Thanksgiving this year was different. Like millions of others, we stayed home. In the past we celebrated with the entire family. I would make the bird and stuffing and rolls. Others made apps and sides and desserts and brought drinks and paper goods and decorations and entertainment. There would be a fun, festive feeling and a warm atmosphere of togetherness. Eventually the kids would get cranky, politics would undoubtedly come up, loud disagreements about mundane things would be discussed, and we'd all remember how grateful we are to not live under the same roof. It would swing back up with singing and dancing and laughter. At the end of the evening, with full bellies and some last chuckles, everyone would gather their coats and head out. Memories made with the photos to remember them.
This year there was none of that. I didn't feel like being in the kitchen all day on my one day off to make a turkey we wouldn't eat half of. We had an awkward zoom call around lunch to celebrate a family birthday. We went outside to enjoy some of the beautiful unseasonably warm weather, but mainly spent the day trading "shifts" so that each other can feel some freedom of time off for a change. I missed the traditions, I missed the togetherness. I even missed the eye-roll of the conversations we had a thousand times before and had no interest in hearing anymore about who went gluten free by choice.
After we put baby to bed I scrolled through social media and ate my heart out even more watching stories of people who actually did gather with family and had those traditions. Maybe they quarantined 2 weeks before and got tested and were all negative. Maybe. I want to believe that the dire predictions are just an exaggeration. But considering how many people are traveling and how many people are not being as careful anymore makes me very worried. It makes me want to gather the people I love and head into a bunker until this is all over.
Being alone for the holiday isn't new to us. We spent Pesach alone, still reeling from the shock of losing my father-in-law to covid. We spent Shavuot alone. Months later we spent the Jewish new year, Rosh Hashanah alone. But Thanksgiving hit harder. Maybe because we didn't think it would still be a thing in November. Maybe because things are getting worse, not better. Maybe because the novelty and panic have been replaced by anger over how mismanaged this pandemic has been. Maybe because there are still people resisting wearing a mask. Maybe because we're 9 months into a pandemic and some people still don't believe it exists, even as they're dying from it in the hospital.
I think people have gotten weirder in isolation. Myself included. I'm not even talking about re-learning how to wear normal pants. I mean being able to have a conversation with someone without navigating away from their face to multi-task something else online while they talk, like I do now on Zoom.
I know I'm missing social interaction but I don't know what I want. Between the masks and distance, being with people feels exhausting. Phone conversations these days feel exhausting. I prefer texting and even then sometimes the effort of coming up with a response feels like an accomplishment. I want a change of scenery but nowhere feels safe. Even if we had a location to go to, packing up everything we'd need for an overnight trip feels like a monumental effort.
My response to this is to try to check in with friends. If they're not checking in on me maybe it means they're in the same funk. I try not to take it personally and instead start up a conversation, regardless of how much mental energy it costs. We wear masks to protect each other physically. I think checking in is a way to check in on each other's mental health.
Stay strong. Stay healthy.
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