One time, in high school, a teacher drew a parallel between paleolithic times and our modern way of life that struck with me.
“So you don’t think your tribal?” he asked the class and proceeded to poetically describe the feeling of being at a football game and rooting for your team, and then he described the thunderous harmony of a venue full of fans of their favorite band singing along to every word. Those examples stuck with me, and here in 2025, we hear the term “my tribe” uttered frequently to describe a gaggle of folks with shared similar interests or traits.
Several weeks ago, I was reminded of this, and how fortunate I am to have people around me who I can claim as “my tribe.” My girlfriend mentioned a movie, Spider Baby, which I’d never viewed, much less heard of. She described it to me, and I said, “That’s something we need to watch, like yesterday!”
Spider Baby, from 1967, is a horror film that would likely look cheesy to most sets of contemporary eyes. It revolves around three orphaned siblings who suffer from a genetic condition that causes them to gradually regress mentally, socially and physically.
If the film is remembered at all, it is because it featured the great Lon Chaney, Jr. as Bruno, the chauffer and caretaker of the trio of siblings. It also featured, as one of the siblings, the great cult actor Sid Haig, in what is likely one of his earliest roles.
The film was wonderfully strange, and I enjoyed it immensely. It was something that my partner and I could talk about, and reference, later, as we do with films, books and music that we discover we have a liking for.
I’m not going to try to give an exact estimate, but I’m pretty sure that a healthy percentage of the population would not get much out of Spider Baby, and most would probably laugh at it.
For many of my friends who can wax poetic about John Watters or Wes Anderson, however, it would’ve been right in their cinematic wheelhouse.
Tribalism, as much as I might pooh-pooh the concept (typically when I’m talking about politics) is an inescapable force. Folks, we’re all pack animals; continuously looking for members of our tribe, our community.
Finding one’s tribe is a powerful thing, and probably one of the most affirming experiences one can have in this journey we call life. Think about it. At the core of the whole “my tribe” ideal is that innate desire to belong, to be understood and to feel connected to others who share interests, values or quirks.
We’re brought mind of this in many ways, from seeing someone else wear the T-shirt of a favorite band to noticing someone drinking the same type of obscure craft beer at a bar. Just the other day, I saw a guy on the street, outside a restaurant I had just stepped out of, and he was wearing a Turnpike Troubadours shirt. This cat was with several other folks, but I wanted so much to say “howdy,” and to let him know how passionately I felt about that band, but I refrained.
Think about the earliest gatherings of humans around a fire and then think about the connection we have with people in 2025 through online platforms. The mediums may change, but the need to seek out those with whom our way of seeing the world resonates is still fundamentally there, and it’s a fundamental part of how we thrive. It’s rooted in our biology. Harkening back, again, to the early humans, they survived because they were able to form groups that shared responsibilities and protected one another, and as that unforgettable teacher in high school pointed out, tribal instincts persist today. Our brains are wired to seek out familiarity and understanding, and when we find folks who reflect traits in ourselves, we experience a comforting feeling, and it becomes easier to take risks, to grow and to, simply, exist.
Being around those kindred spirits helps to reassure the notion in us that our own passions, perspectives and struggles matter. As John Donne famously mused in his work, “no man is an island,” and all of humanity is interconnected.
To start to wrap this up, I’m going to put down a few words for a friend. This has become all too familiar, it seems; the act of paying tribute to those who’ve left this plane of existence. My friend Megan was taken in a shocking, sudden and utterly unexpected manner two weeks ago. I cannot recall the first time I met her, but I can guarantee you that we both recognized each other as “our people.”
Megan was one of the realest of the real ones, and in a fragmented world full of noise, she not only fostered a sense of connection among a large circle of friends of varying interests and life experiences, but she made sense of the world as she saw it through striking works of visual art.
Farwell, my friend, and thank you for helping those around you grow into fuller versions of ourselves.
