Hey lovelies…

A week out from Thanksgiving. Yikes.

Every time I would notice the date this week, it seemed to ratchet up my anxiety, each second pushing me closer to the familial battlefield of Turkey Day.

It was on one such anxiety-ridden night that Anna came over, our shared dread pulling us together like magnets.

We sat in my apartment – roommate blessedly absent. I had unfurled two yoga mats on the living room floor, the soft hum of a meditation playlist wafting through the air.

The idea was to wrestle Anna into some semblance of yoga poses, a quest met with much giggling and good-natured complaints from her side. As I gently nudged her limbs into a downward dog, the conversation steered towards the approaching holiday.

Our laughter and light-hearted chat slowly melted into a serious discussion about the consequences of our budding plan.

The potential fallout from our families loomed over us. We would be breaking traditions, unhinging expectations, and sending a crystal-clear message of autonomy to our families. We knew it wouldn’t be met with open arms or understanding nods.

No one skips Thanksgiving and gets away with it.

In between the stretching and laughing, we laid out the pros and cons on the table. We didn’t need to say it out loud, but we knew: we had made our choice.

Done with yoga for the time being, I grabbed us both a ice water to cool down with.

Sitting silently, both of us felt it — the colossal task of informing our families of our decision. Anna’s fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on her glass while I fidgeted with a loose thread on my cushion. Akward.

Then, as if on cue, Anna blurted out, “Dare you to text your mom right now and break the news.”

I was caught off guard. “Are you serious? Right this second?”

She smirked, a playful glint in her eyes. “Scared?”

I wanted to match her moxie, she’s so contagious. “Only if you do it too,” I said half-laughing.

There was a silent stand-off , our eyes locked, searching for signs of hesitation. But the weight of it all collapsed on us, and we both burst into laughter.

“What if we swap phones?” Anna suggested, her eyebrows raised in challenge. “I’ll type out the message for your mom, and you do mine. Deal?”

It was a ridiculous plan, something schoolgirls would do, but in its absurdity there was some comfort. And perhaps, a touch of plausible deniability.

“Alright, but be nice,” I said, handing over my phone, while she passed me hers with a cheeky grin.

As our fingers danced on each other’s screens, there were giggles, a couple of false starts, and even a few playful jabs.

“Nope, you can’t use that emoji,” Anna cautioned, peeking at my screen. “My mom will think I’m being sarcastic.”

Minutes felt like hours, but finally, with one last glance at each other for reassurance, we hit ‘send’ simultaneously.

Two messages flew towards our families, and no doubt explanations and grief and guilt trips.

But in the gap of time before any replies came, in, it felt amazing.

Hell, my family was told I wasn’t coming home for Thanksgiving and I didn’t even need to be the one to do it. Anna’s my rock.

We were in this together. And as the replies from our moms began to beep and twinkle on our phones, we knew we had each other’s backs, come what may.

K.

Hey y’all…

November almost halfway done, winter’s knocking on the door and, man oh man, that old, familiar cloud of dread is rolling in with it.

Thanksgiving is rounding the corner, like an unwanted avalanche of snow, aiming to knock me over with reminders of family get-togethers and all that judgment.

I spent most of the day writing for work — getting some good stuff done. Dreading family visits can be a great motivation to clear the to-do list, apparently.

I’m aching for freedom this holiday season. Freedom from expectations, from the judgment-laden questions about my abandoned grad school journey and my “unconventional” career choice as an online writer.

I can already hear the questions brewing a storm in my mind: “Kelly, when are you going back to school?” “Why this job?” As much as I love the gig, it’s like I can never dodge those questions from aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents.

It sounds corny but I’m dreaming of a Thanksgiving redefined.

A holiday where I’m not boxed into traditional family expectations, where I don’t have to dodge awkward questions, shield myself from judgment, or navigate tense conversations.

How will I even handle the traditional family Thanksgiving this year? It’s always been awkward but, since I moved further away, its gotten way worse.

For me, Thanksgiving, with all its trimmings, still fills me with anxiety. The pressure to conform, the judgment wrapped in smiles and the awkward dance around topics I’d rather leave untouched – it’s all there, waiting to be served up on a silver platter along with the turkey and cranberry sauce.

I’m wrapping up for the night.

K.

Hey lovelies!

Sometimes I wonder if anyone’s actually reading this blog. I could ask Abby to see the traffic stats — but not sure what I would do if I actually knew the truth.

Anyways….

The day after the Great Text Swap started pretty rad.

My phone buzzed with an interesting email – an invitation to be a guest speaker on a popular podcast, which will remain nameless for now.

But exciting stuff!

I’m awaiting more details, buy my mind is already buzzing with possibilities. My writing job is chugging along just fine, story assignments piled up but that’s how I like it – busy and bustling.

Now, about that art gallery date with Anna.

It was a peculiar installation show – stark, black and white photographs taped all over the stark white walls of the gallery. Not my normal thing – still deciding if I liked it or not.

The photos were a tad creepy – with stories of pain, joy, and offbeat life moments. As we walked around the gallery, Anna admitted her soreness from our yoga escapade. I could see her wincing, even as she tried to admire the photos.

With a stroke of adventurous spirit (and a desire to bring Anna some relief), I found us a secluded corner of the gallery.

I laid our jackets out on the floor, and right in the gallery, sitting on our jackets, I massaged Anna’s aching legs. Sure, a few eyebrows were raised by other gallery-goers, but in that moment, it was just the two of us, living for each other, finding comfort and support. Who cares if our phones were full of unanswered texts from mom and dad, wondering how we could possibly skip Thanksgiving?

Anna’s laugh echoed in the quiet gallery as I accidentally tickled her, a light note amid the silence typical of these exhibitions. It felt good seeing her laugh – it was like a reminder that no matter the fallout of our choices, we’d have these moments of laughter and understanding to hold onto.

She seemed even more relieved than me. This was going to be her first Thanksgiving after the divorce — the first Thanksgiving in five years that she wouldn’t be attending with her ‘loving’ husband. Sometimes I wonder how she keeps it together.

Her legs were definitely tight and probably sore from the yoga the night before, but to me it was nice to connect hands-on this way. That kitchen moment at Halloween never really was spoken about. But now we were sitting in public, me rubbing her bare, smooth legs. I even told her, “good thing you wore a skirt tonight”, mimicking something a high-school player would say to a back-seat date. Anna giggled even louder.

When we were done with the leg massage and show, and ready to leave, it felt a million years since the night before.

The texts had been sent, the dice had been rolled, and come what may, we knew we had each other to lean on.

K.