Feels Like Old Times-Almost
It’s that time of year again, Thanksgiving in the States. That fourth Thursday in November, when eating becomes a national sport, an animal carcass takes center stage (stuffing spilling out its cavity), and a fight breaks out over its bones in a game of wish fulfillment Tug-O-War!
Can you imagine the change in conversation if instead of a turkey, pork was the main attraction at the dinner table? I can just see it:
“Okay! Found the rib spreader! Who’s turn is it to make a wish?”
The truth is, despite the dark history (and boy, the origin of this holiday is brutal), and in lieu of the spirit of the occasion morphing from a day of reflecting on the year’s abundance to just abundance itself (thank you, Black Friday sales), I love Thanksgiving.
I love the togetherness (yes, even if sometimes it feels like a hostage situation over pumpkin pie and brownie bites). I love the big event idea, but man, is it getting harder to celebrate?
For me, it is.
I think it’s because every year, I have a traditional expectation, a strong need to create an atmosphere brought on by an even stronger emotional memory when something happened — something so great that I try again and again to recapture that feeling, restore that moment, but inevitably, fall flat.
For example, one year, my parents took us on a trip to a resort tucked away in Sardine Canyon, where sharing turkey and mashed potatoes with family also came with snowboarding lessons and snowshoeing on the dormant golf course and seeing, I kid you not, a UFO (but that’s a story for another day).
This is one of my best Thanksgiving memories.
How on Earth am I supposed to repeat any of this? That’s my point.
It’s an easy trap to fall into. Reconstructing a memory of the most incredible moment (usually happening by accident in the first place) to recreate feeling those emotions again and again never works. It’s impossible.
The only thing that comes from this is elevated stress, unrealistic expectations, and dread. So don’t do it! I’m serious. Stop the holiday madness, the pettiness, and the anguish!
Here’s an idea: do the traditional thing, the turkey (or pork — no judgment), the platters of cheese and crackers, the Jell-o-pretzel salad, the green-bean casserole, and a countertop full of pies, but then throw in a curve ball.
In the Movie Bizz, the concept is called “the same but different.” What is one element of the same-old-same-old that can shift or switch or that you can make bigger or smaller, resulting in a different outcome? It refreshes the story and gives space for a sequel. It could do the same for tradition.
Maybe instead of the traditional after-meal activity of letting food digest via lounging around watching “Miracle on 34th Street” (because Thanksgiving has a severe lackluster number of movies dedicated to it), how about a pick-up game of street hockey?
Or if that’s too much (can’t see 80-year-old Grandpa goaltending?), then change up the time of day for dinner, switch up the location, or even the order where everyone sits at the table and see what happens.
Want to make it super memorable? Play musical chairs and see who’s earned the right to sit at the table — you’ll be eating alone, but knowing you’ve won that drumstick might be enough!
I truly believe that by embracing the unexpected, we can create memories that aren’t just magical but are meaningful.
Yes, it’s that time of year again, Thanksgiving,
and my hope for you is that it is magical and different, so different and so magical that it can never be repeated.
Yes, you’ll get pushback. Yes, your meds might be mentioned or even checked to see if any are missing or too many are, but man, the stories you (and everyone else) can tell for years afterward. It’s pure gold!
My wishbone win this year is for everyone to break free from the pressure of recreating the ‘perfect’ holiday and, with both arms (or turkey wings — no judgment), embrace the idea of making new traditions that can be built upon.
