I’ve never been one for malls, even when malls were a thing. The florescent lights and the muzak make me twitchy after a time. I get weary of window shopping for things I cannot afford. And retailers know that you only think that blouse looks cute because the way it is placed next to their other less cute things, so you take it home, never wear it, maybe hate it because it just doesn’t vibe the same in your bedroom as it did in the dressing room. I have had good times in malls, but that was only because of the company of my friends and/or daughters and we are trying on ridiculous things and come home with a scarf and new hand cream.
Recently sitting around a tea table with my parish friends we found ourselves bemoaning the disappearance of malls. Oh, not because we particularly miss HotTopic and Mervins, but because it was a third space. It was a place we went to a lot when we were younger without an agenda for no specified length of time. People could wander, eat a pretzel, bump into friends, flirt with the guy at the pagoda selling knockoff sunglasses and call your parents from the payphone asking if you could stay a little later. During the holidays you’d go to the mall just to take in the Christmas decorations, listen to Christmas music, watch the train and visit Santa’s village. There in the all-American mall we accidentally found the proverbial village and the third space we needed to develop social skills and to combat the loneliness.
Online shopping has made us terribly efficient at the price of human connection. We no longer have to go buy school supplies or try on new jeans. There is no pimply faced boy with whom to awkwardly flirt as you try on sunglasses. We just hop on Amazon and in a few clicks have everything we need delivered to our door. As a mom of many, I admit that I love the appeal of online shopping, of placing my order at Sam’s Club and having a stranger put it in my car, and then rushing right home. One could honestly go days and even weeks without intentional or meaningful human connection. Shopping, dating, medical consultation, education, and even worship can all be done in the most efficient way and never requires you put on pants. Kids these days don’t ask to hang out with their friends because even that is accomplished online.
To what end have we become this painfully efficient? It’s not so we have more time for leisure, because everyone is busier and more frazzled than ever. No, we saved all this time doing errands so that we could fill our days with more servile labor.
I feel like the most simple solution to the loneliness epidemic is to be less efficient.
Kurt Vonnegut tells the story of mailing his hand-typed and edited book notes to his typist by going to buy a single envelope. When he tells his wife he’s going to buy an envelope, “Oh, she says well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of people. And, see some great looking babes. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And, and ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is, is we’re here on Earth to fart around. And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And, what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals.”
We are nearing the end of 2025 and people are about to start talking about New Year’s resolutions. Losing weight or saving money or setting boundaries will cause the gyms, banks, and therapists offices to be temporarily busy in January. But what if a simple resolution of being inefficient is what would really change your life.
Imagine instead of reading a book online or (worse) listening to an audio book, you went to the public library and checked out a book? But they might not have it. You might have to put it on order and wait a few days. But then you’d see the inside of the library twice in a week. And that might be good.
Maybe instead of streaming Spotify you played the old vinyls and cassettes? But you’ll have to swap to the B side after about 5 songs. But, maybe that could be good. You should get up from your desk and stretch your legs anyway.
Consider, if you will, what would happen if you bought a block of cheese instead of preshredded cheese. You would then have to grate it by hand to make dinner and that would be a hassle. Unless it would slow down your rush long enough to sip a little more wine and listen to side B of the record. And that’s pretty groovy.
Think of all the lovely ways we could be less efficient. We could grind our own coffee beans and brew it on the stove. We could mend our clothes instead of just buying new ones. We could write letters to extended family members instead of shooting off texts. Stream fewer podcasts and pray at more shrines. Light more candles and switch on fewer lights. Walk and bike more. Bring a book along for waiting rooms instead of doomscrolling. Order fewer things online and stop at more shops that are independently owned and speciality. Patronize the butcher, the wine shop, the bakery, and the farm stand instead of the supermarket. Yes, that’s four stops rather than one. But those are also four families where your business means everything and you could easily be a regular and suddenly you have a third space. The place where they know your name.
Efficiency can be a thief of connection and joy.
There is more meaning to be found in a drawn out conversation about the weather over a crappy cup of diner coffee than you could possibly get from your drive-thru frappacino. So perhaps in 2026 resolve to be less efficient. Slow down. Go buy a singular envelope and then take the long way home.
reconciling things 