My partner and I took one of our impromptu walks recently, skipping a plan to go to a local spot in favour of an adventure through the nearby national park to a location we had yet to discover. By the time we arrived at our destination some 25kms later, it was considerably hotter than we had anticipated, and we had packed nothing, not even water. No matter, we'd do a quick loop track indicated on the map in the car park and be on our way in under 40 minutes; we'd be fine! That loop-track was lovely, level, easy and unremarkable. But we did pass a fork in the road with a track that promised a creek. We had visions of a refreshing ravine to cool off in or near. So we diverted towards the creek, away from our car and the prospect of rehydration. After a very steep, hot, rocky walk down to the creek and a few near misses with overzealous mountain bikers, we approached the valley where we thought we would find the deep blue-gushing waters we'd imagined. Instead, we found a trickling stream and an indignant Water Dragon, seemingly as disappointed as we were about the state of the creek. We eventually made it back to the car unscathed but dehydrated. We lamented our bad bushwalking habits and laughed about creating a social media page on 'how not to hike'.
It got me thinking about how social media has become a way for people to demonstrate their well-being, with images of their pursuits, photos perched on the precipice of mountains, legs outstretched on pilates machines, personal bests on i-watches and snaps of virtuous salads. Despite the need for digital affirmation of our efforts, there has been a significant and heartening increase in the discourse on mental health through social media. I follow and subscribe to many writers, podcasters, and online well-being types, all of whom provide fascinating insights and perspectives on psychology, mindset, meditation and more. Generally, we are more literate in how we can be well, mentally and physically. Yet, the research suggests that loneliness is increasing, which is at odds with the positive increase in other aspects of our health. At the end of 2023, the World Health Organisation launched an international commission into social connection, with research indicating that loneliness is increasing worldwide across multiple age groups.
So what does "take care" or "look after yourself" mean in these times? There is something about these phrases that somehow act as a strange reminder of the separateness of society. Take care of yourself because no one else can. I've observed a reduced capacity for communal care and a decrease in communal and social participation, and "the commons", as it was once known, are now wholly uncommon. Communal ownership and kinship have been slowly eroded over decades of privatisation and individual wealth that has disconnected us from each other and the land. We don't commune in the same way we once did. Our families are now smaller and more separate than they used to be. Looking after ourselves is becoming more complex and increasingly lonely as our futures become less secure. Sure, we are living longer than ever; so much has improved in our lifetimes. But what are the implications for well-being if loneliness is an emerging public health issue, and what does it say about who we are as a society?
We have commodified well-being to the extent that well-being is now a pursuit, a goal, like happiness, a point to reach in the distance, having achieved a list of to-dos. There are industries dedicated to making us think we are looking after ourselves. Billions of dollars are spent on over-the-counter supplements; skincare brands promise eternal youth, and we can even forgo home cooking in favour of prepared meals that claim they are better for us. Meanwhile, personal fitness can be achieved at home with apps and online content or in 24-hour gyms, which have appeared in most large suburbs.
Living, in general, has become an exercise in chasing convenience as we have become increasingly time-poor. In this era of tech-dependence, the 'being' of well-being has been replaced with doing, well-doing. We get things done with speed and efficiency. The tyranny of busyness means that our lives are streamlined, standardised, and 'productive'. Additionally, we consume more to achieve these ideals. We want to be seen as flourishing, and the unrealistic ideals of modern wellness and well-being have crept into the nooks and crannies of our private lives. Sharing our hobbies or routines with others for pleasure is less common; instead, we "do", do a class, do 10kms on the bike. We hack our sleep, take our vitamins, run marathons (I definitely don't), and eat our macros.
Have we created a false perception of the collective through technology with social media, zoom and messaging apps, useful as they are, somehow inadvertently making us more isolated? Alas, we live within the constraints of capitalism, which aims to make us productive, add to the GDP, and consume more. I can't help but think, no, I know, capitalism has made us sick. It's not only loneliness that is on the rise, but other forms of mental ill health are also increasing worldwide, according to WHO. Gabor Maté speaks about this societal breakdown in his book The Myth of Normal, "I will make the case that much of what passes for normal in our society is neither healthy nor natural and that to meet modern society's criteria for normality is, in many ways, to conform to requirements that are profoundly abnormal in regards to our nature-given needs, which is to say, unhealthy and harmful on the physiological, mental, and even spiritual levels."
