The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

I lay in bed this morning pondering why I don’t particularly care for Thanksgiving. I hate the societal expectations loaded on it; the images of happy families gathered together for a massive feast; the pressure to prepare a certain type of meal in overabundance; the expectation that we need to feel or behave a certain way because, after all, it’s Thanksgiving. I have also come to rebel against the cultural narrative accompanying the holiday – the one that portrays the pilgrims as harmoniously coexisting with the native population, which is a key part of our national myth that denies the exploitation and abuse the native peoples suffered and continue to suffer at the hands of the white colonizers. But no one likes to be reminded of that, especially at Thanksgiving.

My own malaise with the holiday lies most of all at a personal level. Rather than leaving me with feelings of warmth and connection, it leaves me feeling cold and isolated. Growing up, we always celebrated Thanksgiving, but I don’t recall it being a big family gathering. We may have joined with extended family occasionally, but if so, I have no distinct memories of it. My parents would often include a couple or individual they knew who did not have a place to celebrate, and I admire that. Our meal was adequate, but not elaborate. Cooking was never really my mom’s thing.

My former spouse’s first Thanksgiving with my family was a cultural shock for her. She was used to a very large affair with extended family and a wide assortment of tasty dishes. After we started living near my parents, she quickly assumed responsibility for the meal and significantly improved it, though at the cost of a fair amount of stress to herself as she tried to meet her own expectations. Then we moved overseas, where we did our best to celebrate the holiday, trying valiantly to obtain the traditional ingredients and improvising when necessary, which was often. Finding a turkey was always the most difficult aspect. It turns out that not every culture routinely eats turkey. In Tajikistan we often obtained turkey from Turkey (poetically appropriate), except they would be the frozen, unsold units from the previous Christmas and New Year’s period in Turkey. Not the most tender birds ever, and brutally expensive – but we had to have a turkey, right?

For the last couple years Thanksgiving has been a particularly difficult time for me. In 2015 I had just come out to my former spouse and the tension between us as a result made for an emotionally intense and difficulty day, even as we were helping serve the meal at the church we attended at the time. My coming out was not yet public, even to my parents, and she wanted to maintain as “normal” a holiday as possible, which was damn near impossible given that our lives were crumbling around us.  

I have limited memories of Thanksgiving last year. I’m sure I had dinner with my parents and my son, and probably with my sister and her family, but the day is shrouded in a gray mist. I remember that I really wanted to disappear for the day, to go away somewhere and forget the hurt and pain of no longer celebrating the day with the one I had shared the day with for so long. As much as I adore my parents and enjoy being with them, on that day I felt very isolated and alone. Which is the feeling I associate with the holiday at this point. I wrestle with the internal tension, as I do have parents who love me and welcome me at any time, but when I see people sharing about their robust holiday gatherings and all the great memories they share and will renew, I feel empty and disconnected. I feel the loneliness of being a single adult in this world.

Part of me says I shouldn’t feel these emotions, but emotions don’t really respond to should and shouldn’t, nor do I think that we can compel them to do so. Telling me that I shouldn’t feel a certain way certainly doesn’t help me feel better or shake off those feelings. I envy those for whom Thanksgiving is a special day. I wish it could be for me.

It’s not that I am ungrateful for all the positive aspects of my life. My life is rich with relationships and purpose. I strive to cultivate and express gratitude for these on a daily basis. But I struggle to focus on those things on the day we set aside particularly to express thanks. On that day I sense the absence, the voids in my life, more than on most days.

I hesitate to share my thoughts on this. I feel that there is little space for people who don’t fully embrace the holiday spirit that begins with Thanksgiving and is supposed to carry us through the end of the year. I don’t sense that people want their festive spirits disrupted by those of us who, for whatever reason, are not experiencing that joy. So we go through the season doing our best to play along, trying not to detract from the enjoyment of those around us. We slip quietly into the background and, when asked about our holiday plans, offer some evasive response. 

I am hopeful that this holiday season will be better than the last. But if I had my preferences, I’d just jump ahead to the New Year, or at least to the 29^th, when my daughter arrives for a visit. That’s something I can get excited about. Until that time, I will try to carry my melancholy as unobtrusively as possible and seek to embrace joy as much as I can. I’m not without hope. I’m not alone.