In February, I joined four strangers on an overnight dogsled expedition for beginners. They ranged in age from their twenties to sixties, and sat long hours around the campfire鈥攍aughing, roasting marshmallows for each other, and petting a yellow dog who squeezed along the snowbanks behind them, nosing for snacks. Each attendee had signed up for the trip alone; they鈥檇 never met each other before. But the mood鈥攁nd the conversation鈥攃ouldn鈥檛 have been better. If you鈥檇 told me right then, sitting around the fire, that we鈥檇 be extending the expedition for a month, I would have looked at my companions鈥� eyes sparkling in the firelight and thought: Yes. Bring it on.

Recently The Atlantic published a , which is caused鈥攊n part鈥攂y what we might call an epidemic of individualism: our own ongoing choices to stay siloed in tiny worlds. We work from home; we eat at home; we stream instead of going to the movies鈥攁nd the problem, as diagnosed in The Atlantic, isn鈥檛 so much that we鈥檙e lonely as that we鈥檙e not. We鈥檙e alone by choice, and we鈥檙e OK with it, in part because of the ways that technology intrudes on what used to be solo time. Let鈥檚 say you choose to take a quiet evening to recharge. But your phone鈥檚 lighting up constantly, and you owe so-and-so a text and so-and-so an email, and you should probably check socials just to see what disasters are happening in the news鈥� and by the end of the night, you haven鈥檛 spent quality time with other people or yourself. So you鈥檙e hungry for quiet, and stay home the next night and do the same, with the same result. As author Annie Dillard says, how we spend our days is how we spend our lives鈥攁nd a life of neither solitude nor companionship can leave us feeling consistently wrong.

The article strikes me partially as hand-wringing (I鈥檓 rarely compelled by arguments that other people are choosing to live their personal lives wrong) and partially as terrifying (it鈥檚 easier to hate people for their differences if you rarely encounter them). But I also wrote an outdoors advice column for almost a decade, long enough to notice deep grooves of recurring themes in the questions that readers sent in. Many readers鈥� problems were steeped, above all, not in solitude but in true loneliness; the theme came up so often that it was sometimes difficult to find questions to answer that weren鈥檛 about being alone. People struggled to make friends as adults, or after a move to a new location; they mourned when relationships drifted apart, and weren鈥檛 sure how to fill the gap. And yes, when you鈥檙e a hammer鈥攐r an outdoors columnist鈥攅verything looks like a nail, but it鈥檚 hard to ignore the degree to which time outdoors can heal these ills, at least when it comes to the particular forms they take in modern life.

When we go outside with someone, whether that means joining a meetup or organizing a trip with friends, we鈥檙e committing to spending time together in bulk: a two-night camping trip with a buddy means logging as many waking hours together as two years鈥� worth of monthly coffee dates. Researchers have found that the closeness of a friendship can, : that it takes roughly 50 hours to build a casual friendship, versus 200 to be in someone鈥檚 inner circle, and 听that involved locking male strangers in a room together for ten days resulted in the men becoming, well, basically besties. If you鈥檝e spent any amount of time traveling or hiking with strangers鈥攐r even sitting around a campfire鈥攁nd experienced the intense bond that results, then this degree of rapid closeness may not surprise you at all.

I spoke to Jenny Baker, the founder of Sheventures, an outdoors camp for women in Tennessee, about how her campers make friends. She tries to make sure that 35 percent of the slots at each camp are saved for people who don鈥檛 know anyone else, so that they can meet and connect with one another. The strategy is so effective that now, nine years on, it can be hard for her to find enough solo travelers: previous years鈥� campers are now friends with each other, and choose to return together as a group.

鈥淚f we want to combat loneliness,鈥� Jenny told me, 鈥渨e can鈥檛 just find the places where people are connecting. We have to build those places intentionally. How do we ease the hurdles that people encounter when they鈥檙e making new outdoor friends? How do we make space for deep connection?鈥�

Jenny鈥檚 found that not all outdoor activities are created equal when it comes to making friends. Paddleboarding and mountain biking require too much solitary focus, even when a group does them together. 鈥淗iking is great for introverts,鈥� she told me, 鈥渂ecause you don鈥檛 have to make eye contact while you鈥檙e talking.鈥� But the best activity she鈥檚 seen for building friendships, by far, is rock climbing. 鈥淵ou鈥檇 think it鈥檚 a solo sport, but it鈥檚 not. At camp, we might have three women on the wall and 20 women on the ground cheering for them. A climber might be scared. Maybe she鈥檚 tried for the next hold a few times, and keeps missing it. As women, we try not to take up space, so she鈥檒l say she鈥檚 done and someone else should go. But the women on the ground will literally not let her off the wall. They鈥檙e calling out, helping her. They鈥檙e completely invested. And when she succeeds, the cheering that erupts in the woods is incredible. It鈥檚 like everyone succeeded together.鈥�

But what about after camp? How can people keep those intense bonds from drifting apart?

