Years ago, I was having coffee with two friends, talking about the Gift Economy and the ways we’ve experimented with it in our lives. In the middle of the conversation, one of them asked me an unexpected question: “What’s your retirement plan?”
I half-joked, “To end capitalism.”
It was just a throwaway comment, said without much thought. But it stuck with me. And over the years, as I’ve gone deeper into living into the Gift Economy, I’ve come to realize: I actually meant it.
Perhaps it’s more of a prayer rather than a plan, but still…
For ten years, I founded and ran a nonprofit organization sustained by the Gift Economy. During that time, more than 10,000 people came through our programs—and we never charged any of them a single dime. We barely focused on fundraising. We didn’t apply for foundation grants. And somehow, it all worked.
But during all of those years, I still earned a salary. A modest one, especially by Bay Area nonprofit standards. Part of what made our Gift-based system sustainable was the ongoing inquiry into what we need, as opposed to what we feel we deserve. So our organization had a tiny budget, and I lived a simple life. Still, I had a reliable income. No matter how much money came in—or didn’t—I got paid the same.
Sometimes, that felt like a contradiction. I spoke publicly about how we functioned on the Gift Economy, but I had the comfort of a steady paycheck.
When I stepped away from the nonprofit world entirely, I came to a crossroads. Could I continue living in the Gift Economy without the backing of an organization? Would I now have to charge for my work? Or could I double down and try to live this life, truly sustained by gifts, community, and relationship?
The stakes became even bigger when my elderly mother moved in with us on an extremely limited fixed income, and my partner became pregnant. Suddenly, I had to help support not just myself, but a family of four. And I honestly didn’t know if it was going to be possible to make ends meet.
Even if I were single, I had no idea what it would look like to unplug from capitalism as an individual. It felt impossible.
Philosopher Fredric Jameson once said,
“It’s easier to imagine the end of the world than it is to imagine the end of capitalism.”
I feel that deeply. I can easily imagine a dozen scenarios where the world as we know it collapses. But trying to imagine what life after capitalism looks like? What structures would replace it? How would resources be shared? How would we make sure everyone has access to the resources they need to thrive? How would I still get to enjoy chocolate chip cookies made with the best chocolate chips and vanilla beans from around the world?
These are serious questions.
Even in circles where people critique capitalism, most of us still function in a market economy. We rely on it. How could we not? It’s the water we swim in.
Which means, almost by default, we outsource the meeting of our needs to corporations and to the state - faceless institutions with no foundation in the communities where we live. We buy our food at Safeway, our furniture at IKEA, and everything else from Amazon. We rely on the state to educate our kids, care for our elders, and maintain “public safety.”
And despite corporations exploiting us all and governments failing miserably as every task, we still invest in them. We work jobs—often ones we don’t even believe in—to earn money, because we’re told that money is what will sustain us. It’s what will buy us our “independence.” So we invest in systems designed to extract, isolate, and exploit.
But here’s the thing: the more we invest in one system, the less we invest in others.
Every dollar, every hour we pour into faceless institutions is time, energy and resources we’re not investing in our families, our neighbors, our communities.
In an interdependent world, independence is a myth.
We’ve been sold the illusion: get a good job, earn enough money, save (hoard) enough, and you’ll be safe. Individual wealth is how you can secure your future.
But even if that were actually the case, the system doesn’t really want you to be independent - at least in the sense of having autonomy and sovereignty. No, they actually want us to be dependent – just on the same systems that will never love us.
The myth of independence is a euphemism for isolation. They want us to be “independent” of relationships with each other and the earth, and dependent on multinational corporations and the state.
So now I’m asking: how do I—without the backing of a nonprofit organization—lean into dependence, not as weakness, but as liberation?
The Potential in Community
When I moved into the Canticle Farm community during the early days of the pandemic, I began to see what’s possible when we truly live in relationship.
Weekly shared meals. A bulk-food pantry built on the Gift Economy. A neighborhood food distribution program offering free produce to our neighbors. Ongoing conversations about sharing income, vehicles, childcare and other resources.
Suddenly, I could see a way forward. Not a fantasy of independence, but a reality of interdependence. I could see that, in community, I can divest myself more and more from our corporate and government overlords. I can get more and more of my needs met through relationship, not through transactions in a capitalist market.
Trying to unplug from capitalism alone is nearly impossible. And that’s by design. The myth of independence keeps us isolated—just enough to keep us dependent on their systems.
But in community, everything shifts.
Recently, the family who lives next door to us have been helping to watch our child 2-4 times a week. When this began, we anticipated paying them. And surprisingly, they flat out refused. “This isn’t about money,” they told us. “It’s about relationship.”
So we started spending more time together. We took the family to a WNBA game in the City. We started bringing them fruits from the farmer’s market every week. We cook them meals. We help pick them up from appointments.
Not because we were “repaying” them. But because that’s how we honor relationship.
When my partner got pregnant, I thought I’d need to hustle harder than ever to afford childcare. Who knew that I could end up working less so that I had more time to invest in relationships, and that’s how we would get our need for childcare met.
It’s not just human relationships, either. The land itself sustains us. Canticle Farm includes 11 homes, which means 11 yards. They are filled with garden beds, small animals and over a dozen fruit trees. Each hour I spend watering, weeding, pruning, tending—that’s an hour not spent staring at a screen to earn the money I’d need to buy that same food at the store.
