What Thanksgiving Means to Me
As a third-culture kid and an American raised in Europe, Thanksgiving was never a prominent holiday for my family. I learned about it at the international school I attended, since there were so many other Americans, but we never had the day off from school. And if I’ve come to care anything about holidays now, as a working twenty-eight-year old, it’s that holidays equal a day off. So, needless to say, there was never much reason to celebrate this uniquely American tradition while we lived abroad. My American friends who grew up as I did often scoffed with me at the hype surrounding Thanksgiving. We were perfectly content to live our lives without it.
That changed when I returned to the U.S. for college. I spent my first real Thanksgiving enjoying the break from school and spending the day in a house full of extended family. It was nice, but it also felt strangely foreign. When I lived in Europe, the only family I had was my parents. Then in one day, I was surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, and in-laws of varying degrees of kinship. It was overwhelming, but it filled me with a joy I still struggle to describe. I was fortunate enough to continue that tradition for a few years while attending a university close to family.
When true adulthood arrived, negotiations sprang up over where, and with whom, holidays should be spent. In the years that followed, the “Thanksgiving shuffle” meant I never spent the holiday in the same place twice. However, the spirit of the holiday never changed. Thanksgiving remained to be about spending intentional time with loved ones and embracing generosity.
This year’s loose plans remind me that my relationship with Thanksgiving is still evolving. I’m learning that the holiday isn’t defined by where I am or how “together” my life is, but by the small, intentional moments of connection gathered along the way. Belonging isn’t achieved in a single day or by a perfectly set table; it’s something that grows slowly, through years of borrowed homes and gatherings of both friends and near-strangers. I may not yet have the forever home that I long for, but when the time comes, I hope to build a table that reflects every piece of my journey: the places I’ve lived, the people I’ve loved, and the friendship that has carried me along the way.