It turns out that the science of friendship can guide us here, too. For one thing, it鈥檚 OK for friendships to drift apart; we benefit from companionship at any level, and just because a friendship is short-lived doesn鈥檛 mean that it鈥檚 not important, or that it won鈥檛 be rekindled later. But if you find yourself making an outdoor friend that you really want to hold onto, just remember to do the opposite of what every true crime podcast tells you and go to a second location. Going from the trail to the pub, or making plans to meet up after camp, helps you to see each other in a different light, and also lets your new pal know that you care about them beyond convenience. And that choice鈥搕hat intention鈥揷an make all the difference between an outdoor friend and a friend for good.

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It鈥檚 a bluebird day at Val Thorens in France, the highest ski resort in Europe, and there鈥檚 still an hour and a half till the lifts close. But unlike your diehard last-chair Rockies skier, we鈥檝e abandoned our skis. We鈥檝e traded the lift lines for the queues at La Folie Douce, a famous outdoor bar above a steep blue run.

To my left, a group of skiers in Hogwarts regalia bops along to house music. Artificial fog engulfs the group on the table in front of me, where a flannel-clad man is dancing in front of the crowd. He and his friends are doing lewd things with a six-liter bottle of ros茅鈥�550 euros鈥攁nd taking turns drinking straight out of it. A woman sways in black sequined pants. In the right lighting, she could be mistaken for a disco ball.

鈥淐hampagne鈥� shower. Champagne鈥� SHOWER,鈥� the DJ starts to chant from a balcony overlooking the wooden deck, slowly building speed and volume. He waves for the crowd to join in.

鈥淐hampagne鈥� shower,鈥� we chant back. 鈥淐hampagne鈥� shower. Champagne鈥� SHOWER. CHAMPAGNE鈥斺�� and then we get what we want: three bottles are popped and fizz rains from the balcony. We scream and duck, but there鈥檚 nowhere to hide from the spray. We鈥檙e packed in tighter than ski bums jockeying for the first tram of the morning.

We鈥檙e above treeline, surrounded by views of sharp, snow-covered peaks, yet the Alps are forgotten. The mountains aren鈥檛 the point鈥攖hey鈥檙e the vehicle.

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My favorite Tough Love question from the last eight years, the one I (somewhat inexplicably) recall most fondly, was from a woman whose boyfriend was grossed out that she used a pee rag鈥攁.k.a. reusable toilet paper鈥攚hile camping. We got a lot of impassioned reader feedback about that one: Pee is sanitary! Pee is gross! Bodies are normal! Women鈥檚 bodies in particular are gross! (OK, dude.) And though I鈥檇 phrase my answer differently now, I stand by the gist of it: If you don鈥檛 want your boyfriend weighing in on your wiping habits, don鈥檛 tell him about them. Wherever that couple is now, together or apart, I hope they鈥檝e figured out how to pee in peace.

The secret about an outdoors advice column, of course, is that it鈥檚 basically a regular advice column with the words 鈥渨hile camping鈥� tacked to the end of each question. Consider:

Should I break up with my boyfriend? He鈥檚 ignoring my boundaries while camping.

How do I stop hating my body while camping?

I鈥檓 desperately lonely. While camping, I mean. Obviously. Right?

鈥淲hile camping鈥� is 国产吃瓜黑料 magazine鈥檚 鈥渁sking for a friend鈥�: a framing that distances us just enough from our problems that we might gather the courage to speak them aloud. The questions that readers sent to Tough Love were almost never uniquely outdoors-specific. Rather, the outdoors served as both backdrop and shared language between asker and reader. A number of thru-hikers, climbers, kayakers, skiers, and runners wrote to me over the years, but their problems weren鈥檛 about, say, the best way to dry long johns over a campfire. They were about grief, illness, heartbreak, anxiety, and love. 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 community, more than anyone, should know that wherever we go, our shadows follow. And it鈥檚 often in the most spectacular places鈥攁 mountaintop at sunrise, a bonfire with friends鈥攖hat our worries are cast in the greatest relief.

