wight at the end of a reign… but let's just say i've definitely embraced bed rotting. i recently closed significant chapters of my involvement in different organizations in the community and was particularly burnt out. my clashes with people over the previous year had gotten so personal - sometimes because of them, sometimes… because of me. but either way, i was worn out. the unaddressed mountain of terror and pain that was 2023 for me rolled over into 2024, this time with new villains, characters, and plotlines. and the clashes and the stress and the bullshit piled onto the mountain even more. heh, i’ll have to tell you about my 2023 sometime. my almost-went-homeless crisis and the subsequent court battle and aftermath… ooof, but that’s for another time.

pride this year was such a respite from the withdrawal and isolation i've self-imposed. it's the thing i needed, but still - why do i continue to find more safety, comfort, and peace in solitude? and not just solitude - but in isolation?

it's a question that's been nagging at me, like an itch i can't quite reach. and i'm betting i'm not alone in this struggle. in fact, i'd wager we're all paying a hidden tax on our well-being by sucking at real community. so let's talk about it, mi gente.

the hidden costs of digital connection

remember when we thought technology would bring us closer? lol, jokes on us. we've got more ways to connect than ever, but we're lonelier than a coquí in times square. it's like we've developed a serious allergy to genuine human interaction.

and i get it, believe me. sometimes, the mere thought of venturing out into the world to be perceived, especially in this post-pandemic reality, feels heavy. through the pandemic, we got an intimate taste of solitude, and it changed us - for better and for worse. i know i haven't been the same since realizing i could actually survive (thrive, sometimes?) going ages without human contact. it's like i unlocked some introvert superpower i never knew i had. but just because we can go full hermit doesn't mean we should, right? ...right?

this isn't just some "kids these days" rant. nah. there’s something at the center of this that feels different to me. we're dealing with a systemic dismantling of our ability to build and maintain real communities. blame it on late-stage capitalism, the gig economy, or whatever algorithm is deciding what we see today – the result is the same.

we're all paying a hefty loneliness tax, and the interest is compounding.

Photo by Vonecia Carswell on Unsplash

barriers to real community

this is what i’m seeing and experiencing:

1. the digital delusion: we've mistaken likes for love and retweets for real connection. sure, that dopamine hit feels good in the moment, but it's the social equivalent of empty calories. meanwhile, our ability to navigate real-world interactions is atrophying faster than my abuela's patience when i try to explain nfts.

2. the gentrification of community: remember when neighborhoods meant something? now we're more likely to know our uber eats driver than our next-door neighbor. we've commodified connection to the point where "community" is just another product to consume, not a living, breathing thing we co-create.

3. the comfort zone conspiracy: our echo chambers aren't just political – they're existential. we've curated our lives to avoid discomfort at all costs, forgetting that growth happens in the awkward spaces. it's like we're all living in a giant, cozy bubble wrap cocoon, wondering why we can't spread our wings.

but here's the tea: true community isn't a spectator sport. it's not something you can outsource or optimize. it's messy, it's inconvenient, and sometimes it's about as comfortable as wearing a wool sweater in august in san juan.

practical ways to build connection

so how do we fix this? how do we start flexing those atrophied community muscles? i’m glad you asked, porque tengo algunas ideas! these are things i do intentionally or did when i moved to san diego and knew no one:

1. embrace the awkward: next time you're tempted to ghost on plans, don't. show up. sit in the discomfort. treat social anxiety like a workout – the burn means it's working. don’t fear the cringe.

2. digital detox, community remix: try a week where you replace as much as you can the time you spend on social media with an hour of face-to-face interaction with someone. bonus points if it's with someone outside your usual circle.

3. revive the lost art of neighboring: go and talk to your neighbor! learn their names, exchange phone numbers. share your abundance with them and help them when they struggle.