In a recent interview I did with the Green Dreamer podcast, I reflected that, “I don't think my child's future is going to be secured by having a huge retirement fund. I think the best way to secure my child's future is to have a deep, deep community so that no matter what happens to our world, what happens to me, I know that my child has relationships with people who will take care of them.
The more we can double down in community, the less people might feel a need to find security through financial wealth and hoarding of natural resources.
And I think a lot of people don't have that. We live in such an isolating society that people don't trust that they will be taken care of by community. And therefore, again, there's this gaping hole in their heart of, ‘I don't have community. So if something happens, I need to be able to take care of myself. I need to have a huge bank account.’ And that leads to all of this grasping.”
I know there’s incredible privilege in what I’m sharing. Many people don’t have access to community like this. Our society has fractured the village. So many of us live in isolation, not by choice, but by circumstance.
And still—living here is one of the greatest privileges of my life.
Two or three times a day, someone from the community walks into our home unannounced. They might come to borrow sugar or return a container. They might drop off cookies or bring a home-cooked meal. Or maybe a fellow parent stops by to see if our kids can play.
As an introvert, you’d think I’d hate this. But I’ve come to love it. This is what it looks like to depend on each other.
I’ve come to understand that true in(ter)dependence is about becoming independent from systems of domination—and reweaving our dependence on one another. That’s where our freedom lies.
And it’s happening. All over the country, more and more people are building land-based communities. Others are building meaningful relationships with neighbors—sharing fruit, hosting potlucks, starting free libraries, organizing mutual aid and neighborhood defense networks to protect the most marginalized of us, rediscovering the old ways of caring for one another.
When I was born, we knew everyone on our block in Tokyo. Our next-door neighbor was like a second mother to me—and still is. While some speak of those times as the “good old days,” I don’t believe it’s just nostalgia. I believe it can be our future. And for more and more of us, it already is our present.
How to Invest in Community
Last time I was in Japan, we stayed in the home that was next to ours where I was born. The same woman - my then-next door neighbor - still lives there. She still sees me as her son.
She actually held onto some of the toys that I used to play with when I was just a baby, and she gave them back to me so that my daughter can now play with them. She cooked us the same meals she used to make for me back in the day, so that my daughter could taste the same flavors.
She reminded me how communal our neighborhood used to be back in the day. How her and her four sons grew up with me and my two sisters like we were all siblings. How we knew everyone in the neighborhood.
And she was reflecting on how much all that had changed.
As devastating as that is to hear, that was only 40-years ago. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that long. And we don’t have to wait 100-years to rebuild that kind of a village, even in the most populous city in the world.
Everyone seems to love lists these days, so here are some thoughts on how we can make small investments into interdependence:
1. Do It in Community (duh)
You don’t have to do any of this alone. In fact, you shouldn’t. Find one person—a housemate, a neighbor, a friend—who’s willing to explore these ideas with you.
Community is easier (and more fun) to build when you’re not building it alone.
2. Start with Small Acts of Generosity
Bring your neighbor extra fruit from your tree. Leave a note or homemade treat at someone’s door. Use a Smile Card! Offer to help with yard work, errands, or pet-sitting. Generosity doesn’t require wealth—it starts with attention and care.
The Gift Economy begins not with money, but with care and generosity. Give something away just to see what happens.
3. Learn and Remember People’s Names
Whether it's your mail carrier, the person who works at your corner store, or the neighbor you always see walking their dog—learning and using someone’s name is a small act of recognition that opens doors.
Community begins with acknowledgment.
4. Make Time for Face-to-Face Connection
Modern life pushes us to prioritize productivity over relationships. Shift that by creating space to be with others—host a potluck, sit on your porch, say yes to a neighbor’s invitation. You don’t have to be extroverted to be available. Take it from a huge introvert.
Consistency builds trust. Slow down and start showing up, even in small ways.
5. Ask for Help
This one can feel counterintuitive, but it’s key. When you ask for help—from borrowing a tool to needing a ride—you open a door for reciprocity. You let others know you trust them. If someone isn’t there to ask for and receive a gift, the ecology breaks down.
Dependence isn’t weakness—it’s the energy that keeps community together.
6. Create Rituals of Sharing
Initiate something ongoing that invites shared participation. It could be a neighborhood free library, a produce swap box, a “free stuff” WhatsApp group, or a monthly community meal. Shared rituals create rhythm and relationship.
When people know where and how to connect, they often do.
7. Share Stories—And Listen for Others’
Start conversations that go beyond the weather. Ask your neighbor what brought them or their families there. Share a childhood memory. Tell someone about a moment that shaped you. Relationships deepen through stories.
Storytelling is one of the oldest technologies of community.
8. Be Patient—Relationships Can Take Time
Deep community doesn’t appear overnight. It’s built over time, through small moments of trust, generosity, and presence. Let go of the idea of perfection. Keep showing up, and let the relationships deepen organically.
Community is not a product we consume—it’s a garden we tend.
Remember, community building is not about perfection. Trust me, Canticle is far from a perfect place. Actually, we can be quite messy. But it’s the commitment to stay in community through the mess that makes this so special.
These snazzy “8 Things to Do to Build Community” can make it sound all so easy. I can tell you that I am not good at practicing all of these things. But again, the important thing is that we keep trying, even if it’s a little bit at a time.
As the systems we once depended on continue to unravel, rebuilding community will no longer be optional. It will be essential.
Because, as my friend Bonnie Wills once told me:
We are at our most powerful when we depend on each other.
long time no see my brother
I 💙 this. I will try to do more.