And yet there is something unique about an outdoors advice column, less in the specifics of individual problems than in the way those problems reveal the contours of bigger, communal ones. By far the most common questions I received, again and again, were variations on two issues. First: I am a man, and I鈥檓 struggling to find and date women who are outdoorsy. Second: I am an outdoorsy woman, and men won鈥檛 date me because I鈥檓 better/stronger/faster than they are. It would be too simple to suggest that the writers of these letters meet, date each other, and thus solve all their problems, because it鈥檚 precisely the contrast between these two categories that reveals the root of the issue. What is it? Misogyny (or to phrase it as generously as possible for individual men: the sexist pressure on them to be more accomplished than their girlfriends or wives). Men, if you want to date outdoorsy women, there are plenty available鈥攂ut you might need to work on your insecurities first. As for women who date men? At least some of us are outta luck.

At the core, advice columns are gossip. It鈥檚 a myth鈥攁n excuse we tell ourselves, as part of the writer-columnist-reader triad鈥攖hat their purpose is to deliver wisdom to the letter-writer. Instead, the whole dynamic is a collaboration, an exchange. Readers rubberneck, reassuring themselves that although they make plenty of mistakes, they would never make that one. Alternately, they take comfort in the fact they鈥檙e not alone. And the letter-writer shares something vulnerable, under cover of anonymity, in exchange for being seen.

I never shared letter-writers鈥� identities, even with my editors. A few questions were written by celebrities. Some were sent by my friends. Some people were so cautious that they wrote in under fake names, from fake email addresses. And at least one question was my own. (A great exercise, in a tricky situation, is to imagine that you鈥檙e an advice columnist and someone sent in a letter about your exact situation. How would you reassure them? What would you recommend they do? And if you happened to write an actual advice column, wouldn鈥檛 you be tempted to publish the exchange?) There were questions, too, that I never had a chance to answer, either because they were too similar to ones we鈥檇 already published, or because they lacked context. 鈥淲hat do I do next?鈥� someone once wrote, as the entirety of their email. I just wanted to give them a hug.

Sometimes readers sent in advice for other letter-writers, pouring their hearts out over shared experiences, and I passed the messages along. Other times, folks corrected my takes, explaining details I鈥檇 missed or ways my response was short-sighted. Regarding a woman with asthma whose boyfriend accused her of abandoning him when she had to leave a campground due to wildfire smoke, I received, to Tough Love鈥檚 email address, this phenomenal piece of reader feedback: 鈥淭he fact that your advice to this poor woman was decent enough does not justify your presuming, as a dogsledder, to answer her deeply concerning plea.鈥�

I texted my friend a screenshot, delighted by the implication that dogsledders are uniquely bad at giving advice. 鈥淒oes she think that advice columnists go to鈥� advice column school?鈥� she texted back.

In fact, at the time I started writing Tough Love, I was just out of grad school, living on $18,000 a year and supporting a fledgling sled dog team. I鈥檇 written an essay鈥攁 love letter, really鈥攖hat went viral, and got passed around 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 editors. When they approached me about writing an outdoors relationship advice column, I felt like I鈥檇 won the lottery, and in a way I had: a steady freelance gig is practically as rare. I was on a road trip when I got the email. To give me practice, my now-husband read letters from Cosmo magazine aloud, tweaking details to make them outdoors-specfic. I still remember: 鈥淲hat do you do if you get cum in your eye,鈥� he asked me, 鈥渋n the woods?鈥�

I had no idea. Stick your face in a river? I googled it. Then I regretted googling it. I probably wouldn鈥檛 get that question, I reassured myself. On the other hand, what if I did? I didn鈥檛 want to guide people wrong. Or make their eyes hurt. I felt then about the column, and always have, an intense pressure to do no harm.

I suspect my primary strength as an advice columnist is that I don鈥檛 think I have all the answers. For some questions, I dug deeply into my own experience.Those columns are still raw and near to my heart, whether they鈥檙e about grief, being a woman alone in the wilderness, writing a memoir, or the fear of losing a dog. But more often, I used the questions as springboards to approach and interview people鈥攆amily members, friends, even strangers I admired鈥攚hose wisdom I wanted to both learn from and pass on. With particularly puzzling situations, I even brought up the questions at dinner parties, asking folks around the table to weigh in. It was in response to these strangers鈥� questions that people close to me shared some of their most tender truths. For that, I鈥檒l always be grateful.

At the close of the column, I think its greatest lesson, at least for me, is this: we should ask each other for advice more. The questions don鈥檛 even have to be our own. Share situations you鈥檝e read about, or heard about, or even seen on TV, and ask your loved ones what they鈥檇 recommend. Problems are inherently vulnerable; they invite vulnerability in return. You鈥檒l be surprised by how often people will take the invitation to say what they鈥檝e needed to say.

