“Let’s go around the table and each name something we’re thankful for.”
It’s a harmless enough prompt, simple, even. But suddenly, my mind is a blank page.
Not a single profound, poetic, or even passably clever thought bubbles up. My family? Too predictable. My health? Too generic. My dog? Didn’t I say that last year?
So I stall, waiting for inspiration to strike. Maybe my aunt will offer something beautifully heartfelt, as she always does, and spark an idea.
Maybe my brother will do what he always does and say he’s thankful for the mac and cheese, which, honestly, is fair.
But then it’s my turn.
And somehow, without overthinking it, the things I’m grateful for begin to arrive, one by one, clear as day.
I’m thankful for my friends, who make distance feel like nothing more than a phone call.
I’m thankful for my grandparents, loyal readers of every article I write. They alone may be keeping print journalism in business.
I’m thankful for my dad, who always has the right advice, no matter the hour.
I’m thankful for my mom, who never fails to lift my successes even higher.
I’m thankful for my brother, the funniest person I know, who can brighten any day with a single sentence.
I’m thankful to wake up each morning to the ocean views that feed the Pisces in me — and for my roommate, who has turned Marblehead into home.
I’m thankful for my job, which lets me learn something new every single day, and somehow get paid for it.
And I’m thankful for you, whoever you are, holding this newspaper. Thank you for reading, for supporting local journalism, and for keeping Marblehead’s storytelling alive. Because of you, I get to do what I love. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
Happy Thanksgiving.
