Dancing in the Kitchen: A Love Letter to Slowness

I was chatting with another teacher this month, and we stumbled upon the topic of family dinners. She mentioned that a lot of the students she encounters don’t sit down to dinner with their families anymore. This led us to share our own stories—hers about having dinner at 5 o’clock on the dot every night so her dad could continue working, and mine about always sitting at the table with my brothers and parents, sharing about our day.

Our conversation made me feel sad for kids who don’t experience those moments. I remember when my brothers and I became increasingly involved in sports, extracurriculars, and jobs, and how a set time for dinner was no longer feasible. It’s incredible how easy it becomes to not know what’s going on in each other’s lives when you’re not around to share your day.

My husband and I find that now, with our efforts to maintain our health through running and exercise, different work schedules, dog responsibilities, and errands, our evenings often end with a plate on our laps, eating in front of the TV, trying to take a break from adult reality. At the height of our anxiety and struggles, we particularly dreaded Sunday evenings—worrying about the shitstorm we were about to walk into on Monday at our respective workplaces and dreading the week ahead. We coined this feeling the “Sunday Scaries.”

But a tradition we committed to as a New Year’s resolution in 2024 was to cook together every Sunday, eat at the table, use the pottery we were given as a wedding present, and listen to a record. I’m happy to say it’s a tradition we’ve upheld every week for over a year now (minus the times we’ve been on vacation or camping). We’ve found this new tradition to be our favorite way to end—and begin—the week. We laugh, we dance, we sing, we share a drink, we talk about anything and everything, and we’ve significantly reduced our “Sunday Scaries.” This simple tradition has meant so much to us that we prioritize it above everything else.

This conversation and our own Sunday ritual got me thinking: when was the last time you truly enjoyed a meal with your family? And I mean the whole experience—when cooking didn’t feel like a chore, when eating wasn’t rushed between one event and the next, and when conversation was full of laughter, jokes, and joy?

I can’t help but feel like life has become a whirlwind of dopamine hits and time-sucking distractions, and I hope—truly hope—that my view is wrong. I hope more people are sitting down with their families, cooking and laughing together. I hope more people are jamming out to their favorite albums while constantly stirring risotto so it doesn’t burn. I hope more people are dancing in their kitchens with their phones completely out of sight.
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Because I believe the best culture you can consume is created in those little moments of bliss. The gin and tonic I drank while cooking lemon eggplant risotto, dancing to Kishi Bashi with my husband—that is peak culture. Not because any of it was five-star rated by experts, but because none of it was rushed. None of it was particularly planned. It just happened—messily, naturally, and full of joy.
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