Tonight, I'm alone.

 I'm sitting at Soho House in London, that curated, member-only version of community, sipping tea, watching people meet, mingle, and orbit around each other.

I travelled here solo.

Tomorrow, I'll meet my colleagues for two packed days of site visits, exploring the future of poly-centric cities and how urban planning can create more connected lives.

But tonight, it's just me.

And I'm practising the underrated art of travelling alone.

There's something strangely beautiful in it.

The quiet of being unaccompanied in a city that's never quiet.

But there's also something that stirs, a small ache that reminds me where my people are.

Where my tribe is.

Let's talk about it.

My Body Remembers

Last summer, I wrote about a moment on a wooden podium in a forest in Poland, dancing with strangers who, for a few hours, felt like family.

(Find the article here.)

That article resonated more than I expected.

I heard from so many of you who felt the same pull, the same ache, the same recognition in your own bodies.

It was chaotic and beautiful and unrepeatable.

But what stayed with me wasn't the music.

It was the feeling of being in sync.

And what was happening in my body wasn't just a good feeling.

It was a recalibration. A nervous system reset.

Oxytocin, dopamine, endorphins, the real cocktail we forget to list between protein and magnesium on the menus.

Honestly, I wish that were on the Soho House menu.

Because this isn't a side dish.

It's the main dish, what we need to survive and to feel alive.

And it's not the first time I've said this.

I've written about it before in different settings, through different moments.

In Slack Is Great, But Have You Tried Eye Contact? I unpacked the myth of workplace connection.

In The Rich Life – A Tribe, Not a Title, I questioned why we keep confusing independence with success.

And in You Had to Be There, I reminded myself and all ofus that some moments of belonging don't need to be posted.

They just need to be lived. (find link to these articles and more here.)

But here's the truth underneath all of it:

We need tribe.

Not because it's nice, but because it's necessary.

Connection Isn't Optional

When we move in sync, mirror each other's steps, or simply sit across from someone who truly sees us, we activate a full-body response, the cocktail of…

Oxytocin. Dopamine. Endorphins. Reduced cortisol.

It's like the body says, "Ah. There you are."

And then relaxes.

We don't just bond emotionally. We regulate physiologically.

It's co-regulation. It's evolution.

It's why communal rituals have existed longer than language.

And no, Soho House doesn't count.

We've tried to replace tribe with networking.

We've turned community into a subscription.

We've mistaken "being seen" for "being known."

But what I felt in the forest, and what I miss tonight in this polished room of cool people, is something deeper.

The messy, un-curated, arms-wide-open kind of belonging.

The one that doesn't ask for credentials.

Just presence.

So what do we do with this ache?

We remember that belonging isn't a place you find.

It's something you create.

•           It's inviting someone to dinner even when your apartment's a mess.

•           It's dancing like a maniac with people whose names you don't know.

•           It's showing up, again and again, to build something that feels like us.

We don't grow out of our need for tribe.

We grow into it.

Let's Wrap This Up

Right now, I'm alone in London.

But I don't feel alone, not really.

Because my body remembers the beat from the forest, the voices of my people back home, the rituals we've built over time.

And maybe that's what tribe really is:

A rhythm you can return to.

Even when you're far from it.

So if you've been feeling the ache:

Call someone.

Host something.

Create the circle.

Because independence is overrated.

And community, my friend, is a form of medicine.

Lots of love,

Stina

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