Alone on the holidays

Spending Thanksgiving in solitude is relaxing, stress-free.

Illustration by William Rerick/The Dakota Student.

I’ve been avoiding the “What’d you do for Thanksgiving?” question like I avoid most discussions of politics — quietly while praying for a subject change. The truth is, I spent Thanksgiving alone. By myself. With my cats. Yeah, pretty pathetic, huh?

Well, not really. In all honesty, my Thanksgiving was pretty nice. I got to hog my roommate’s 60 inch television and play games. My Thanksgiving dinner had no yucky cranberry sauce. I got to sleep in and stay up late. It was kind of awesome.

Keep in mind that I don’t plan on spending all of my holidays alone. I missed my family and the quirks only they have — I don’t want this to become a habit. I may not be religious, but that doesn’t mean I devalue family gatherings. The holidays, religious or not, are important to those I care about. This is why I actually take missing holidays fairly seriously. I’m not always good at expressing the more touchy-feely side of myself with words. The best way I can show I care is to be there for the big events, even if I don’t find much value in all of them.

I don’t value Thanksgiving very highly, which I think is why I was able to enjoy the time to myself without hosting a pity party for one. I place Thanksgiving at the level of Valentine’s Day — a holiday that has become something it wasn’t intended to be, which too many people use as an excuse to ignore life’s gifts the rest of the year. I am one of the biggest advocates of being thankful year-round, rather than just once every 365 days.

Thanksgiving, in my eyes, allows for a potential laziness that can infect society. Just as Valentine’s Day shouldn’t be the only day to say “I love you,” Thanksgiving shouldn’t be the only day to say “I’m thankful.” There is also the whole issue of celebrating an event that — directly or indirectly — started a genocide, but that’s a whole ‘nother article.

The thing is, I understand my view doesn’t extend to most of those I care about. To much of my family, this is one of the few times a year where we can all get together and share each other’s company. As the grandparents get older and the kids get busier, it becomes harder to travel to see each other. Once again, I must point out that our time on Earth is, at best, limited. We need to spend time with our loved ones now because we don’t ever know if there will be a later.

So, saying all of this, why would I ever elect to spend Thanksgiving away from the people I value so much? The initial reason was for my roommate, who was stuck in Grand Forks working. However, it ended up being much more than that. As much as I’d like to, I know that I will not always be able to spend holidays with my family. Next time, it might be a North Dakota storm keeping me here. Maybe I’ll get married someday and have to decide between two families. As much as I like to plan, I can’t be certain that the plans will work out.

This Thanksgiving turned into an exercise of being comfortable being by myself.

I’ve always been fiercely independent, often to a fault, but being independent isn’t the same as being alone. When spending a holiday that usually is spent in the company of loved ones by yourself, there’s an element of learning. I can’t say what you’ll learn while you’re by yourself on an important holiday — though I can almost guarantee it will happen eventually. Instead, I can tell you what I learned. Maybe it will give you some insight and help break the idea of being alone for the holidays automatically making the individual pitiable.

I may not always show it well, but I value my loved ones. I learned by spending time alone just how important it was for me to know and be thankful for those loved ones. Sure, spending time with me, myself and I was awesome, but I far prefer spending time with my loved ones. That time is the best gift I can give them and the best gift they can give me.

Kjerstine Trooien is a staff writer for The Dakota Student. She can be reached at kjerstine.trooien@my.und.edu.