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My wife, Hilary, was essentially handing me a gift, and I didn鈥檛 know what to do with it: She was taking our toddler, Jay, to the Oregon coast for a week, and I was invited to not join them.

Meaning: I had a full week to do anything I wanted, for the first time since Jay was born 14 months prior. No toddler wrangling, no constant vigilance to make sure he didn鈥檛 fall off something, or stick his finger in something, or eat something indigestible. I could stay up late, sleep in, eat takeout, whatever. OR: I could go on a big adventure somewhere, like I used to do: I could fly (by myself!) somewhere for a few days, or take a road trip, or pack a backpack and spend five days in the backcountry. What should I do?

One of my favorite memes of the past five years is the . It started as someone revisiting their childhood memory of asking their mother to take them to McDonald鈥檚, only to have their mother say, 鈥淲e have food at home.鈥� And then the meme of course evolved from there, in incredibly diverse ways.

I鈥檇 lived in Missoula for about five years of my adult life in total (over two stints), and I still felt like I hadn鈥檛 seen that much of it鈥攇rad school, then Covid, then pregnancy, and a new baby kept me around town (or that鈥檚 what I told myself).

And then with an entire week off to go exploring, I got choice paralysis, and finally just decided to stay home. Luckily, we have trails at home.

I picked out some mountains, some close, some a little farther away, some legit rocky peaks and some just really steep tall grassy summits, and asked some friends to join me for different ones. I shot some video every day, put it on a hard drive, and thought 鈥淚鈥檒l make sense of this someday.鈥�

When I finally sat down with all the clips, I found myself digging way back in my own history to figure out a through line. As you鈥檒l see if you watch the video, it goes up.

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When I first started dating my boyfriend, he mentioned that he had a group of friends who went 鈥渃amping鈥� every month to practice skills for the future. I asked for more details and he said that they practice orienteering, tracking, and survival skills like that. He鈥檚 a really sweet, caring guy and nothing seemed like a red flag. Actually, my ex was less social and very clingy, so I remember thinking it was a green flag that he spent time with friends.听

We鈥檝e been together for a year now. In that time, this group has become a bigger part of his life. They meet up almost every week. They also started meeting at a gun club. When I asked why, he talked about social unrest and wanting to make sure that he can protect us. He鈥檚 also been obsessively watching the news about in New Jersey.听

I was looking for something in the basement last week and came across a duffel bag filled with packaged food and ammo boxes. It was upsetting because I鈥檝e asked him before if he鈥檚 a prepper. He told me he isn鈥檛, but that he doesn鈥檛 want to be a frog in boiling water who doesn鈥檛 notice when things start to heat up. But I don鈥檛 want to be a frog in boiling water either. I really love him, but I鈥檓 starting to think there might be more under the surface that he鈥檚 hiding from me. How do I know when it鈥檚 getting to be too much?

Question: Does your boyfriend seem to enjoy all this? Is it fun for him? If so, then I want to hold space for the best possibility here, which is that prepping (and yes, this is prepping, regardless of whether he admits it) is his hobby.

Consider historical reenactment: a broad interest that gathers a lot of different skills and pastimes under one roof. Reenactors don鈥檛 just dress up like people in their chosen era; they also learn crafts, cooking, languages, and so on. Hobby preppers do the same, but in reverse. Instead of focusing on the past, they imagine a future when their skills in self-reliance might be put to good use.

That future probably won鈥檛 come to pass, but there are plenty of realistic scenarios where their skills could come in handy. It鈥檚 not that everyone who buys a zombie apocalypse bug-out kit is actually scared of zombies. It鈥檚 just that prepping for a zombie apocalypse is more fun than packing the exact same supplies so they鈥檙e ready in case of an unusually long power outage.听听

Some people follow end-of-the-world scenarios like other people follow sports. Sometimes a bag of food and bullets is just, uh, a bag of food and bullets.

If that鈥檚 your boyfriend鈥檚 situation鈥攊f he enjoys thinking about possibilities, and trying new things, and he has a good friend group to try them with鈥攖hen there鈥檚 no need to worry. That said, you mentioned a few things that do concern me, and I鈥檇 recommend getting to the bottom of them.

First, your boyfriend said he鈥檚 going to the gun club because he wants to be able to protect your household against social unrest.

To me, that says he鈥檚 imagining a near future in which he might have to shoot people, or at the very least, scare them away with guns. Not zombies; people. He鈥檚 couching the violence of that image under a fantasy of protection, but the point remains the same.

