Since coming to France over three months ago, I haven’t missed much from life back in the United States. But this week I find myself thinking often about America, and about the regular cycle of American life I’m forsaking to study here for the semester.
Today is Thanksgiving, that glory of gluttony, that triumph of the turkey. And nothing evokes community, conversation, and grace quite like that holiday we celebrate every fourth Thursday of November. How do I reconcile this landmark of my calendar living in a country, inside a culture, that doesn’t recognize this holy day of obligation?
To replace Thanksgiving this year, I’ve sought to recreate the holiday piecemeal, through a convergence of French and of American. In the English classes I give at the Mirail, I watched French students’ eyes bulge as I listed the litany of dishes we serve at the Meal; together we watched A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special. I competed in the American Embassy’s Thankgiving cook-off, teaching a Toulouse chef that yes, fresh cranberries are edible and that, yes, pumpkins can be transformed into a dessert.
But the most meaningful event this week has been the Thanksgiving Dinner I prepared for my gracious hosts. Together we gorged on turkey, caramelized sweet potatoes with marshmallows, cranberry sauce, baguette stuffing, pumpkin pie, and two bottles of French wine. In the candle light of the table we talked for hours, about American traditions and particularities across France. I learned about French dining customs as my hosts discovered a taste of American gastronomy.
These moments remind me that we can, and must, retain our identity as we breach new environments. But in affirming our own selves, we invite those around us to learn—and to learn from them. We can absorb and evolve without dropping who we have always been. And for that, I’m thankful.