Why My Facebook Community Is Literally Keeping Me Alive (Sorry, Brad)

I am intensely grateful for my Facebook community.

Like, “my-lifespan-depends-on-this” grateful.

And honestly? I feel like I manifested this.

Vision board? No.

Mild desperation and the algorithm? Perhaps.

For… well… almost… ever, friends (yes, really - absolute saints) and family have told me the same thing repeatedly:

“You need to be more social. People with active social lives live longer.”

Which sent me spiralling—trying to calculate exactly how prematurely deceased I was scheduled to be.

Not emotionally spiralling. Just… medically curious.

The Blue Zones Explained

Then, during COVID - when the Universe officially confirmed I was 100% reclusive-prone and could stop pretending otherwise - I watched The Blue Zones on Netflix. Or Blue Zone. Or Some Blue Thing.

Look, I can’t do everything for you people.

But here’s the cheat version - though I still suggest you watch it, assuming that was the name.

The world’s longest-living people all share a few traits:

They move naturally

Does driving a car count? Asking for a friend. (It’s me.)

They have a purpose

Mine? Survive another day. Ambitious but achievable.

They have stress-relieving rituals

I got stressed just reading that sentence.

They eat mostly plants

Well, I was vegan. Possibly for too long.

And finally…

They are part of a community

wah-wah-WAAAAAAAH

I was royally screwed.

Hiking Saved My Life (Probably)

But then… I found hiking.

Let’s review:

Moving naturally - check

Purpose - check

Stress relief - check

And - wait for it - community - CHECK!!!

Just like that. Boom. Longevity unlocked.

Someone call Netflix - I’ve cracked the code.

So yes, I can now officially tell everyone who said “you need friends” to bugger off.

You don’t need friends.

You need community.

Much less admin.

Much less politics.

Much less backstabbing disguised as brunch.

Dear Community: Please Don’t Disappear

Now that I’ve made it clear my lifespan literally depends on you, I need to get something off my chest.

Sit down.

Listen.

Do not get offended and disappear.

Because - and I mean this lovingly.

YOU LOT ARE BLOODY HIGH MAINTENANCE!!

Every time I refer to an entitled person as "Brad" or "Karen", someone gets offended.

Especially you, Brad.

And yes. You too, Karen.

I was writing a very important post the other day (as all my posts are) and hesitated before typing “Karen.”

I asked my son Pepper for alternatives. (Pepper would absolutely work, but I didn’t tell him that.)

He suggested I ask AI.

Turns out AI does more than politely soften savage work emails.

Who. Bloody. Knew.

So this - all of this - is on you people.

I was given lists.

Classic “Brad Energy” / Male

Clarence. Mortimer. Reginald. Percival. Aloysius. Egbert.

Honestly?

They all sound like Victorian ghosts with opinions.

Classic “Karen Energy” / Female

Mildred. Gertrude. Phyllis. Hortense. Edna.

Seriously??

Nothing works like Brad and Karen.

Be honest.

What we have learnt here, is that the world’s longest living people don’t just eat plants and walk uphill.

They have strong social networks, close connections, and a sense of belonging.

Which means…Brad. Karen.

You’re stuck with me.

And I’m stuck with you.

Lucky us.