Like so many things in 2020, Thanksgiving this year was different. Last Thanksgiving was the first one I spent away from my family. Friends of my friend Stacy were kind enough to invite me over to a friendsgiving type of event. It was fun and warm and friendly – all the things we expect out of the holiday. This year, I’m in a different part of the country and while I’m just as new to the area as I was in Memphis a year ago, I haven’t established a new network of friends yet. The pandemic hasn’t helped.
A lot of people I know had to change their Thanksgiving plans and opt for smaller gatherings with their immediate household. For me, that means Nick, the cat – and he pretty much slept all day. I have a few friends on Facebook who remind their network that while it’s a time of warmth and reflection for most, not everyone finds the holidays to be easy or fun or happy. While many people see the day as an opportunity to be thankful for what they have (friends, family, health) for a number of people it’s a reminder of what they don’t have…. a reminder of who’s not at the table. 2020 is a year of empty seats.
Rituals, like a big Thanksgiving meal or decorating a Christmas tree, can be in interesting in that they can represent both the past and a breaking away from the past. They are an odd combination of passing down, carrying forward, and building new. They can be a crutch when we need them – something familiar to fall back on… or they can be a type of rebirth, something old to break free from. 2020, for all of it’s tumult, is forcing some of us to reconsider the place these rituals hold in our lives.
It was only a week or two ago that my family decided to cancel Thanksgiving. It was something we all agreed was probably best. For the longest time my big extended family got together for Thanksgiving: cousins, aunts, uncles and of course parents, brothers, spouses, kids, nieces, and nephews. The brood got too large and family clusters split off. I don’t remember when that happened, but from that point on, Thanksgiving was always at my mom’s house. There were a few things I could count on year in and year out: my sister-in-law’s pineapple stuffing; football on the TV; everyone gathered in the kitchen; a handful of nonsensical and non sequiter conversations; my wife, my brother-in-law, and I drinking Beaujolais Nouveau; and lots of food.
This year, being solo, I had to decide what I wanted to do. What would I carry forward? How might I start anew? The thought of skipping it all and doing nothing crossed my mind, but that would have only had appeal if I had done something wildly different, like go to the islands. While everyone else was eating turkey and stuffing, I could be in the sun on a beach drinking a beer and listening to the waves or at an island bar mixing with other ex-pat vagabonds. That wasn’t part of my plan (pandemic limits travel) and the thought of sitting home and having a frozen pizza seemed a little sad. I’ll admit, it seemed silly, if not wasteful, to lean in to making a big meal for one, but something attracted me to the idea. It felt good to say, if I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it right. I was going to treat myself: a celebration of flying solo.
I like to cook. I’m not bad at cooking. Every once in a while I look forward to the slow meal: a bolognese that simmers for hours or all day at the grill smoking a pork shoulder. That said, I seldom take on a meal this complicated or with so many dishes. Once we had decided we weren’t going to do the family thing – I made up my mind that I’d really do it up – a party for one. I made a 10 pound Turkey, mashed sweet potatoes, stuffing, collard greens, and gravy – all from scratch. I had made the sweet potatoes and collards before, but everything else was a first time dish for me. It turned out to be one of the best meals I’ve cooked. The turkey was moist, the stuffing (the weakest part of the dish) was light and lightly flavorful, and the gravy was lick-the-pan good. I started the prep at about 2 in the afternoon, cracked open the Beaujolais at about 2:30, put on some good music and spent the next four hours cooking. I posted a picture of my cooking companion (the wine) to Facebook and occasionally stopped to text a friend happy Thanksgiving – a small reminder that I’m still connected to people.
One friend, a guy I grew up with and hadn’t heard from in years, sent me a message saying he was visiting his parents here in State College and just saw me in a Subaru commercial on TV. Another friend, a woman I dated, reached out to wish me a happy Thanksgiving and tell me that she is “quite single and living in her own place.” She and I had reconnected two summers ago at an outdoor concert. She was dating a guy who lived in Florida and was about to move down there and move in with him. At the time, I was jealous – not because I had wanted to date her again, but because I was still reeling from my breakup and here she was happy as a clam about to make this major move. I always believed that at our core, my ex-fiancee and I were better than most couples – that what we had was rare… so seeing other people “figure it out” always left me wondering how we could have failed. As is often the case, the grass is never quite as green. My friend and her partner lived their Facebook lives (happy on the outside with problems underneath) and not too long ago, she left. I felt bad for her – she was so excited to move in with him, she was sure he was the one. Now, solo on Thanksgiving, she’s chin up, “happy” to move on, and finding ways to connect with the world.
I don’t think I ever paid attention to the emotional flip-side of the holiday. I’ve always loved Thanksgiving and it’s slow down, kick-back, vibe. I’m a fan of anything that feels warm and a little like home and I’ve been fortunate to have spent most of my life taking that feeling for granted. Last year, I was out of place and felt saved by the grace and hospitality of others. This year, out of place again, I was happy I could create something for myself – that I wasn’t just surviving a holiday but finding a way to say if (and when) all else fails, this is something I can build upon.