There’s something funny about trying to write about community while sitting alone at a desk, dodging your own deadlines.

That was me last week - full of thoughts, short on sentences.

I kept pacing between my laptop and the kitchen like inspiration might be hiding in the fridge.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Instead, what came up - repeatedly - was a quiet but persistent question I’ve been carrying lately:

Where do we go now when we long to belong?

We used to have the village, the neighbours, the 4pm coffee break with the same three people you’ve known since high school.

Now, we have Slack channels, digital stand ups, and a calendar full of“quick syncs.”

Which, let’s be honest, are never quick.

Or syncs.

And yet… somehow, this is where I keep coming back to in my work: the future workplace - not just as a productivity machine, but as a possible answer to a very human problem.

Loneliness.

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From Desks to Dinner Tables

A while ago, I wrote that we no longer go to work to work.

We go to work to feel like we still exist in the world.

In Stockholm this week, I’m giving a talk on that very idea - how the workplace has quietly become our new social hub.

Because let’s face it: in a time when we don’t know our neighbours, the office kitchen might be the only place we find a random conversation about something other than groceries or the weather.

I remember the moment this clicked for me. I was at a co-working space in Amsterdam, and someone I’d only met twice before asked if I wanted to join asmall dinner they were hosting that Friday. That night, over a table of vegan lasagne and cheap wine, I realised something simple but significant: belonging doesn’t have to be profound - it just has to be repeated.

It wasn’t therapy. It wasn’t soul-baring. It was just… easy and spontaneous.

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Rewriting the Role of Work

Here’s the thing: we keep designing workplaces for efficiency, but what people really crave is connection.

The lunch table matters more than the open plan layout.

The group WhatsApp brings more motivation than the quarterly KPIs.

We want to feel part of something, even if it’s just a shared eye-roll during a bad Zoom call.

But community doesn’t just happen.

It needs intentional design.

And that’s where many offices are still stuck in the old script - offering ergonomic chairs but emotionally rigid cultures.

We optimise for performance but forget that humans are not machines.

We’re messy, relational, reward-driven creatures with a biological need to feel seen.

So maybe it’s time we stop seeing the office as a place where people go to get things done, and start seeing it as a space where people go to be human.

That means designing not just for productivity, but for trust, laughter, small rituals, and the glorious inefficiency of spontaneous connection.

It means treating workplace culture not as a “perk” but as infrastructure.

The same way we design for daylight, ventilation, or acoustics - we design for belonging.

Where Are the Winds Blowing?

That’s the question I’ve been circling lately.

And if I had to guess, I’d say this: we’re moving toward smaller, softer, more socially intelligent spaces.

Micro-communities inside companies.

Third places that blur work and life.

Hybrid cultures that aren’t just remote vs. in-office - but offer a new way of being together, built on flexibility, trust, and tacos on Tuesdays.

Because it turns out, even in a hyper-digital world, we still need somewhere to go.

Somewhere to bump into each other.

Somewhere to ask, “How was your weekend?” and actually mean it.

Let’s Wrap This Up

So no, I didn’t write last week’s article.

But maybe that was part of the point.

Maybe we all need to allow ourselves space to pause, recalibrate, and ask bigger questions.

Like: What is work, really?

What do we show up for?

And how do we build places - not just platforms - where people can find each other again?

If the village is gone and the pub is too expensive, then the workplace has a shot at becoming the next great social infrastructure.

And that’s not just an HR strategy - it’s a cultural shift.

One meeting room at a time.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a fridge to check again.

But this time, it’s for lunch.

Not inspiration.

Lots of love,

Stina

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