The Call to Simplicity and Community

 

Living simply, together—sharing the land, supporting each other, and finding freedom in community.

As I navigate life in a fast-paced world brimming with technology, constant notifications, and the never-ending cycle of “hustle culture,” I often find myself longing for a simpler time. And no, I don’t mean easier—I mean a life where simplicity reigns, like the days of pioneers who built their homes with their own hands and lived close to the land and one another. 

For a neurodivergent person like me, this simplicity isn’t just appealing; it’s grounding. It offers a way of life that feels more human, more connected, and more in tune with my soul.

At the heart of this longing is a belief I’ve held for as long as I can remember: that existing in this world shouldn’t come with a price. We should have an inherent right to live freely, to wake up under the sun, breathe the air, and feel secure without needing to pay for the basic privilege of being here. Somewhere along the way, society shifted, turning life itself into a transaction. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s another way—a way that acknowledges the worth of simply existing and being part of a shared, supportive world.

Living in a world that demands multitasking, quick thinking, and constant adaptability can be taxing. The noise, the rush, and the complexities of modern life are exhausting to navigate for anyone, but especially for someone who feels everything deeply and processes the world differently. The pioneer lifestyle, while rugged and full of its own challenges, represented a kind of clarity and purpose that’s hard to find today. People worked to sustain their communities, not just themselves. They knew their neighbors, not just as passing figures, but as vital threads in the fabric of their existence. They relied on one another, weaving a life of mutual aid and shared understanding. (Check out the Love Comes Softly series on Prime) 📺 

Since I was a very small child, I’ve felt a strong pull toward this kind of communal living. I can still remember playing pretend games where friends and I were part of a tiny village. There’s always been something in my heart that whispered, “Life is better when shared, when supported.” And that whisper has grown into a dream that I carry with me to this day: a vision of land surrounded by homes, where handpicked friends and family live together in harmony. A place where life isn’t stripped down for the sake of hardship, but simplified so that we can focus on what truly matters—connection, purpose, and care.

Imagine, for a moment, a life where mornings begin with the soft sounds of birds, not alarms. Where instead of the hurried rush to beat traffic, you start your day with the familiar faces of loved ones. Meals would be made from ingredients we grew ourselves, laughter spilling over communal tables. The work would be honest—tending to gardens, fixing up homes, preparing food for the winter—but it would be shared, carried out with a sense of purpose that resonates beyond survival. It’s a life that embraces being neurodivergent, giving space for the sensory joys of nature, the comfort of a supportive community, and the freedom to live at a pace that feels right.

There is something profoundly reassuring in the idea that, in a community like this, everyone has a role to play, and those roles shift with needs and abilities. It’s not about conforming to one way of doing things, but about celebrating the strengths of each person and lifting each other up when challenges arise. For someone like me, who finds strength and comfort in the presence of trusted friends and extended family, this way of life feels like home.

I dream of a place where work is meaningful and shared, where no one is left alone in their struggles, and where we celebrate our victories together—no matter how small. A place where we live off the land not because it’s easier, but because it’s more real. A place where we can slow down, focus on what really matters, and help one another thrive.

To my readers: I hope this dream resonates with you in some way. Maybe it reminds you of your own childhood dreams or sparks a little flame of longing for a life with more connection and less rush. The world we live in now is complex, and returning to a life of intentional simplicity may not happen overnight. But even just thinking about it, talking about it, is a step toward something better—a life lived in full spectrum, where all the shades of community, simplicity, and support shine bright.