As a generation, Gen Z is obsessed with individuality. Maybe it is a byproduct of social media, or simply the self-infatuation that comes with being young. Regardless of the reason, we all seem to prioritize building a brand for ourselves over building community.
In our pursuit of carving out our own paths, we sometimes forget that we are called to break generational curses while still carrying forward the parts of our family’s legacy worth preserving.
The desire to distinguish ourselves from one another is nothing new. For young adults, it has always gone hand-in-hand with the search for identity. What distinguishes our generation, however, is the absence of the shared identity that gave previous generations a stronger sense of unity and belonging.
We yearn for the sense of community and togetherness our parents and grandparents had: the neighborhood barbecues, book clubs, Bible studies and casual dinners where companionship was less of something to seek out than something woven into everyday life.
Imagine how much better our world could be if we invested in our communities with the same energy we spend investing in ourselves.
There has been discourse surrounding the ways past generations failed to build a stable, livable world for us. From a stagnant job market and unaffordable housing to widening wealth gaps and an increasingly uncertain social security system, previous generations left us with problems they refused to fix yet expect us to solve.
But recognizing what they failed to change cannot become an excuse for what we refuse to change ourselves. We cannot rewrite the past, but we can decide whether we allow them to define our future.
The Black community’s sense of commonality is fading, in part due to the hyper-individualistic nature of our generation. The bonds that once made strangers feel familiar are becoming increasingly scarce, even in the smallest moments of everyday life.
A nod in the barbershop chair. Letting the woman behind you in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles go first because she looks like she has had a longer day than you. These simple acts of acknowledgment cost us nothing to do. The person in front of you has likely gone through an experience similar to your own and sometimes that recognition is the first step toward building community.
The interest in self-focus may stem from the reality that the spaces of community that served our parents and grandparents, in part harmed us. In our attempt to heal we forced ourselves to step back and understand which factors of community we wanted to cherish.
But rebuilding that sense of community does not mean returning to the past exactly as it was. Keeping the torch lit does not mean preserving every tradition we inherited, especially those that hurt us instead of heal us. It means learning to distinguish between the traditions that brought us closer and the expectations that asked us to sacrifice parts of ourselves for the sake of belonging.
Maybe it was the family gatherings where your business becomes the evening’s entertainment passed from cousin to cousin for a laugh. Or church communities where faith can become less about fellowship and spiritual guidance and more about dictating how young people should live, with family members quick to judge them when they choose a different path. Maybe it was a sport you hated but played for years because your parents thought it would turn you into the kind of person they wanted you to be.
These things can be part of our history without having to remain part of our future. Somewhere along the way, as we grew older, we stopped questioning the traditions and expectations handed down to us and began assuming they were meant to help us simply because they came from our families.
We flee community because it once burned us, but fleeing a fire does not mean abandoning the torch. We can still remain consistent, still show up and still learn our neighbors’ names. Individuality was never the enemy of community, it is simply one piece of the larger picture.
A torch passed down should illuminate the next room, not leave a burn on the hand carrying it. Pain that goes unprocessed does not disappear, it gets passed on. We do not honor those who came before us by carrying every burden they left behind. We honor them by carrying forward what we value, leaving behind what wounded us and making the road easier for whoever comes next.
Copy edited by Jori Johnson