Does that mean that everyone who learns to shoot for self-defense is fantasizing about shooting people? Of course not. And presumably, he鈥檚 practicing at a range that emphasizes gun safety and responsibility.听 But given the anticipatory subtext of prepping in general, and the other details you shared鈥攊ncluding his use of the phrase 鈥渉eat up鈥濃�擨 think this development is concerning.

Secondly, and most important, you鈥檙e worried that there鈥檚 more under the surface.

You know your boyfriend well. You鈥檝e watched his interests change and grow, and you鈥檝e seen how he鈥檚 responding to the news. You saw the look on his face when you found his bag of food and bullets. You don鈥檛 seem like a paranoid or sensational person. If the hairs on the back of your neck are going up, that鈥檚 the most important clue that something is wrong.

aIn fact, even if everything else seemed perfect, that would still tell me that something鈥檚 wrong.

I鈥檓 wondering why your boyfriend denied that he was a prepper, when the term isn鈥檛 derogatory, and it seems so clearly accurate from the outside. Is there another term he uses for his activities, or his identity? If he鈥檚 willing to tell you, it might help clarify his agenda, his priorities, and where his head is at. If he won鈥檛 tell you鈥搃f he鈥檚 convinced that his activities are so practical and universal that they have no name鈥搕hen that鈥檚 illuminating, too.

You haven鈥檛 been together very long, in the grand scheme of things. Do you really want to move into the future with someone whose vision of that future is fundamentally different from yours? If this isn鈥檛 the relationship you want, you don鈥檛 need a specific conflict or fight or reason to break up. Your feelings鈥揳nd your discomfort鈥揳re more than enough.

If you stay together, keep your eyes open. Notice what鈥檚 going on. Remember that you鈥檝e had concerns before, so if something else raises an alarm, it鈥檚 part of a pattern. If you live together, try to have a plan, and some money saved up, in case you decide to leave. After all, it never hurts to be prepared.

Blair Braverman writes our听Tough Love column. Previously, she has given advice on dating a sore loser.

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I have run and bicycled a certain one-mile section of the paved riverfront multi-use path in my hometown probably at least 200 or 300 times. A handful of times, I have thought to myself, 鈥淚 should really stop and read some of these historical plaques along the trail.鈥� I believed there to be two or three of them, and in four years, I never made the minuscule effort to pull off the trail even once for the 60 to 90 seconds required to read them.

A few weeks ago, though, I finished reading what I think is now one of my favorite adventure books, and I got inspired. Because books can do that.

Dean Karnazes鈥檚 Ultramarathon Man inspired hundreds or thousands of people to try ultrarunning, Colin Fletcher鈥檚 books inspired probably thousands of people to take up backpacking, and Cheryl Strayed鈥檚 Wild inspired a generation of thru-hikers. My friend Alastair Humphreys鈥� new-ish book was the catalyst for one of the least epic, but most satisfying adventures of my recent life.

The book is called Local: A Search for Nearby Nature and Wildness, and the concept is this: A guy who lives in the suburbs of London looks for adventure on the 400-square-kilometer map with his house in the center. This particular guy has bicycled 46,000 miles around the world for four years, rowed a boat across the Atlantic Ocean, and walked across the Empty Quarter Desert towing a giant homemade cart. It鈥檚 no Into Thin Air, or story of survival in Antarctica, or tale of the first human forays into some unexplored corner of Earth. But Al got this map, decided to spend a year essentially 鈥渟taying home,鈥� exploring one randomly-selected square kilometer per week, whether or not it looked interesting on the map.

Here is one of my favorite paragraphs in the book, on page nine:

鈥淲hat if where I live, this bog-standard corner of England, which had held no surprises for me, was actually full of them, if I only bothered to go out and find them? Not known, because not looked for. This was an opportunity to get to know my place for the first time and to search closer to home than ever before for things I鈥檝e chased around the globe: adventure, nature, wildness, surprises, silence and perspective.鈥�

I imagine having to write a book about the experience pushed Al to try to dig up interesting things about each grid square he explored鈥攚hich, in my reading, often resulted in me looking up from the book and saying to Hilary, 鈥淒id you know 鈥︹�� And it reminded me of some of the best tour guides I鈥檝e met on trips, who remain enthusiastic after repeating the same facts and figures hundreds of times鈥攐r my sister-in-law鈥檚 father, John, who has lived in the same town in Wisconsin for almost his entire life and seems to have a million pieces of local trivia ready at all times. And how last year I traveled to a spot very close to my hometown鈥檚 , but still hadn鈥檛 read the goddamn signs on the riverfront path I鈥檓 on five times a week.

