How do we infuse purpose into our lives? You can buy all the tinctures, charcoal-infused beverages, and spa retreats that you want, but if you don't have meaning, you won't have well-being.

Well-being comes from a sense of connection to ourselves, to our community, and to each other. Right now, capitalism and the money economy are based off symbolic transactions, not human connections. An economy that values well-being searches for and rewards actions that bring us an abundance of happiness and joy. It is an ecosystem of symbiotic connections from the self to the community. Time spent on others is time regained on yourself, and a well-being economy gives people a sense of purpose. Currently, important jobs that deeply benefit the well-being of members in a society, such as caring for children or rebuilding neighborhoods, aren't being recognized by a money-based economy.

Creating time-issued "service credits" would value people's skills and put them to work in exchanging with those around them. This results in a reward-based system in which neighborhoods (people and communities) swap time for services they truly need and that benefit the entire community. Putting value on the things money can't buy puts emphasis on a system larger than yourself, empowering everyone to feel useful (and emphasizing that human connection is life). The feeling of making a difference in someone's life is more valuable than anything. This idea of service exchange is not new for many cultures, not now or even historically, but it's definitely something we've lost sight of in the rat race of modern western life, where everything has taken on a monetary price.

The desire for "something more" and "something new" has fueled our economy. For many, craftsmanship and maintenance have given way to fast-fashion and instant gratification. Obviously, we're experiencing the limitations of this. And business is course-correcting, though it's hard to say if the moves are fast enough. So what can we do now? We can shift our thinking away from acquiring and consuming to maintaining and regenerating.

In an economy that values longevity, we would create things that last a long time. A symbol of success would be to not buy new things. A maker's or manufacturer's relationship with a good wouldn't end once it's shipped to the consumer. They would continue to have an ongoing relationship with the goods they introduce to the market by playing a craftsman role in the repair and maintenance of their products. New value would be placed on a local repair person who can maintain without replacing.

A system based on stewardship, not ownership. The things we have would have value beyond just our ownership of them. How would we treat the items we use if we didn't own them, but were just their current stewards? If you were borrowing a neighbor's tool, how would you treat it? If we viewed ourselves as stewards of the homes we live in for future generations rather than owners, would you invest in a trendy fast-fashion light fixture or maintain the legacy craftsman fixtures that are original to the home?

There are already a number of services that allow you share your stuff. In fact, Zeus Jones won a contest in our early years at SXSW that was rooted in the idea of community pooling. But sharing feels unsexy and, uh, a little granola. So how do we show people the value of sharing and cooperation? Both the connections we'd forge but also the long-term impact they'd create—if it was repositioned as something that was desirable and aspirational? Uber normalized ride-sharing, commercialized it, and made it a cool default. How can we do the same, but root the exchange not in monetary compensation, but a continued ethos of cooperation and giving?

An economy that values solidarity prioritizes listening, understanding, and a unified ambition. This economy seeks to nurture and reward those who foster reciprocity, altruism, and love. This means we need to prioritize shared values and perhaps an ever-changing ownership structure—the common good and the environment must be prioritized over self-interest and the agency of the individual. With these values at hand, materialism and mindless consumerism will give way to a culture that grants priority to family and personal relationships, new voices and perspectives, and cooperation and respect for the natural world.

We need more intermediary enterprises that act as both collectives and idea clearinghouses. Yes, they're gate-keepers, but living in a "fake news" world, we can all see the value in badging and double-checking. This is an idea that plays off of what tech philosopher Jaron Lanier has popularized and coined "Mids." These are groups of people who have shared values, shared perspectives, and a shared ambition. In his vision of Mids, the point is about gaining bargaining power over your data. But the idea can be extended in many ways. These Mids can essentially be a brand that operates as an idea and movement clearinghouse: a platform for cooperation and solidarity against a unified ambition. The premise plays on a simple principle: the bigger and louder your collective, the larger your bargaining power becomes. In an era of monopolization and gigantic conglomerates, we need solidarity. The benefits would be numerous: Mids can operate as idea exchanges (not driven by algorithms, monetary profit, or a sense of opposition) and act as collaborative way-finding rooted in action. It's true that social movements on many platforms create awareness—but they've also become a haven for toxic or misleading ideas. Mids could be one way we get beyond the fallacy of cancel culture, social media-based signaling, and identity performance. Instead we should create large collectives not rooted in algorithms, but based on tangible action toward a shared ambition.

At the same time, broader societal ills — runaway consumer culture, stagnant social and economic mobility, seemingly irrevocable cultural rifts — are evidence of how solidarity-starved we've become. We've been sold a narrative that each of us is a movie star, deserving of every luxury and whim we could possibly want — and, in exchange, we'd just have to surrender our connections to each other, whether through a workers' union, community identity or social movement. We'd make every moment about me, no matter how profane it might look. We'd remove others from the script, except to make our own story richer. But, looking around us today, did we actually get anything out of the deal?

In a solidarity model, we recognize that the movie is not about "me," but "us." We protect the progress of our neighbors, families, and coworkers, perhaps at our own expense or inconvenience. We'd recognize the growth of solidarity and progress over months and years, not by daily accumulations or trades. Yes, this is nothing new — extreme inequality in the late 1800s drove social and labor reforms of the 1920s and beyond — but it can't help but feel like we're at the top of the rollercoaster again, waiting for everything to drop. And the rebuilding out of those crises — more aligned to social guardrails, a safety net and protecting each other when in danger — will inspire us to be less callous in our relationships.