The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

From Joy Harjo’s “Perhaps the World Ends Here“

I agree with Harjo, a kitchen table carries a lot of weight.

As a child, the kitchen table held a position of prominence in my family. Tables were always family heirlooms passed down from previous generations. They were the centerpiece of celebrations. Meals were shared and memories were made there. Our kitchen table was sustenance in the way predictability and tradition feed the soul. In complicated times, there was simplicity there. Favorite dishes made. Favorite stories shared. Time was taken.

As an adult, my kitchen table has been less about pomp and circumstance, and more a fixture of work and isolation. It does not make me happy to say that. I have gone without a kitchen table for long periods of time. I have used my kitchen table as a work space, rarely eating on it. I am less social because of having a small kitchen table. We don’t share — food or stories. Time is not taken.

Harjo explains, “Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.” I am reclaiming my kitchen table as a place to host and be generous. I am reclaiming my kitchen table as space of comfort and connection. I am reclaiming my kitchen table as a focal point in a home that welcomes. In this world where so much is hard and overwhelming, starting with my kitchen table feels doable. As the individual is the communal, the piece is part of the whole, and the particular is the universal, starting with my kitchen table feels vital.