Loneliness
When Did We Stop Sitting Together?
Personal Perspective: We are connected more than ever, but are we really together?
Posted July 8, 2026 Reviewed by Monica Vilhauer Ph.D.
Key points
- Loneliness may involve not only being alone but also a lack of genuine presence when we are together.
- Informal gathering places and unstructured time create opportunities for meaningful human connection.
- Relearning how to sit, listen, and stay with one another may help restore a sense of belonging.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened. There was no announcement. No cultural agreement that we should spend less time simply being with one another. I don’t remember a specific day when we collectively decided that sitting together was no longer important. Yet, somewhere along the way, something changed.
I remember when people sat around the kitchen table long after dinner was over. The plates were still there. The coffee had gone cold. Someone would inevitably tell a story we had already heard at least a dozen times. Nobody seemed particularly concerned about leaving. We just sat.
Sometimes the conversations were important. Most of the time, they weren’t. Someone complained about work. Someone talked about a neighbor. People argued about something insignificant and then moved on to another subject without ever resolving the first one. Occasionally, nobody said anything at all. But we stayed.
Today, silence seems to make us uncomfortable. When a conversation slows for even a few seconds, someone reaches for a phone. I have done it. Most of us probably have. We scroll through social media, check an email that could easily wait, or respond to a notification that somehow feels more urgent than the person sitting directly in front of us.
We have become remarkably connected while many of us feel increasingly alone.
Perhaps loneliness is about being physically alone. Maybe part of our loneliness comes from how rarely we are fully present when we are together.
Being Near Someone Is Not the Same as Being With Them
Human beings have a deep desire to be seen, heard, and understood. Humanistic psychology has long emphasized the importance of genuine human relationships. Carl Rogers wrote about empathy, authenticity, and the value of creating relationships in which people feel accepted and understood.
We often discuss these ideas within the context of therapy. But empathy and presence do not belong exclusively in a therapist's office. Being present with another person does not require a clinical intervention. Sometimes it simply requires a chair.
I have noticed this most often when I cook. I enjoy grilling and smoking meat, which is an admittedly slow hobby. A brisket does not care about my schedule. It cannot be rushed because I have somewhere else to be. Sometimes it takes 12 hours. Sometimes 16. Occasionally, it seems determined to take as long as humanly possible. But something interesting happens when food takes that long to cook. People sit down.
Someone wanders outside and asks when the food will be ready. I usually give an estimate that turns out to be completely wrong. Eventually, someone pulls up a chair. Then someone else joins.
At first, everyone checks their phones. Then, gradually, the phones seem to disappear. Someone asks a question. A story starts. Another person remembers something related and interrupts with a story of their own. Before long, people are talking.
Nothing extraordinary has happened. Nobody announced that we were going to spend the afternoon strengthening our interpersonal relationships. Nobody said, “I am feeling lonely and would benefit from meaningful social interaction.” They simply asked, “You got another chair?”
Maybe that is how human connection has always worked.
Have We Made Connection Too Complicated?
We often talk about loneliness as though it requires an elaborate solution. We download apps designed to help us connect. We attend organized events. We schedule social activities weeks in advance. There is value in intentional connection, particularly for people experiencing isolation. But I sometimes wonder whether we have made ordinary human connection more complicated than it needs to be.
For generations, gathering was simply part of living. Families ate together. Neighbors sat on porches. Friends stopped by. People spent time in diners, barbershops, libraries, parks, and other places where conversation could happen without being the official purpose of the visit.
Social scientists sometimes refer to these informal gathering spaces as “third places”—places outside home and work where people can regularly encounter one another. The important word may be informal. Connection didn’t always require an appointment.
Today, many of us move quickly from one responsibility to another. Work follows us home through email. Entertainment is instantly available. Our phones offer an endless stream of information competing for our attention. In that environment, sitting around can feel unproductive. Perhaps that is part of the problem.
Human connection is not always productive. Conversations wander. People repeat themselves. There are awkward pauses. Sometimes we spend two hours talking and cannot remember exactly what we discussed the next day. Yet, something happened during those two hours. We were together.
Maybe We Need to Learn How to Stay Again
From a humanistic perspective, there is profound value in simply being present with another person. We do not always need to fix them. We do not need to analyze their behavior, offer advice, or search for the perfect response. Sometimes another person simply needs to experience our presence. There is a difference between hearing someone and listening to them. There is also a difference between being near someone and being with them.
Technology is not the enemy. I use my phone far more than I probably should. Technology allows us to maintain relationships across great distances and connect with people we might never otherwise meet. But connection at a distance should not make us invisible to the person sitting three feet away. Maybe we need to become comfortable with sitting again.
Leave the plates on the table for another 20 minutes. Let the coffee get cold. Sit on the porch. Pull a chair next to the smoker, even if the person cooking has absolutely no idea when the brisket will be finished. Ask someone a question and wait long enough to hear the entire answer.
And when there is a moment of silence, perhaps we do not need to immediately fill it or escape from it. Maybe silence between people who are comfortable with one another is not an absence of connection. Maybe it is evidence of it.
We spend a great deal of time searching for solutions to loneliness, disconnection, and the growing sense that people no longer understand one another. These are complex problems. They will not be solved by a single conversation around a kitchen table.
But perhaps the kitchen table is not a bad place to begin. I still do not know exactly when we stopped sitting together. Maybe the more important question is when we will start again. There is probably an empty chair somewhere nearby. Pull it up. And stay awhile.