This piece has been sitting for weeks in my documents, half-written and revised and then ignored because I've so enjoyed having a break from posting or being online much at all. Since starting to write about this topic, though, I've had several conversations around notions of wellness and the fact that many are struggling, particularly in the wake of the pandemic. While there is increasing awareness around concepts of well-being (mental, physical, spiritual), there needs to be more support to help facilitate and integrate knowledge people acquire, often through social media. We are at an impasse; we know how to live well but need more accessible community resources. More in-person, real-life, tangible solutions to the crises of loneliness and mental ill-health. In Australia, the average rate for a psychology session is $280 for 50 minutes, $50 for a 20-minute GP appointment and $100 per person in groceries per week to eat 'well'. It is expensive to stay well.
These recent conversations have been revealing. An older acquaintance remarked that she and her daughter noticed a pattern in their friendship circles of people struggling to cope with the news and the rising cost of living. Another retiree whose home had been flooded more than four times in the last year expressed concern and the nervous anticipation she feels living alone and waiting for the next flood to "arrive at any given moment". In another conversation, a pattern of non-engagement emerged, a mutual acknowledgement that socialising can be burdensome and conversations around negative experiences can feel onerous, even when those conversations are so desperately needed by friends and family. Another theme has been the absence of impromptu calls and spontaneous socialising or shared learning. Gone are the days when you would drop in on a friend. Shout out to anyone who spent their childhoods answering the phone to your parent's friends who called to discuss recipes, committees or local events, or better still, opening the front door to neighbours calling to discuss hedges and gutters, which could lead to long discussions over tea.
There are models of communal organising for mutual benefit that can work well, such as housing and food co-operatives and CSA (community-supported agriculture) that cover food and housing. There are emerging models of co-op style aged care and co-living. Perhaps one of the most successful models of mutual aid and communal care in mental health is Alcoholics Anonymous, which supports people through a 12-step process of recovery using voluntary peer support. It's unique in its inverted triangle organisational structure and is entirely community-driven. While it may not be for everyone experiencing addiction, it's a powerful example of collective care, and it's free and easy to access.
As we have lost connection and kinship with each other, we have also lost kinship with the land and nature. In the West, we tend to tackle problems in isolation when they arise. One of the clearest examples is modern Western medicine, which looks at organs and systems away from their connected parts. We tend to treat symptoms instead of investigating how and why symptoms arise. This is quite unlike Eastern medicine, which is holistic and looks at how all body systems align alongside disposition and lifestyle. Meanwhile, indigenous thinking recognises the interconnectedness of everything and the importance of balance and reciprocity not just with the individual but with the community and the land, recognising our health is entirely dependent on the health of the land.
There is a movement towards social and 'green' prescribing, with healthcare practitioners now seeing the benefit of connecting to each other and nature as part of the whole picture of well-being and as an essential part of preventative healthcare. I think about how we can reframe loneliness as a consequence of a much more profound and systemic issue within our culture, not as the individual failure or shameful secret as it is often viewed. How can we learn from cultures and communal frameworks of care that work to bring people together and offer well-being in a way that addresses our emotional, physical, and spiritual needs?
Language and cultural perceptions of loneliness are also hugely significant. A direct translation of the English word loneliness only exists in some languages and cultures. Often, similar words are much more nuanced, describing a specific state of mind or conditions of solitude or emotion. I often wonder if the English language is too restricted or confined and if what we narrowly describe as loneliness is much more than just social isolation. It also makes me wonder about oral culture and etymology and how oral culture, storytelling and language evolve comparatively quickly and responsively to external happenings, social or environmental, while our written language, English, is slow and at times restrictive, unable to keep up with the incredible speed of our technological and social changes. We don't have the words for this landscape we find ourselves in.
In the meantime, I can recommend Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese as consolation for any time you find yourself adrift, heartsick, or less than well. Our language may evolve and become more expansive, perhaps in parallel with how we respond and care for each other and nature. A word for "I've had too much screentime", or "I need to connect with nature", or a word to describe loneliness in a world that feels at odds with our fundamental needs, or a word that describes the joy of sharing awe nature, like spotting a lizard in a stream (creek, apparently).
Natures Notes is proudly written on and inspired by Dharawal Country.
I recognise the Dharawal & Wodi Wodi custodians and ancestors who have an enduring connection to land, water and skies.
Great piece, Anna, on a theme that has popped up for me too in many guises. Have you read this superb post by Kirsten Powers? I think you'll like it. https://open.substack.com/pub/kirstenpowers/p/we-dont-need-self-help-we-need-support
Thanks Anna, fantastic newsletter. :)