Before Covid happened, I would have told you I was an introvert. After Covid, I would have told you that I was an introvert who fantasized about becoming a hermit. Even in the midst of all the very real loneliness I experienced, you would not have been able to convince me that I needed people.

I became a little bit feral. I discovered new ways to love being by myself. I watched way too much television. Even with my family in the house, I wanted to be even more alone. I wanted more space.

I think I was overcorrecting, shaping my brain around the angles and curves of the pandemic’s fences. It wasn’t until late 2025 when I finally realized that perhaps, yes, the Loneliness Epidemic had affected me, too. 

I coped by meticulously cleaning my groceries with coveted disinfectant wipes and wearing a fishing vest to the grocery store so I didn’t have to touch anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. I sewed. I embroidered. I wrestled with my moral distaste for Hobby Lobby and my need for fabrics and thread.

I watched more television and drank more wine than was healthy, and I resorted to weird actions, like rationing toilet paper and freezing eggs in case they became unavailable for some reason. I knew a few people who suddenly became chicken farmers. Chicken ranchers? Chicken moms? 

Social media has given many of us a false sense of self-sufficiency. YouTube tutorials have made us more capable. Sourdough starters across the world began, bright and bubbly, then quickly suffered ignominious deaths in air conditioned kitchens as our collective attention zeroed in on Joe Exotic and his colorful exploits.

We convinced ourselves that all we needed was what was right in front of us. And what we could order via Door Dash. And Amazon. And ChickenMomsMatchingOutfits.com, probably. We realized that we could take care of ourselves, as long as we had this whole infrastructure in place to help us.

Did we think of the delivery drivers? Of course we did. We showed our appreciation to them by tipping a little extra, leaving coolers full of bottled waters or snacks, and writing thank-you notes. But at the same time, I’m pretty sure the pandemic helped hasten the cementing of the gig economy into American life.

We appreciated hospital workers by lining up at medical facilities to clap for them or hold signs saying thank you. We thanked teachers by telling our kids to hush during their Zoom classes.

We doomscrolled, we made memes, we fought with strangers on the internet over whether masks were necessary or ridiculous. 

I did battle with distant relatives via Facebook comments section over my commitment to wear a mask until every person had a vaccination. Then I went to battle over vaccinations. 

We reinvented ourselves into crafters, makers, bakers, helpers, activists, artists, lovers, and more. I have skills I never would have acquired were it not for the pandemic shutdown. But I know that I was part of a privileged class of individuals. For the nurses, the delivery drivers, the teachers, and the other “essential workers,” things did not slow down. For people in many professions, things ramped up to such a degree that burnout changed their trajectories. Others got sick or even died.

We look back on Covid with this morbid sense of wonder, seeing it from the lens of people who picked up new skills or lost a loved one or had our job permanently changed. We question why experts and leaders made the decisions they did, and we consider ourselves to be better informed than we were when we were in the thick of it. I don’t know if we are, if I’m being honest. But that’s a trait of surviving something traumatic. We rewrite the narrative in a way that makes it easier for us to manage the chaos that was reality for a time.

After years of believing that I could go it alone, I have come to realize that I need people. I need people to talk to about the TV shows I love and the books I read, because sometimes I don’t know whether I like something until I have to explain it to someone else. I need people to laugh with, because laughter is hollow when it’s in an empty room. I need people to support, because support goes both ways, and I really do need people to support me, even if I don’t want to admit it. 

I need the whole village. I need the village healers as doctors and nurses and pharmacists and patient caregivers and therapists. I need the village merchants – the small business owners who are just trying to keep going through pandemics, cheaper online competition, and fickle consumers – and who should be the backbone of our economy. And I even need the village jesters, the Joe Exotics of this world, who give us a reason to laugh and make memes and feel a bit better about our own peccadillos. 

I still fantasize about being a hermit. I just tweaked it a bit; I’d be the hermit on the edge of a very full and loving village.

