I’ve never been particularly fond of Thanksgiving. It always seemed like this gratuitous, dated, and kind of gross holiday. I guess the notion behind it is okay, but being grateful is something that should take place everyday. On top of my general distaste for what, in my mind, appears to be a burnt sienna and burgundy colored holiday, I almost ALWAYS get strep or some nasty throat virus over the coveted long weekend, making the whole experience just absolutely miserable. Since my adulthood, the sickness hasn’t really been an issue, but the day is still somewhat of a logistic nightmare, with divorced parents, having to work, and really just not giving a shit… not to mention never cooking anything and feeling like an asshole showing up empty handed (I usually just bring flowers…?).
Anyway, this Thanksgiving was my first ‘big’ holiday away from home… and, I have to say, it was probably the most memorable TG I’ve ever had. It wasn’t anything outrageous. We went to the parade at 6 am. Then we saw The Muppet Movie. Then we got drunk on happy hour margaritas at my favourite childhood mexican restaurant, Chevy’s. Then we walked home.
I came to find, for myself at least, that the holidays should always be a time to recall the simplest parts of oneself; to let go of worldly burdens and just be; to explode with excitement over nothing at all; to treasure the singular moment. It’s just a chance to appeal to your childlike sense of wonder– those instances, after all, are so very hard to come by.