On Remembering

I’ve been reflecting a lot on what it means to belong—on how real, embodied, reciprocal connection and intimacy often feel just out of reach. We scroll, we send messages, we attend meetings, but these exchanges often miss something vital—and we feel that emptiness deep in our bones.

The other day, I was walking through the forest we call home with my son, Wilder, and our dog, Oakley. The path was covered in melting snow and composting leaves, a sign of the changing seasons. The ground felt soft and alive, with leaves breaking down into rich soil, ready to nourish new growth. Wilder stopped to touch a maple leaf still clinging to its tree, and I thought about the deep, unseen connections that sustain the land around us. Beneath the surface, mycelial networks are quietly sharing nutrients between the roots of trees, allowing them to communicate, support, and sustain one another. Even as the trees shed their leaves, they remain deeply connected, always interdependent. Humans are meant to live like this too—but somewhere along the way, we lost sight of how.

We live in a time of fragmentation and disconnection. Communities that once held us through hardship are now built on individuality, accumulation, and separation. The systems around us prioritize efficiency over care, profit over reciprocity, and independence over interdependence. Many point to the creation of new systems to right this, but the words of Bayo Akomolafe resonate deeply:

"Exiting" capitalism, white modernity, or any dominant system is not about finding an alternative in the traditional sense, but about learning to notice the emergent, the minor, the paraontological openings that systems themselves produce as they mutate. As they speculate. It is about attuning to disruptions, to what I call "weird fidelities", the fugitive pathways that do not announce themselves as "alternatives," but as leaks, cracks, and dissonances within systemicity.

What if the future isn’t about building something new, but about remembering what we’ve forgotten? What if the work ahead is less about innovation and more about reweaving the connections we already have? What if the revolution is as simple and profound as recentering care? Care, after all, is the thread that binds us to each other and to the world around us. It is the foundation of belonging, the quiet force that nurtures deep connection. A colleague once shared, “Capitalism takes away your support system and then sells it back to you.” This truth highlights just how far we’ve strayed from the natural rhythm of mutual care and interdependence. What if the path forward is simply about reclaiming this fundamental human instinct—recognizing that care, in all its forms, is the bridge that links us to each other and to a future where connection is at the core?

Edge Collaborative is rooted in this belief: that belonging, trust, and care aren’t just abstract ideals, but the very foundation of resilient communities. By reconnecting—through stories, shared wisdom, and mutual support—we strengthen the networks that hold us all.

This project is an experiment in weaving—an experiment in bridging gaps through connection and creating a new network of care and mutual support. We are uniting those working on the edges—those dreaming, tending, and building alternative futures. Through storytelling, mapping, and gathering, we are creating space for people to share their visions and wisdom, where emerging possibilities can take root. It’s about living in the questions, embracing the emergent nature of what’s unfolding, and recognizing that the power to shape the future lies in the connections we nurture today. This network is about supporting one another in the work of creating something new, grounded in care, mutual respect, and a shared commitment to collective well-being.

Because resilience isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about knowing that you’re not alone in the questions.

So where do we begin?

We start by noticing. By paying attention to the connections already present in our lives—the people we lean on, the skills we trade, the ways we show up for each other. We start by listening—to stories from the edges, to the wisdom passed down, to the quiet knowing within ourselves.

And we start by asking: What would it feel like to live in a world where care was at the center?

The trees already know how to do this. The rivers, the fungi, the wind moving through the pines—they remind us that nothing exists in isolation.

We just have to remember.

Edge Collaborative is one way of remembering. Of listening. Of weaving. If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear what’s been on your mind—what have you been noticing about connection in your own life? Let’s start the conversation.