When I smell the stuffing cooking in my Gram’s kitchen and Miracle on 34th Street is on in black and white in the background, I know my favorite holiday is here. The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving is always the same: my parents cutting up the vegetables, my Gram fighting with the turkey, and me at the dining room table pulling apart what feels like an endless amount of bread to make the stuffing. But in the past few years, I’ve noticed just how much has changed — myself included.
Thanksgiving used to feel like magic. When I was little, this holiday was perfect, from the parade to the food to the laughter that filled every corner of my Gram’s home. I used to think that magical feeling came from the holiday itself. But the older I get, the more I understand that the magic of Thanksgiving is actually something we carry within ourselves, and something that we have to work to keep alive each year. Now, the hands that used to guide me are sharing the work with me — and passing down not just recipes, but also lessons. The girl who used to sneak bites of bread is now the one trying to make sure everyone else gets fed.
I’m also starting to understand why people find the holidays so bittersweet as they enter adulthood. The table looks the same as always, but the faces around it change. I can’t help but look toward my late cousin’s seat and feel the ache of his absence. For a few years, I thought grief and gratitude couldn’t exist at the same time. How could I ever be thankful when someone I love is missing? But I’ve learned that they go hand in hand. Now, my grief reminds me of what I’ve lost and gratitude reminds me how lucky I was to have it in the first place.
Of course, some things will always stay the same. The smell of sausage and onions in the kitchen, the sound of laughter and cheering coming from the living room where everyone is watching football, the gratitude that comes to me when I look around and think, this is what really matters.
But the truth is that I’ve changed. As I continue to get older, Thanksgiving feels more and more like a reflection of who I’ve been and who I’m becoming. I’m no longer the little girl waiting to be called to the dinner table. I’m part of the tradition now, and part of the reason it continues every year. I’ve come to realize that as I grow up, I’ve found a new kind of magic in Thanksgiving by carrying on a recipe, laughing while telling old stories, or just showing up for the people I love.
I used to think Thanksgiving was about giving thanks for what I had. Now I know it’s also about giving thanks for who I’ve become.