Let’s Open Our Homes Again

Hello, friends and newcomers – you are welcome here!

I’ve been thinking about how easy it is to think of all the reasons why inviting people into our home for a shared meal is overwhelming. The thought of planning it all, cleaning up, cooking for others if we don’t feel confident in the kitchen, or even just trying to fit it into an already busy and exhausting schedule—it can all feel like too much. And what if no one wants to come?

These are all real concerns, and they matter. Life can be hard. Money is tight, work is stressful, and health struggles or other challenges can make something as simple as inviting people in feel impossible.

But something that has stuck with me for years is a phrase that became our family mantra: We can do hard. When our son was going through leukemia treatment, we all wrote those words out and framed them, a reminder to ourselves that just because something is difficult doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing. And in many ways, inviting people into our homes, into the real, imperfect spaces of our lives, is a version of that. It’s worth it.

I want to talk through these hesitations with you because I believe there’s something magical about opening our homes and sharing good food with others. And I’d love to hear your thoughts too—this is a conversation, not a lecture!

A few years ago, after one of the longest, most overwhelming days I’d had in a long time, I was talking to one of the support workers who had walked alongside us during our son’s treatment. I told him how exhausted I felt from being around people all day, from the noise, the traffic, and the energy it required. And he said something that stuck with me: social fitness is like physical fitness—it can build or it can weaken over time.

The pandemic hit our social fitness hard. But like any kind of muscle, we can rebuild it. It might feel like hard work at first, but over time, it gets easier.

And the reality is, this isn’t new. Even before the pandemic, gathering in homes was happening less and less. More often, people meet in restaurants or eat takeout instead of sharing home-cooked meals. It’s fun to eat out, but it’s not the same as the intimacy of a meal made and shared at home.

I know many of you like the idea of hosting but hesitate, and that’s okay. The thought of cooking, cleaning, or making everything perfect can stop us before we start. But here’s the thing: this isn’t about perfection. It’s not about Instagram-worthy aesthetics, a spotless house, or a themed dinner party. It’s about being present with others. Yes, do a quick cleanup—make sure the bathroom’s decent and the kitchen’s ready for guests—but you don’t need much more than that. The food doesn’t have to be fancy, either. It’s about connection, not presentation.

And there’s a real need for this. Loneliness is an epidemic—statistics show it’s increasing. People have fewer close friends and fewer face-to-face interactions. Technology is wonderful, but there’s something special about being in the same room with someone—reading their body language, picking up on subtle cues, gauging their responses. It’s harder to misunderstand or mishear each other in person. I think our intuition works differently when we’re physically together.

When I think about my best memories, they fall into two categories. First, there’s the thrill of new experiences—traveling around Europe in a camper van with my family when I was four, camping across North America when I was twelve, seeing new places, trying new things. Those moments stand out because they’re unfamiliar. Then there’s the opposite: the warm comfort of familiar traditions and rituals, often tied to food and holidays. They carry meaning and beautiful memories. Walking into my grandmother’s house to the smell of apple pie, having friends over for Sunday lunch for bakery-bought bread buns, going strawberry picking, and stopping for ice cream on the way home each year.

Inviting people over for a meal, like pizza once a week, combines both. It’s a new experience at first—something your family will remember. Things might go wrong, and you can laugh about it. It won’t be perfect, but you’ll be glad you did it,—just like a holiday where the mishaps and serendipitous moments become the stories you tell when you get home. Over time, it becomes a familiar tradition—a way to connect, decompress from the week, and mark its end. Sharing our stresses with others makes the week feel less heavy, and we look forward to that time together.

Someone recently told me about their friend Pat—aka “Pancake Pat.” He hosts pancake breakfasts once a week, and so many people show up that he often doesn’t even get to chat with Pat! Meeting new people and seeing old friends in a familiar space is beautiful. It’s a simple ritual that’s become a tradition, bringing people together over food. That’s what this is about—creating space for connection.

I’d love to encourage a movement of people opening their homes and sharing meals. If you’re already opening your home, I’d love to hear what it looks like for you. And if you’re hesitant, tell me what’s holding you back—let’s figure it out together. This isn’t about having picture-perfect times or everything organized and tidy. It’s about the benefits of being with others, building social fitness, and fighting loneliness—one meal at a time.

Thanks for reading. I’m so glad you’re here, and I’d love to hear your thoughts.