So Tuesday morning, after riding my bike to drop off our little guy at daycare, I pedaled down the section of path I鈥檝e traversed so many times on foot and on skinny tires, and I stopped at every single plaque. There are 10 of them in the span of that one mile, detailing the human and geologic history of the valley here dating back 16,000 years: the lumber baron who built a mansion near the mouth of the creek (and whose widow, more notably, donated the land for the city鈥檚 first park), the bridges that washed away in floods, the glacial lake that flooded and carved out the valley several times in 鈥渙ne of the most significant geological events in the history of the world,鈥� and did you know we used to have a streetcar here? I mean, I guess not really 鈥渨e,鈥� but the people who lived here a century ago.

Several years ago, at an American adventure film festival, I saw a film of an expedition to climb a mountain in a country halfway around the world. In one scene, as the team of climbers slogged onward and upward through the jungle under ridiculously heavy backpacks, they passed through a village and a few local children and adults watched them. The characters in the film were of course far from home, very 鈥渙ut there鈥� in many ways, and struggling against great odds for a goal and a story about trying to reach that goal. But to the people who lived in the village, it was just Wednesday. Maybe a notable Wednesday, since these weird people with colorful clothing and backpacks were passing through, and that didn鈥檛 happen every Wednesday. But I found myself thinking more of the contrast: Eight people having a capital-A adventure within ten feet of other people sitting in their front yards. Which is something that never happens in my neighborhood, because people don鈥檛 fly halfway around the world to climb the mountains near my house.

But should you have to spend several days and thousands of dollars traveling to have an interesting experience? Seems a little elitist, doesn鈥檛 it?

My friend Forest and I have spent time together in many beautiful places, usually as photographer (him) and writer (me). I have picked up a handful of camera tricks from him over the years, but have no illusions about switching careers to photography. I asked him one time to tell me how I could improve my photography, based on what he鈥檇 seen, and he gently suggested that I should try to get closer. Of course he was right鈥擨 always default to the 鈥渢iny person in huge landscape鈥� shot, which is easy for me to see and feel (we鈥檙e so small out there!), but hard to replicate without a long lens. Being able to look closer, to zoom in, is something I still struggle with, literally in photography and metaphorically in life. Isn鈥檛 it harder to experience wonder the closer you are to where you live and work and get stuck in traffic and take out the trash, or is that just me? I aspire to be someone who can find wonder anywhere.

I鈥檓 not saying that reading a handful of plaques has now made me some sort of expert. But it did send me to the library, and to Google some things鈥攚hich I wouldn鈥檛 have Googled without having my interest piqued by what was on those plaques (the environmental disaster behind the old dam) and what was not on those plaques. (Okay, but what about the history of indigenous people in this area?) Which is something we are lucky to have the ability to do nowadays, to follow up on our interest(s) .

Another paragraph from the introduction of Local:

鈥淚鈥檇 imagined this would be a year of poking around rabbit holes in the countryside, but it became a year of falling down internet rabbit holes about hundreds of obscure topics, as well as reading dozens of books about history, nature, farming, and the climate emergency. Anything clever you read in the following pages, and almost every fact and figure, was new to me when I began this book. Do not make the mistake of thinking I鈥檓 a clever person who can stand in an empty field and see biology, geology, and every other 鈥檕logy, while you merely see a field. I, too, saw only the fields before I started, but paying close attention unveiled so much.鈥�

Of course I love to travel, and some of my favorite places in the world are special because the first time I visited, a friend who lived there showed me around. And tour guides are great, but nothing beats someone who is enthusiastic about where they live, because they鈥檝e paid attention to it and don鈥檛 mind sharing it with someone else. Now if you鈥檒l excuse me, I have to do some research on this streetcar we used to have here in the early 1900s, so I can tell visiting friends about it for the next decade.

If you鈥檇 like to read Local (which has been longlisted for the Wainwright Prize!), here鈥檚 where you can find it:

听听听

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I recently moved into a new neighborhood where everyone is involved in each others鈥� lives. (Picture picket fences, etc.) I鈥檝e noticed that when a neighbor needs to borrow something, like a snow shovel, they come to my door. In particular, there鈥檚 an older woman who lives alone across the street and seems to think that I鈥檓 her personal assistant. She鈥檒l come over uninvited to ask for things every week or so, like to take her dog out to pee when she has an appointment, or even to reach things that are high up in her garage. She does bring me baked goods, which is nice. But cynically, I feel like she does it so that I can鈥檛 say no when she asks for favors in return. I have a physical outdoor job, and when I come home I just want to relax and protect my peace. I don鈥檛 want to be rude, but how much am I actually obligated to help people just because I live near them?

