Since I’ve been playing basketball in Europe for the past five Novembers, my Thanksgiving has usually disguised itself as the first two weeks when I come home at the end of spring. When I would descend into the Portland Jetport in April, just below the clouds, I would become overwhelmed with gratitude. I’d just start to remember how beautiful my life is and how lucky I am to have people I love waiting to bring me home for the summer months.
This November I am thankful to be in Maine and for the time that Thanksgiving gave me.
I like to think I’m thankful and gracious for my life most days of the week but we all have tough days and times when we think life is so hard. Then there is Thanksgiving which gives us the opportunity to make a big deal out of appreciation.
Though I can’t really pinpoint where, exactly, my home is… I can tell you that I am always thankful for how home feels.
It felt numb on an after dinner walk in the cold, pre-winter, night. It felt warm when my nephews laughed at each other over a piece of pumpkin pie. It felt just like it should in my father’s dog-hair filled truck as we drove the back roads of central Maine and talked about life.
The way being home feels to me is one of my favorite things. The places and circumstances have changed, I’ve grown up and learned a lot of life’s lessons but the feeling of being home hasn’t changed one bit.
As cliché as it is, I’m thankful that no matter how many times I leave, or how far I go, the love of my family and my home will never change. I hope everyone was able to feel at home, as well, this Thanksgiving.