Why Thanksgiving Quietly Became America’s Loneliest Day
The truth most of us won’t say out loud and the conversation that finally explains why we feel this way.
Most people won’t admit this, so I’ll go first.
Thanksgiving is the day where half the table is pretending everything is fine, a quarter of the table is silently wondering why they came, and the rest are hiding in the bathroom scrolling their phones like they’re searching for a wormhole to another universe.
If you think that sounds dramatic, you should see the data.
The Surgeon General says one in two Americans is lonely. Not mildly awkward-at-a-networking-event lonely. More like I-feel-invisible-in-my-own-house lonely. And while we sit here passing the sweet potatoes, the country is quietly experiencing the biggest epidemic no one wants to talk about.
Put simply: Thanksgiving is the day we’re most expected to feel connected, and the day we’re most afraid to admit we don’t. Which is why I aired an episode on loneliness today.
Not to depress anyone. To do the opposite. To tell the truth in a season built on pretending.
I brought on
, author of Where Did Everybody Go?, because he spent years investigating the emotional pothole we have all fallen into. His research stretches across psychology, history, culture, architecture, and the weird fact that every neighborhood built after 1994 decided it was a great idea to replace front porches with two-car garages and call it progress.Talking with Don was like ripping the wallpaper off an entire country and looking at the mold beneath it. But it was also surprisingly hopeful. Because once you understand how loneliness works, you can stop blaming yourself for it.
That might be the most Thanksgiving-appropriate insight I have ever heard.
The Lie We Carry Into Every Holiday
A few weeks ago, I wrote about losing my dog Sam and the strange, painful question that hit me as he slipped away: “Who am I without you seeing me?”
I think a quieter version of that question sits inside every person at a Thanksgiving table. Who sees me? Who knows me? Who cares enough to look twice? Loneliness is not the absence of people. It is the absence of being witnessed.
We keep telling ourselves that loneliness is a personal failing. That if we were more charismatic, or more interesting, or less awkward, or less busy, or less something, then we would magically stumble into the warm, glowing connection we see on Hallmark cards.
Meanwhile, Don walks onto my show and says something that should be stitched onto every throw pillow in America:
Loneliness is not a defect in you. It is a defect in the way we have built modern life.
When he said that, half the room in my brain sat up straight.
Because it means the question has never been “What is wrong with me?” It has always been “What happened to us?”
What Happened to Us
It turns out the story of loneliness is long, complicated, and occasionally ridiculous. The term itself barely existed a couple of centuries ago. Humans evolved to live in groups where we raised kids together, cooked together, worked together, and knew exactly who would help bury our bodies if we died in the woods.
Today, we consider it rude to knock on a neighbor’s door without texting first. That is not evolution. That is social bankruptcy.
The real epidemic isn’t loneliness. It’s the disappearance of the small moments that remind us we matter.
We replaced sacred third places with strip malls. We replaced community with convenience. We replaced conversation with notifications. We replaced belonging with a network of “likes” that are about as emotionally nutritious as a bag of Doritos.
And then we wonder why Thanksgiving dinner feels like an annual performance review on whether we have become the person everyone hoped we would be.
Why This Conversation Matters Today
Holidays turn the volume up on everything. Love feels deeper. Grief feels heavier. Loneliness feels sharper. Whatever we’ve avoided all year suddenly sits at the table with us, staring us in the face between the mashed potatoes and the pumpkin pie.
If any of this hits close to home, there’s a Thanksgiving Loneliness Reset Workbook linked at the end of this piece with prompts and tiny experiments you can try today.
And the truth is simple: pretending we’re above any of it is the fastest way to stay trapped inside it.
One of the things Don kept returning to in our conversation is that loneliness doesn’t come from a lack of people. It comes from the absence of connection. He explained why we can feel alone in a crowded room, why ancient cities were better at nourishing emotional health than the sprawling suburbs we built, and why humans require belonging as much as our bodies require water.
The antidote is choosing people on purpose, especially when loneliness tells you to withdraw.
Choosing to reach out instead of retreat. Choosing vulnerability instead of performance. Choosing relationships that feel messy and alive instead of curated ones through a screen. Choosing to matter to someone and allowing them to matter to you.
Thanksgiving likes to pretend gratitude is something you feel. But I want to remind you that gratitude is something you give.
And when you give it to another person, even awkwardly, even imperfectly, something opens. The air softens. The room shifts. The loneliness loosens its grip just a little.
Because underneath all the rituals, recipes, and expectations, this day is really about connection. Not the postcard version. The real kind.
Listen to the full conversation (Episode 695 with Don Martin) here:
The One Thing I Hope You Remember Today
Loneliness does not mean you are broken. It means you are human. Humans need people. Humans need community. Humans need each other in ways that no emoji can satisfy.
So whether you are at a table full of people you love, or enduring a table full of people who drive you up a wall, or spending today entirely on your own, here is the truth:
You are not the only one who feels the way you feel.
And you do not have to go through this life alone.
That is the real meaning of Thanksgiving. Not the food. Not the performance of togetherness. The quiet reminder that even in the most disconnected moment of the modern world, you still belong to the human story.
And that is worth being thankful for.
Listen to the full Ad-Free Conversation Below: