Thanksgiving: A Pageant of Gratitude and How to Bring Sincerity to a Hallmark Holiday
If gratitude is corporately sponsored, what even is there to be thankful for?
I used to kind of hate the holidays.
Thanksgiving was the first stop on a cold, dark path into winter.
I didn't see the point, especially when it involved so much stress. Our house always devolved into chaos and by the morning of Thanksgiving most of us were in angry tears. There were bathrooms to clean, potatoes to peel, weight to pull, and we all resented each other deeply before dinner was even served.
I think that's the problem when you commercialize society. In a world where everything before your eyes is corporately sponsored, it's easy to see only the Hallmark Holiday in front of us. It's a vehicle for competition and disappointment. How many people can I invite? How big a turkey can I cook? How beautiful is my home? How many televisions are available for football?
The Thanksgivings of my childhood were loud and hectic. We piled into my grandmother's house, the blaring television and shouted conversations creating a never-ending escalation of voices that became its own sort of white noise. The dining room was set with so many chairs that an extra folding table spilled into the living room. There was never enough space for all the food. It was chaotic and tense. There were so many years I would rather have stayed home and worked on any number of holiday weekend assignments.
But looking back I wish I'd been more present in those moments. With the older generations of my family gone, I no longer have access to their experience. I wish I talked with them more, learned their stories, their histories.
When I got married and moved out of state I began to see a different side of the holidays. Our first year of marriage was marked by lockdowns and social distance. A lot of corporate schlock fell away and we were left to decide what certain days actually meant to us.
When we left New York, even less Hallmark messaging reached us. Without traffic to sit in or guilt to feel, holidays became about something else. They felt lighter. Less obligatory, more reverent.
As the days grow shorter and colder, as sunshine becomes more scarce and the garden dies back, it's easy to see the season in a very different light.
Thanksgiving is no longer turkey-and-football day. It's not even a day of historical remembrance (however farcical or charged it may be). It's a very real moment of gratitude for abundance in a season of scarcity. It's a celebration of life in the face of death, a moment of togetherness while it's still possible.
This year, like last, my family will join friends for dinner. Some, like us, moved here from big cities looking for a more meaningful life. Others have been at home in these mountains for generations. We will all bring a part of the meal, grown from this land and prepared by hand. We'll share laughter and gratitude, time and resources.
In this modern era it's easy to forget where things come from. We take it for granted, trusting that we can flip a switch and have light beamed into our homes; we can set a dial and command just the right level of heat. It means nothing to be invited to another's home, to share their warmth, to see by their light. To share a meal with others was to share life--yesterday's blessing becomes today's inconvenience.
I'm grateful that I share my life with these people, and that they share their lives with me.
I'm grateful that I share my life with this land and its wildlife, and that we can coexist in peace.
I'm grateful that I have resources to stave off the winter, and my family can wait for the return of light in relative comfort.
And that's how I choose to see this time of year with its multitude of gatherings: life shared against all odds.
As we enter Advent I'd like to try something new. In addition to sharing my thoughts, I'd like to invite into the traditions and rituals we've created to carry our family through the season. This might include stories, recipes, memories, and open discussions of history and value especially as I navigate this time as a not-primarily-Christian person in a very deeply Christian region. (I already hear the questions about why Advent and not just Yuletide, Christmas without Christ, etc, and I'll address that next week but in short, it comes down to the magic of language and you already know I'm going to discuss Jung. Buckle up.)
You can still find me on Instagram and here on Substack in a couple of different flavours. I also have a handful of appointments open through the end of the year which you can book directly through my website.
No matter your location or your experience with this strange in-between holiday, I hope you find abundance.
With love and a little magic,
Fairlie Theta