The Outsider

I had a completely different email drafted, prepared and scheduled to be sent out yesterday. A cute newsletter, similar in style to many others I’ve written and you have received.

But yesterday early morning, I furiously deleted it. It’s not that there was anything wrong with it but I felt somehow that it was inauthentic. Just another email reminding you of a holiday like it’s ever impossible to forget.

Besides, what do I know about Thanksgiving? I didn’t grew up in America and I don’t truly feel the weight of this tradition. Why did I feel the desire to mark it as anything extraordinary, as if it pertained to mee? Do I just want to fit in? Check in? Say something? Am I just afraid you’ll forget I exist because I didn’t send the typical ‘Happy Thanksgiving’ email or copy-paste text? Would that make me more American or less American?

Does anyone even care or open my emails? Does anyone read them at all, or long enough to actually comprehend the messages I’m sending?

If yes, why then would I send a message that holds no meaning? Just something else to cram your email inbox, and polute your well deserved peace with petulant asks for attention in exchange for nothing. And we all know how expensive attention is…

If no, then why even bother. Just another speck of fucking dust flying in the interweb pretending to have something say and then proceed to say… nothing.

I realized most of my words are empty, empty of mee. They are a procession of sounds articulated and gesticulated and pre-dated. Words I don’t even know filled with beliefs I don’t have, to catch the attention of people who don’t care to listen. It’s an amusement park of banalities..

But I am not one of the nihilistic kind. I believe, I holds beliefs. Stories, memories and opinions. Why not share those instead?

The first time Thanksgiving entered my imagination vocabulary was through a TV set. Stories I’d see in movies and shows about The American Life. By American, from Americans. I think.

The big Turkey, the cranberry sauce, the green beans and the stuffing. The family, the china and the fights.

The Thanksgiving’s plot is always centered about fantastical family feuds. It’s the center piece that always steals the show from the big, crispy stuffed Turkey.

Thanksgiving was one of those ultra-American moments that always had me salivating through the screen. Not for the turkey or mash potatoes, but for the experience. To know what the dishes truly taste like, to participate in the feud even if only as an outsider, maybe I’ll even lend a hand at cleaning up…

Like Alf invited for dinner, I couldn’t wait to do something embarrassing and utterly amusing…

I have been invited to many Thanksgivings throughout my years in America.

I’ve attended the traditional dinner, with fancy plates, big Turkey and all the pomp and ceremony. With home made cranberry sauce and days of prepping.

I’ve done the canned and boxed up dinners on paper plates sitting on your lap while watching tv.

I’ve done the take out and eat out Thanksgiving dinners. I’ve gone to Friendsgivings and Leftover Parties…

I’ve spent them surrounded by huge families and I’ve spent them alone.

Oh, oh, oh!!!! And the Ambrosia Salad! I almost forgot the Ambrosia Salad. An absolute favorite of mine since the moment I tasted it. Pistachio, jello, cool whip and a hint of fun.

Now, maybe just a memory of when America used to mean fun…

I am thankful. I am thankful for my experiences, thankful for my memories. Thankful for the opportunities to see and taste what I used to just dream about.

Thankful to have perspective, and thankful to have a family to feud with.

Thankful for having friends who read my newsletters ‘till the end.

Truly thankful to be here…

Always at home.

Thankfully,

Mee

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I am Real Estate agent licensed in the State of NY with Keller Williams of Greater Rochester.