Nicole Jacobsen

Bruce N. Waller writes, “Rather than rugged individualists we are a profoundly social species.” Not only does Waller posit this as a successful evolutionary strategy, he also suggests that to assert we are individuals who can live without connectedness is nothing more that artifice. In my case, such rugged individualism affected my health adversely — that is until I realized the key to good health lay in the very connectedness to which Waller refers.

I recollect the story of Roseto, Pa. in Malcolm Gladwell’s book “Outliers.” In it Gladwell describes researchers’ fascination with the small town of Roseto, which had almost no disease and not a single case of coronary artery disease, which was at that time on the rise in the United States. Apparently, while the people of Roseto ate a refined and high-fat diet and were obese at a rate that was comparable to the rest of the country, they lived longer and healthier lives. What’s more, they all seemed to merely die of old age. Ultimately, researchers concluded the secret to Roseto’s good health was the existence of extended family and a strong sense of community.

In our textbook Waller explains that humans form strong family and social bonds due in part to the length and vulnerability of infancy, but also because that strong sense of community ensures the longevity of the human species as a whole. He writes, “The notion of humans as rugged individuals is an artificial contrivance, while cooperation and affection come naturally to members of our deeply social species.”

In my experience, Waller is correct. It certainly seems the people of Roseto understood the importance of cooperation and affection, and I’ve found it to be essential in my own life as well, though it took me a while to understand just how much so.

In my late teens and early twenties, I would most certainly have categorized myself as a rugged individualist, and perhaps I was. Looking back now, I see how successful I was at all I set my mind to as a fiercely independent woman, though I paid the price for the “artificial contrivance” of which Waller speaks, and the lack of community and connectedness.

I’d been raised to believe independence was a virtue, but more than that, I learned that the mutual affection, concern and cooperation came at a price — at least in my family — so I sought to attempt a life without it. As such, it was entirely fitting that after graduating high school I packed up a moving truck with my few possessions and left the windy city of Seattle bound for Alexandria, Va. I hadn’t arranged an apartment to land in, nor had I even a single friend to await me there, but it was the fresh start I needed.

Before too long, I found a job I liked with the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation and moved into a nice apartment in a bustling neighborhood. Yet making friends there or in any sphere of my life wasn’t proving successful. It seemed the northern Virginia and Washington, D.C. area wasn’t suited to me, but because I was pregnant with my first child, I decided it was wisest to stay put. Some roots are better than none, I told myself. I gave birth to my first daughter in my apartment, joyfully, though without medical assistance or any semblance of postpartum care, in part because of the rugged individualism to which I clung.

Over time, the lack of family, friends or any sort of network left me feeling lonely. I’d always wanted to visit New England, and after hearing Portland, Maine was a great city to raise a child in, I once again packed up a moving truck and made my way there — this time with a newborn in tow.

The good news was that the moment I arrived in Portland, I knew I’d made the right decision. Everyone and everything felt like home. The bad news was I’d begun to succumb physically to the lack of deep social connectedness. For the first time in my life, I found myself sick and in need of medical treatment. The doctors were unable to figure out why I had a persistent fever and sinus infections that didn’t respond to antibiotics or other treatment. I was given a hearing test to check for abnormalities. I had X-rays and a cranial CT scan, as well as a litany of allergy tests, but everything came back negative or inconclusive — no one knew what was wrong with me.

Then I met my husband. He helped me to see that what I lacked was precisely that which my deeply social species thrived on: mutual affection, concern and cooperation. He assured me that I’d return to health if I allowed myself to plug in socially, and he was right. Shortly thereafter I began to feel I belonged in a way I never had anywhere before, and not surprisingly, all signs of sickness disappeared. I’d found love, friendship and reciprocity with a group that cared for me, and that equaled physical wellness, just as it did for the people of Roseto, Pa.

Now I find my life so full of friends and connectedness and purpose that I hardly have the time to sit still and recollect these events of my past, were it not for writing this essay. When this past November I had my second child at home, I did so with a midwife standing by, and with my husband and 11-year-old daughter watching over me. I can say with certainty I’m no longer the rugged individualist Waller speaks of, though I’m still fierce, independent and maybe a little crazy.

While rugged individualism was perhaps the correct modus operandi for me at a particular juncture, I agree with Waller: such things are essential for myself, for the people of Roseto and for all of us.