By Christine Faria, Executive Editor, Tribal Gaming & Hospitality Magazine
It takes effort to celebrate.
It feels weird to admit that out loud — that spending time with people you care about takes planning, coordination, and a pep talk. But it does. It takes effort to say yes to that coffee date, or to drag yourself to a Super Bowl party when your stretchy pants covered in dog hair are calling your name. It takes effort to sit in someone’s backyard on a worknight with a glass of wine, or show up to a co-worker’s birthday.
We’re practically marketed into isolation these days — all the “stay home and be cozy” hygge messaging makes it easy to forget that connection doesn’t happen from the couch.
The real magic — the good stuff — happens when we show up.
Sometimes the Hardest Part is Saying Yes
My mother-in-law, Nyra, was the queen of showing up. She’d say yes to anything: a grocery run (she could get lost for hours on a Costco scooter), a Hallmark store mission “just to look,” even a random Tuesday errand to check out what trees were starting to turn color.
My brother, on the other hand, is a professional “no.” He’s handicapped, and I understand why — everything takes energy and planning. But last year, we convinced him to say yes to something big. It wasn’t graceful — me and my husband Jim awkwardly hoisting him into our vintage boat at Lake Tahoe — and us two middle-aged siblings ending up on our hands and knees on the dock, tangled up. We brushed ourselves off with no major injuries and went for Rum Runners. But once we got out on the lake… he felt it. The calm. The sun. The water. The magic. He talked about that day for months.
The Holidays and the Weight of Tradition
And now, here come the holidays — that time when introverts panic, Martha Stewart disciples overfunction, and the potential for magic is sky-high.
Whether or not you celebrate Thanksgiving, chances are there’s some tradition you grew up with that requires a ridiculous amount of effort and yet, for some reason, you still do it. Every family has its lore — the stories we repeat, exaggerate, and they grow in weight like that fish. Did I tell you the story of when my 86-year-old mother Maggie got high for the first time in my garage with my brother-in-law Bill and insisted she “didn’t inhale.” Mom, please. I sure miss her.
Thanksgiving and I have history.
I jumped in oven mitts first when I met my husband 37 years ago and thought it would be a “fun” idea to cook for his extended family and mine — and the day went to crap with comments on me buying a frozen (not fresh) turkey, my deviled eggs had pickles in it, and I did not provide canned cranberry sauce. (I married into this, willingly. I still make homemade cranberry sauce, because someone has to uphold standards.)
But I found my path. I blended my family’s holiday preferences with theirs, eventually, sometimes painfully.
Changing Roles, Fewer Chairs
About ten years ago, Cousin Rob and Marcy and I started alternating holidays. This year, they got Thanksgiving; I got Christmas Eve. I consider this a win. No turkey math for me this year.
In nearly four decades, you betcha’, we don’t need as many card tables and extenders on the table. Over the last three years, we’ve said goodbye to four members beloved “old people” — and this past year, two brothers-in-law, one in his 50s and one in his 60s. Too young. Too soon. And every loss takes a little bit of the old holiday magic with it.
This year we’re blessed to have more friends at the table alongside eight family members including one lone teenager, and an ever-expanding list of dietary restrictions.
And then it hits me: We’re the old people now.
We’re the ones carrying the traditions forward. We’re the ones hoping the teenager will bring a friend so we’ll have some youth at the table that we can show them the nuances of traditional card games.
The Modern Cooking Olympics
Cooking has gotten complicated as well (I had it easier than I thought). Gluten-free, dairy-free, butter-free. We make two batches of everything now: the delicious version and the medically necessary version. No wonder Rob and Marcy dread it when it is their year.
I’ve learned to assign roles strategically. Jim’s sister, Nyreen, made the rookie mistake of asking, “Can I help?” once — and she’s been the Deviled Egg Captain for life ever since. That’s how my kitchen works. Volunteer at your own risk.
Let’s Get Back To The Truth: Celebration Takes Effort
Effort to show up. Effort to cook. Effort to call. Effort to say yes. It’s so easy to say “maybe next time” or “things are too crazy right now,” but we all know time has a way of slipping through our fingers.
Celebrating — whether it’s Thanksgiving, Harvest, Winter Solstice, or a random Tuesday you survived — is how we mark that we’re still here. It’s how we honor the people we’ve lost and the people still sitting around the table.
The other night, Rob and Marcy tried to con me into hosting again because my house is “already decorated.” Cute. Not happening. I caved last year.
But here’s what I know: Magic doesn’t show up when we hide. Magic shows up when we show up. And yes, I know, there are times we need to tap out when it is healthiest for us to do so.
The Magic We Make
Remember that scene in Elf, when Santa flies over Central Park? I wouldn’t bat an eye at that and think it is just the Starlink Satellite Train. I’m a believer that this is the time of year when you ask business associates what they are doing and find out more about their families; when strangers hold doors or wish you happy holidays. When adults wear Santa hats in public and no one blinks. When we collect food and coats for people we don’t even know. That’s magic. And we make it.
So whatever you celebrate — whatever your traditions look like now — celebrate because you can. Because we’re the ones carrying the stories forward. Because even with all the complicated feelings, the empty chairs, the gluten-free stuffing, and the deviled eggs no one asked for… we get to gather.
And that, my friends, is reason enough to pass the deviled eggs.