Surely, your elderly neighbor is baking you cookies in an insidious plot to put you in her debt, but joke鈥檚 on her鈥攜ou never signed a contract! The answer to your question, clearly, is that you鈥檙e not obligated to help her at all. People aren鈥檛 credit card companies, measuring all interactions based on who owes what to whom, with a guarantee that at the end of the day we鈥檒l all end up exactly even (or ahead). You can accept your neighbor鈥檚 cookies, but refuse to reach things off her top shelf. You鈥檒l probably get fewer cookies over time, but that鈥檚 not because you haven鈥檛 earned them. It鈥檚 because she鈥檒l assume that you don鈥檛 like her very much.

From my perspective, it doesn鈥檛 seem like this neighbor is taking advantage of you. The help she鈥檚 requested isn鈥檛 particularly time consuming, nor has she asked for anything she could reasonably hire someone to do. Sure, she could stand on a chair and reach things herself, but if she鈥檚 disinclined to do that, it鈥檚 probably because she knows something about her balance that you don鈥檛. These are exactly the kinds of things that we should be relying on friends and neighbors for鈥攁nd if the ask isn鈥檛 onerous (and sometimes even if it is), then yes, I believe we should all try to chip in when we can. Even you.

It may be that you鈥檙e overworked right now, and feeling extra irritable because you鈥檙e stressed and tired. If that鈥檚 the case, I think it鈥檚 a reason to lean on community more, not less. That鈥檚 exactly why your neighbor brings you cookies! She wants you to know that she鈥檚 thinking of you, and that she cares. Not just about what you can do for her, but about who you are and how you鈥檙e doing. If you fell and broke both of your legs, and you couldn鈥檛 take her dog out anymore, I鈥檓 99 percent sure she would keep bringing you baked goods. In fact, she鈥檇 probably bring you more.

I鈥檓 curious what you mean when you say that you want to protect your peace. Does 鈥減eace鈥� mean sitting in your house, undisturbed, free from considering the inconvenient needs of the people around you? What would it look like if everyone protected their peace the same way you do? What if you need a snow shovel one day, because your car is buried and you need to dig it out before you can get to the store to buy one? Your peace isn鈥檛 just yours; it鈥檚 contingent on living in a world where people have what they need, and part of that means that communities and neighbors are able to rely on each other.

Unless, of course, your peace is just yours鈥攁nd it鈥檚 something you鈥檝e learned to guard fiercely because no one else has protected it for you. If you鈥檝e spent your life being taken advantage of, then it makes sense that you鈥檇 develop a laser-focus on self-protection, and would come to view apparently generous interactions through a lens of suspicion. If that鈥檚 the case, I鈥檓 truly sorry. I wouldn鈥檛 wish that on anyone. You鈥檙e welcome to continue focusing on yourself alone, especially if it鈥檚 how you鈥檝e learned to survive. But if there鈥檚 some spark in you that does crave an interdependent community, but feels vulnerable or afraid, then perhaps this new neighborhood presents a small opportunity to heal. I wonder if you even sensed this ahead of time, and were drawn to living here for that very reason.

One way to change your experience, ironically, is to learn to accept kindness. Even when that feels scary, because if it ends, you鈥檒l be alone again. Enjoying your neighbor鈥檚 cookies doesn鈥檛 mean that you鈥檙e dependent on her generosity. It means you鈥檙e peering through the doorway into a world that鈥檚 full of cookies. A world where kindness is passed freely, without suspicion. To you. And from you, too.

There are an infinite number of ways to build that kindness. Instead of just lending a snow shovel, offer to come help dig. Hold a door for someone. Toss back a frisbee that comes your way. Or just smile and say, 鈥淪ure, I can reach something off your top shelf. It鈥檚 no problem. And why don鈥檛 I bring over some hot chocolate, too?鈥�

听writes our听Tough Love听column. Previously, she has given advice on dealing with a weird neighbor.

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I鈥檓 the owner of a small hiking gear company that I founded five years ago when I was 33 years old. I鈥檝e put my everything into it: long hours, 24/7 availability, and my own savings. Many longtime members of my team share my work philosophy. We love this brand and believe in its mission, so we鈥檙e willing to go the extra mile for it鈥攅ven if that means taking on additional work or staying on the clock a little longer to finish up.

As my team has grown, we鈥檝e started to hire a staff of young, fun, mostly Gen Zers, and I love the energy and creativity they bring to the table. But I鈥檝e noticed their perspective on work differs from my more senior staffers鈥�. They tend to sign off right at 5 P.M., even if it means running a little late on a deadline, and they rarely volunteer to take on any task that isn鈥檛 mapped out in their job descriptions.