And in case you’re wondering, these are some of the village inhabitants (who, in a roundabout way, inspired my Personality Marketplace project).

The Village Healer

Anyone who lived through the Covid pandemic saw footage of doctors, nurses, and other hospital workers being “clapped out” of hospitals after their shifts. People would line up outside of medical facilities and wait for shift changes so they could show their appreciation and encouragement for the sacrifice those workers made. 

I’m not sure how many people in those lines were wearing masks, getting vaccinated, and avoiding mischief that might turn them into patients, but the Venn diagram is probably not a single circle. The irony is that, as the richest country in the world, this was the best our country could do. I haven’t looked at statistics, but I would guess fewer young people are going into nursing as a profession after the pandemic came through.

The Village Wise Elder

The country was surely missing a wise elder at the start of the pandemic, and we never really found one. People didn’t trust the top medical leaders in the country, but increasingly trusted YouTube celebrities, momfluencers, doctors who weren’t actually doctors, and even governors for their medical advice. 

Tom Hanks, one of our national treasures, just by being who he was – and surviving Covid – was, in his way, a wise elder. He was one of the few people we all agreed to love and listen to. To an extent.

When the voices of the educated were drowned out by opinion columnists, we all added “Dunning-Kruger effect” to our collective vocabularies. 

I’m not sure our country is ready even now for an actual wise elder, but I suspect someone would make a meme out of her or chant something catchy like, “Expert Shmexpert,” to drown out her voice of reason.

The Village Merchant

Everyone saw, with perfect clarity, just what we think of our local merchants. Businesses folded by the dozen in every community. The establishments that had the staying power during the lean times were the ones with corporate backing – and an online presence, to be sure. Even when we tried – and we really did try – to support local businesses, we were all so exhausted and worried, we didn’t follow through.

It didn’t help that politics took an ugly turn in the heart of the pandemic, making ideology a selling point for some small businesses. I did my share of boycotting over masking policies and political flags. I also did my fair share of accidental boycotting by staying home. 

The Drifter

People experiencing homelessness were probably some of the most profoundly affected – and universally ignored – populations during the pandemic. With many services curtailed due to lack of staff or funds, and with many community organizations placing new requirements on people who often have limited support to begin with, unhoused people had an even tougher time.

A few no-questions-asked food pantries popped up, and I got to be part of one of them. We became gentler, in a way, and reduced barriers in those locations. I hope we learned some lessons that continue to inform our support of underserved neighbors.

The Village Jester

So, Joe Exotic goes here, right? We all tuned in to watch this silly man with his ridiculous haircut and increasingly absurd wardrobe choices as he unraveled (was he ever raveled in the first place?) on national television. We took an obscene pleasure in his petty disagreements, his romantic interludes, his off-the-wall anecdotes. 

We reveled in his merry band of weirdos and even made his worst enemy, poor misunderstood Carol Baskin, a household name. Though Joe Exotic was, in the end, a criminal and probably a person in need of good mental health care, he was a balm to many of us who just needed something to laugh at – and make memes about – during those long, grueling months we spent stuck at home.

The Village Idiot

Maybe I spoke too soon on Joe Exotic. Just kidding, I’m pretty sure Joe is much smarter than he appears. But he wasn’t smart enough to stay out of prison. Alas, I have to dig much deeper for the village idiot.

It appears the village idiot might have been a vein running deep inside many Americans – not one person, but a collection of many people for whom conspiracy theories and “alternative cures” were their way of wresting control of a terrible situation and giving it meaning in a way they could easily understand. 

Though I was thoroughly glad tests were available, I was confused – and still am, if I’m being honest – about how it took a 10-inch lobotomy tool to diagnose something that could float in the air in a six-foot radius around the sick. My brain reacted to the Covid test the way a peasant would have reacted to a plague doctor. I washed my groceries and turned myself into a wine-and-television zombie, and fell into traps left and right that had me arguing on the internet. 

So in the end, we were all a little bit of a village idiot.