Thanksgiving, at its core, is a holiday built on an ancient and sacred ritual: gathering with the people who know exactly how to push your buttons, then attempting – heroically – to act like your blood pressure isn’t rising like bread dough left too close to the oven.
But beneath all the gravy-drenched chaos, there’s craft. Real craft. The kind that takes patience, purpose, and the steady hand of someone who has absolutely burned mashed potatoes before but refuses to acknowledge it. It’s a dance between the elegant and the absurd, the intentional and the improvised – otherwise known as Thanksgiving in the House of Elegant Anarchy.
This is the day where time slows down just enough for us to see what’s been there all along: the people who anchor us, infuriate us, rescue us, inspire us, and remind us that even the wildest life has shape, meaning, and a center that holds.
Chaos, Meet Craft. Craft, Meet Chaos. Now everybody play nice.
Let’s acknowledge a truth: Thanksgiving is always one sneeze away from absolute narrative collapse. Someone forgot the rolls. Someone else “helped” by turning the oven temperature up to dragon-breath levels. A child announces a philosophical opinion about the turkey’s feelings. A relative starts talking about politics. The dog steals a biscuit and pretends he’s invisible.
Things happen.
But there’s craft in that – because craft isn’t about perfection. It’s about intention, practice, and the willingness to shape the moment even when the moment is shaped like a lopsided papier-mâché turkey someone made in second grade.
Craft is what allows the meal to land.
Chaos is what makes it memorable.
And together they make something like life – messy, beautiful, delicious, and worth showing up for.
The Gratitude We Speak Out Loud (and the Gratitude We Don’t)
Sure, we say we’re grateful for family, friends, health, and the usual quartet of blessings. And we mean it.
But there’s also a quieter gratitude, one that rarely gets center stage.
Gratitude for the people who know when to speak and when to sit beside you in silence.
For the ones who bring steadiness to your storms and storms to your complacency.
For the people who remind you to live a little wilder – and the ones who remind you to live a little wiser.
For the dreams that survived the year, and the ones that didn’t but taught you something anyway.
For the version of yourself you outgrew, and the version you’re becoming, slowly, bravely, strangely.
For the grace that finds you when you’re not looking.
For the hope that returns even after you swore you were done with it.
For the breath you didn’t realize you were holding until you finally let it go.
And yes, for pie. Obviously.
A Prayer for the Holiday Table (Even If You Don’t Pray)
May your turkey be tender, your arguments be gentle, and your blessings be loud enough to drown out the chaos – but never so loud that you miss the laughter hiding inside it.
May the stories told today remind you who you are.
And may the stories created today remind you who you’re becoming.
May your home be warm, your heart be lighter than yesterday, and your fork remain unchallenged in all battles involving dessert.
May you give thanks boldly.
Receive love humbly.
And walk away from the table knowing you are part of something bigger than yourself – something messy and extraordinary and fiercely human.
In the End, It’s This:
We are all artists, trying to craft meaning out of the grand, unpredictable, nonsensical chaos of existence.
Thanksgiving is our annual reminder that the mess is good.
The mess is human.
The mess is sacred.
And the people who walk through it with us – laughing, crying, carrying dishes, dropping them – are the ones who make the whole wild thing worth it.
Happy Thanksgiving, from the workshop where chaos becomes craft, and craft becomes connection.
– Brian
Brian Brijbag 