The housing crisis—and the arbitrary regulations that fuel it—are killing off places to eat whether we like it or not, designing loneliness into American floor plans. If dining space keeps dying, the U.S. might not have a chance to get it back. M. Nolan Gray, “America’s Loneliness Has a Concrete Explanation,” The Atlantic, June 10, 2024

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what my life would’ve been like without a family dining room. But I didn’t have to think too long or too hard to know this: my life would’ve been much poorer. I cut my teeth on the discussions held around our family dining table. I listened and learned, laughed and cried around this table. I sat in second-hand wooden chairs that looked innocently enough like Ducan Phyfe knock-offs, but were–by everyone’s admission– really torture devices. To leave the table, however, was unthinkable. To leave was to miss out. To leave was to declare that you weren’t made of sturdy stock, that, even when your butt had gone numb and you’d consumed gallons of liquid, you didn’t have what it took to remain in the conversation. This may sound like torture, but it was anything but.

In Gray’s recent Atlantic article, he reports that the death of the dining room plays a significant role in Americans’ loneliness, a condition that has only increased since the pandemic:

According to a 2015 report by the Food Marketing Institute, nearly half the time we spend eating is spent in isolation, a central factor in America’s loneliness epidemic and a correlate to a range of physical- and mental-health problems.

Gray cites real estate developer, Bobby Fijan who contends that “[t]he reason the dining room is disappearing is that we are allocating [our] limited space to bedrooms and walk-in closets” and that many apartments now offer only a kitchen island as a place to eat. This, Gray argues, is literally designing loneliness into American floor plans.

Yesterday when a neighbor stopped over for a visit, she commented on our large kitchen island. When we opened up our small galley kitchen, we built an octagonal island that seats 8-10 people. This is our dining room table, and we spend the majority of our family holidays and get-togethers around it. We play games and eat grilled burgers here. We share news and memories here. We celebrate birthdays with cake and homemade ice cream here. We drink coffee and watch the birds here. No one who gathers here is lonely; like those who value the dining room table, we intentionally designed fellowship into our floor plan.

When my children were young and we visited my parents over school breaks, I recall the utter joy at sitting at the dining room table after the kids were excused to play in the basement or outside. This table offered genuine adult conversation, and I sucked it up like a dry root. Add to this the fact that I could talk about teaching English with my father, and I felt as though I’d won the lottery. These hours rejuvenated me, sent me back to my classroom with new vigor and conviction. I would’ve been so much poorer, so much more discouraged and anxious without them.

Undoubtedly, most of us have read reports and testimonials regarding the impact of the cell phone on personal relationships. It goes without saying that the cell phone has played a significant role in America’s loneliness problem. This technological barn door has been flung wide open, however, and it’s unlikely it will ever be shut. The dining room may be dying, but it’s not dead. Not yet. I’ve watched enough HGTV to know that there are buyers and builders who still value the dining room as a gathering place. These folks may want grand kitchen islands topped with granite or marble, but they understand that regardless of their size or beauty, they are no substitute for dining room tables.

Now that both of my parents are gone, I’ve imagined what it would be like to have one more dinner in our family dining room. We’d be eating my mom’s famous hamburger cassserole, Marcia’s Mess, my grandmother’s frozen cherry salad (with and without nuts), and at least two kinds of pie. To prepare for this occasion, I would’ve put in some serious endurance training, so that I’d amaze my siblings with my capacity to stay seated, numb butt, full bladder, and all. No one would leave the table, and everyone would feel as though there was no place they’d rather be. Gathered around our dining room table, we’d happily do our part to make a dent in America’s loneliness problem.