Thanksgiving is nigh. It snuck up on me this year, what with my new job and various other time-sucking endeavors commanding all my idle thoughts. And the precious few free brain cycles are already focused on goddamn Christmas presents. Look what you’ve done to me, product peddlers of America! Are you happy that I’m so preoccupied with mentally dissecting the hidden material wants and needs of my family and friends that I can’t even fully focus on the impending gluttony of food, drink, and football?
Right now, I’m in the mental company of approximately 38.4 million other Americans, all focused on the same thing: traveling at least 50 miles to our chosen places of revelry. What I don’t understand is, if the U.S. population is 304 million, that means only 12% of us are on the move—so why is this slim minority so uniquely capable of overwhelming our entire transportation infrastructure?
Anecdotally, most adults claim to prefer Thanksgiving over Christmas, which is curious, considering how Thanksgiving has been demoted to a mere pitstop on the highway to Christmas mania. The turkey hasn’t even cooled before the Mariah Carey begins to howl, the decorations get yanked from the attic, and hundreds of thousands of bargain-hunters stampede into big-box stores, ready to club each other for door-buster TVs. Has the recession cooled our ardor for the Stuff Stampede—or will it only fan the flames?
A sampling of what I’m thankful for: that I have a rewarding full-time job at a company that will pay me to enjoy a four-day weekend with my loved ones. I’m thankful for my family and friends, who have so patiently humored my idiosyncrasies over the years. I’m thankful for mountains, for avocados, for snow, for Armani perfumes, for owls, for Nova on PBS, for my favorite light-blue sweater, for libraries, for Seinfeld reruns, for waking up each day with a sense of purpose and wonder.
But this year, as we offer up our annual tokens of gratitude, I wonder: who exactly takes all this thanks? We give the thanks… but to whom?
I picture it all spiraling into a void, a pit of Thankstaking, never to return. And it never, ever says, “You’re welcome.”
