Americans have a weird idea about work: "these people are not your friends."

The thing is, certainly in my case, they are. For example, I'm still at least casually in touch with the two people I shared an office with in a job I was at for six months, 23 years ago.

I tried to explain, more recently, to a line manager I still share text memes with from a job I left two years ago:

When we're all individuals, when the pressure comes down, the whole damn thing collapses. However, when we've got those connections in place, it's like a phalanx: everyone has each other's backs. The unit is stronger. When the pressure comes down, the load is spread and the unit survives.

I described a situation where my team-mate was injured in an accident. She had been my shoulder to cry on, and now she was in need. Everyone else was on vacation when it happened, so (as a junior team member) I simply assumed control of the project to cover it, reworking timelines and setting up meetings to ensure that nothing was dropped or missed. It meant I had to work a little harder, but I felt like I owed my friend for all the support she'd given me.

My boss was thrilled when she returned: there was no calamity to have to fix, just things ticking over and proceeding as they should. By sharing the load, my boss could then work out a phased return to work for my injured colleague, without having to pressure her to return before she was ready.

In taking on that extra work, I was then prepared for a promotion a little while later.

Work in those individualistic cultures is a bleak and miserable experience - no wonder so many people hate their jobs - and it doesn't benefit the company, either. Our ancestors understood that our survival depends on collaboration, and we need to understand it, too.