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The custom goes like this. We make some food and take it to where we want to eat it. We then sit around watching football while the food is organized on a table and the bird is carved with an electric knife. People filter into the room, sit down around the table, and watch the food as drinks are dispensed.

All that, however, is merely lead-up. A prelude to the real act of giving thanks— the "Thanksgiving," if you will.

In the privileged, the idea of being thankful is not always the first that comes to mind. This is why we need the ceremony and the pomp and the circumstance. Americans pretty much relegate one day a year to gratefulness, and we can feel whatever we want on the other 364.

Of course I'm being hyperbolic. I guess what I mean, though, is that too often I find myself forgetting the cornucopia. Like... you know... the cornucopia of modern American privilege, or... just forget the metaphor, I'll get to the point.

Yesterday, I realized that my favorite part of Thanksgiving is not the meal, or even the people I'm there with enjoying it. It's taking that one moment to pause and reflect on everything out there that's great about life, admiring status quo.

Of course it doesn't hurt to then dig in to the greatest dinner of the year with your family and all your oldest friends.

Labels: life, Thanksgiving