It’s that time of the year again — the minute between Halloween and Christmas where caffeine addicts flounder incessantly between pumpkin spice lattes and peppermint mochas, the trees go nude, you have twelve midterm projects, you try to bring turtlenecks back, it is dark at approximately 3:45 pm, and — oh yeah, there’s that whole Thanksgiving thing.
Thanksgiving is fall’s middle child — unloved by retail stores because of its unmaterialistic nature. Celebrations ensue, only at its close, with sales that leave shoppers in near combat. Thanksgiving is greeted with anticipation by some and trepidation by others who dread the onslaught of holiday pounds. Thanksgiving is good food, great food, and bad food – everyone always has that one dessert on the table no one dares touch. It is tradition, fancy plates, dressing up, football, and those aggressive yearly political debates about how the country is "going to hell in a hand basket," or something else baby-boomer-ish. It is the morning spent watching the parade, and blessing those Rockettes shivering with glassy eyed smiles, twirling around in 30-degree weather with only 30 percent of their body covered. It is more insanely judgmental Twitter rage targeting Matt Lauer’s parade hosting abilities. It is watching the dog show afterward, unabashedly, for about six hours because... dogs... and dogs are more palatable in that moment than the thought of fielding deep life questions from multiple family members in a single evening. Speaking of family, Thanksgiving is a time for them and, if you’re lucky, friends too. Most of the time you’re not lucky though, and you have to help your mom sift flour and whip cream and all of that pioneer stuff.
As someone who could’ve feasibly pursued a career in competitive eating, Thanksgiving is my holy grail. I actually think it is my favorite holiday – yes, I secretly love all that stuff I mentioned up yonder. But Thanksgiving and I have some beef. Not literally, because I don’t eat meat, but you get it. Relegating Thanksgiving to a single evening in the middle of November is sort of a bummer. A 24-hour period of encapsulated, forced "giving thanks" makes it obvious just how foreign this practice is to us, and how eager we are to dismiss it.
I mean, it’s 11:59 p.m. on Thanksgiving evening, and Lite FM starts playing Christmas music. Bye, Thanksgiving! Now, shoooow meeee the presents! It’s like waving guests out the door with their napkins still tied around their necks and turkey drumsticks in their hands.
Make every day your own personal Thanksgiving! Yes, my recommendation here does include eating pie on the regular, but I intend to hit higher than your stomach.
Learning to be grateful for the good, the bad, and everything in between is hard –sometimes impossible. Try it anyway, because chances are, you’ve overlooked a whole lot that has made your life sweet. Go to bed thinking of five things you’re grateful for. Say "thank you" more. Let people know how much they mean to you. Celebrate every win. Oh, and pass that pie, please!