On one hand, I really admire this clear boundary they鈥檙e setting between work and their personal lives. It鈥檚 the opposite approach of the 鈥渢he harder you work, the more you get ahead鈥� philosophy millennials like me came up under. But on the other hand, I spent years in the corporate world eating dinner at my desk, raising my hand for every extra opportunity, and taking zero vacation days to climb my way up the career ladder.听

I believe my work ethic and rapid career growth led to my own company鈥檚 success, but I know burnout is a real issue, too. How can I respect my employees鈥� work boundaries without resenting them or, deep down, feeling like they鈥檙e disrespecting me?

We鈥檝e all heard about love languages. But when I brought your question to two friends鈥攐ne Gen Z, one boomer鈥攊t became clear that something parallel exists in the workplace, which is that different people, and different generations, have different languages of respect.

For older generations, respect often meant giving your all. 鈥淚 remember being told, 鈥楧on鈥檛 call in sick, call in dead,鈥欌�� my friend Laurie鈥攁 Gen X/Boomer cusper who works with an intergenerational team鈥攖old me. In exchange, employees expected that they were working toward retirement, a pension, and healthcare that would last them throughout their lives. Although that social contract doesn鈥檛 exist anymore, older generations may still see signs of a healthy work-life balance, like leaving work at five despite a looming deadline, as fundamental shows of disrespect. After all, how can young employees be truly committed to the team when they鈥檙e always the first to get up from their desks?

Laurie says that Gen X and boomers often value punctuality, professional dress, respect for authority, attention to detail, and 鈥渇ormal鈥� professional communication: 鈥淲e come down on the side of full sentences.鈥� Even if Gen Z employees don鈥檛 agree with all of these values, they should understand that skipping them may create tension that they don鈥檛 intend to create鈥攁nd that, while it鈥檚 important for older people to understand how young people show respect, it鈥檚 just as important to do the same in the other direction. It鈥檚 also strategic: the people in charge of promotions are generally millennials or older.

Gen Z, by contrast, tends to value humanity in the workplace. 鈥淭he main difference I鈥檝e seen between myself and my boss is that I have multiple identities outside of my work, and she ties much of her own identity to her work,鈥� says my friend Maggie, a 22-year-old college senior who鈥檚 pursuing a career in education. But Gen Z employees don鈥檛 just value their own complex lives and layered identities; they extend that understanding to others, too. They may be unusually empathetic, flexible, and willing to take on extra work when they see that someone else is going through a hard time.

Maggie told me that she recently saw a video of a Gen Z woman resigning from her job, with her boss鈥檚 voice audible over zoom. 鈥淭he boss was saying things like, 鈥業鈥檓 so excited for you and this next opportunity. It鈥檚 totally OK听to cry. It鈥檚 the end of an era for you! Don鈥檛 worry about me for a second,鈥欌�� Maggie recalls. 鈥淭hat Gen Z employee learned that she鈥檚 allowed to look for big things, and she learned what it feels like to be seen as a human in the workplace. Isn鈥檛 that what we all are?鈥� By engaging with her (former) Gen Z employee on a deeply human level, the boss was speaking her language of respect, which made her words and excitement all the more meaningful.

If one of your employees does something that feels disrespectful to you, remember that they may be prioritizing different languages of respect than the ones you anticipate. Someone who often shows up late鈥攂ut with a bright smile and genuine warmth for their colleagues鈥攊s probably not trying to be dismissive or rude. Their lateness could still be an issue, of course, but it鈥檚 more likely to be a problem of time management than contempt. And because their intentions are good, it鈥檚 more likely to be a fixable problem, too.

In your letter, you mention that your Gen Z staff bring energy and creativity to the table. That is no small display of respect. It means they鈥檙e being fully present鈥攁nd that they care. It鈥檚 also no coincidence that the generation that most prioritizes work-life balance听balance is able to bring a unique level of energy to the team.

As for you, it鈥檚 time for some reflection. What are your languages of respect in the workplace? What were you taught by your bosses, mentors, and older colleagues? Do all of their teachings ring true? You鈥檙e in a position right now to shape the work culture that you believe in, and it sounds like you already have been doing that. Be intentional in your decisions. And know that even if times are changing, your hard work got you to where you are, with a company and vision that you鈥檙e passionate about. That鈥檚 something to be proud of鈥攁nd I respect the heck out of all that you鈥檝e done.

writes our听Tough Love听column. Previously, she has given advice on working with friends.

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