Why we worry

When I was 13, I met my great-grandmother for the first time and handed her the first cold bottle of Coca-Cola she ever had in her 100+ years. She had lived her whole life in a village around Rajasthan where my father was born. Both of my parents grew up in villages without electricity, and my uncle told me he hadn’t seen a light bulb until he was 13 himself. Years later, I took my parents to the villages of the Maasai Mara in Kenya, and my mother immediately was hit with joyful nostalgia, as it all reminded her of her childhood in Punjab.

Though by now they’ve spent most of their lives in Canada, my parents grew up in small villages, and it’s still evident in the speed that they live their life. If we all trace our lineages back far enough, we’ll realize we’re all originally from small communities like a village.

Imagine firelit gatherings from a thousand years ago, where faces flicker in the warm glow. Everyone knows each other, dangers are shared, and support is always there. Now, fast-forward to a modern city—honking horns, flashing screens, and streets full of strangers. We crave connection but feel completely alone. This is the paradox of modern life.

Our brains, designed for survival in tight-knit communities, now struggle to keep up. Back then, threats were clear: a hungry predator, a rival tribe. Today’s anxieties are more elusive: a never-ending inbox, the pressure to constantly “grind,” the fear of missing out (FOMO).

Sure, modern life means we no longer have to poop outside, marry our cousins, or worry about being sacrificial virgins, but even with all of humanity’s leaps into the future, our brains are still ancient, and they just can’t keep up with these new modern triggers.

These modern triggers are known as novel stressors—new challenges that our prehistoric brains weren’t built to handle. Things like traffic jams, social media drama, and the constant push to achieve fall into this category. I’ve actually quit driving because I had too many anxiety attacks stuck in traffic. I’d rather navigate the obstacle course of New York sidewalks or play “what’s that smell” on the subway any day over being behind the wheel.

It’s not that life was easy for our hunter-gatherer ancestors. Sure, they didn’t face traffic jams, but they also lived with the constant threat of starvation, disease, and exposure to dangerous animals.

The key difference? They faced these challenges together.

Back then and now, it’s important to remember that anxiety isn’t a personal issue. It’s something we all experience and need to tackle together.

Social connection is the missing piece. To borrow a word from political scientist Robert Putnam, our social capital—meaning the web of connections that binds us—is shrinking. Beyond home and work, we need a third place to connect with others. Losing these spaces, like parks and community centers, makes us feel more isolated. While it’s good that people aren’t going to bars and drinking as much, it would be better if they found other places to gather, because now it seems like most of our socializing happens on the phone. These days, I mostly talk to my close friends through chat groups on my phone. I don’t see their faces or hear their voices, and that feels lonely.

Modern life can often make us feel ashamed, isolated, and anxious.

Instead of reaching for success, we’re often just trying not to fail. This ongoing pressure wears down our self-worth and leaves us feeling uneasy.

Take social media, for example. We’re constantly seeing 25-year-olds with perfect bodies and luxurious lives, making us feel like we’re not measuring up to impossible standards.

For most millennials and zoomers, owning a home feels out of reach because of high student debt and living expenses. The struggle to be financially secure in a challenging economy only adds to our anxiety.

When we feel unworthy of basic needs like safety, love, and self-expression, we often blame ourselves and turn to distractions or medications to cope. This makes us easy prey in a system that profits from keeping us anxious, competitive, and always spending.

I’m not suggesting we go back to living in small villages and pooping outside again, but knowing that our brains are still wired for a different time can help us make better choices today.

Modern life isn’t all bad. We can use technology to make our lives better without losing our connections with people. Research by Donald Appleyard shows that well-designed neighborhoods with less traffic help build a sense of community. Imagine parks full of laughter, busy libraries, and community centers where people support each other.

Instead of trying to get rid of or ignore our anxiety, we need to change how our brain handles stress. Focusing on bringing back third places and community helps us connect with others and build resilience. By creating and using these spaces, we can support each other and reduce anxiety. Facing challenges together in supportive environments makes us stronger and helps us feel less alone.

Stepping out of our comfort zones strengthens the part of our brain that controls motivation and emotions.

Don’t blame yourself for struggling. The pressure you feel is real, and it’s not your fault. Society often values convenience over resilience, making us always busy. This chapter isn’t about hating modern conveniences; it’s about finding ways to stay connected and healthy.

The good news? You’re not alone. Let’s face the challenges of modern life together and create a future where connection and community are key to a happy life.

All my grandparents and great-grandparents have since passed. The villages my parents grew up in all have Wi-Fi now, and as the family grew, the sense of community shrunk. The plots of land that my ancestors owned are being sold as we have no immediate family left in India to watch them. What we owned for hundreds of years will sell for enough to barely get a one-bedroom condo in the sky. Although it’s the death of those communities, it’s an opportunity for me to take ownership to create my own. Not simply through the groups in my phone, but through the groups I build in person, whether that’s my jiu-jitsu gang, the dog park friends, the friends I’ve made in my building, or my childhood friends who I still take trips with.