4. queer the mainstream: take a page from the lgbtq+ playbook on chosen family. start actively curating your community based on shared values, not just convenience or circumstance.

look, i get it. this shit isn't easy. as a queer boricua trying to find my place in san diego, i've had my fair share of community fails. i have made friends, lost friends. i’ve dated and i’ve dumped and also been dumped! i’ve gotten involved in organizations only to leave them running in a huff of anger and resentment. i’m not saint. and i recognize that implementing a lot of these are tough in a lot of circumstances.

note: of course i am not saying you should do this if you are in danger or anything like that! this whole thing is an encouragement for you to reach out to fellow humans and connect.

this is a call to connect truly and queerly and authentically because every awkward interaction, misunderstanding, and moment of vulnerability – all builds towards something. we're not just creating community, we're recreating ourselves.

and sometimes, like during pride, we get these glimpses of what's possible. these moments of connection remind us why we keep trying, even when it's hard. even when we've been burned before.

coolurbanhippie

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we need to be better at conflict

but building community isn't just about making connections - it's about maintaining them, even when things get tough. and as someone who's historically been conflict-averse (hi, fellow people-pleasers), i've had to learn the hard way that avoiding conflict often leads to losing community entirely.

conflict itself isn't bad. it's how we handle it that matters. there's a world of difference between actual harm and people just being shitty or hurting feelings. actual harm? that's your tío making really awful "jokes" at thanksgiving (probably being racist or classist or whatever). that's someone violating your boundaries or putting you in danger. that stuff needs addressing head-on, maybe even by stepping away.

but those everyday conflicts? the misunderstandings, the different perspectives, the times someone says something thoughtless? it's uncomfortable, definitely. pant-crappingly so. but it's also an opportunity for growth, for deepening connections, for really seeing each other. when we learn to navigate these conflicts with compassion, empathy, and grace, that's when communities strengthen. it's about owning your part in misunderstandings. it's about being willing to say "i'm sorry" and mean it.

so next time you feel that urge to ghost when things get uncomfortable, take a deep breath. remember that working through conflict is like lifting weights for your community muscles. it might burn in the moment, but it leaves you stronger in the long run.

be respectfully persistent in connection

to those who always initiate: keep going. your effort isn't unnoticed or unappreciated. you're the glue holding friendships together, the spark that keeps connections alive. it's not about scorekeeping; it's about nurturing bonds that matter to you. your persistence is a form of love, so don't let the fear of being "too much" dim your light.

for the chronic non-initiators: challenge yourself. reaching out isn't a burden; it's an opportunity to express care. when you think of someone, act on it. send that text, make those plans. your friends aren't mind readers – show them they matter through action. balancing initiation in friendships isn't about perfect equality, but about mutual effort and consideration.

whether you're the constant initiator or the one who rarely reaches out, aim for a middle ground. this is what i seek for myself, and oh - so fucking imperfectly. i’ve struggled in many of my friendships and relationships lately in striking this balance.

so i am saying this to myself as much as i am sharing this with you: be intentional about your connections. sometimes it's about quality over quantity, depth over frequency. the goal isn't to exhaust yourself, but to cultivate relationships that enrich your life and the lives of those around you. remember, genuine community thrives on reciprocity and shared effort.

a challenge

so here's my challenge to you, my beautiful, struggling, community-starved readers: this week, do something that scares you. have that difficult conversation. show up to that meetup. hell, knock on your neighbor's door and ask to borrow a cup of sugar.

it might be uncomfortable. it might be messy. but i promise you, it'll be worth it.

because the alternative? that loneliness tax? it's too damn high. and the bed rotting? it's comfortable, sure, but it's not living.

let's build something real together, fam. one awkward, beautiful, human interaction at a time.

at the end of the day, we're not just fighting loneliness – we're fighting for our right to truly live, to grow, to become the people we're meant to be.

con amor, luz, y un chin de valentía,

edgard 🌈✊🏽💖

p.s. drop a comment and tell me: what's the most unexpected place you've found community? or share a moment when pushing through discomfort led to a real connection. let's inspire each other, porque juntos somos más fuertes.