Thanksgiving

Nov 28, 2025

The music is blaring from my oversized computer speakers. I’ve rigged audio adapters and mounted two studio monitor speakers next to my ailing iMac computer. This system rocks—literally. Music often helps me when the words don’t flow easily from my fingertips, and inspiration has flown to that mysterious island where it resides. I’ll create managed chaos in my office. Sometimes, I need to blast punk rock bands to cancel out the noise in my brain. Today I’m using it to trick the racing thoughts into submission so that I can once again meet this self-imposed Friday deadline for these articles.

Currently, I’m between meals on Thanksgiving. I’m trying to use this small lull in the holiday activities to cobble a column together that both lets you know I’m still out here fighting the good fight and that I’m sincerely thankful that you, like me, have shown up faithfully each week to read these musings. It’s been a wild year, but as the calendar winds down, we can look back and breathe a sigh of relief knowing that we’ve made it through lots of ups and downs and are still hanging in there.

Isn’t it funny how our minds operate? As I’m writing this, I had the thought that in moments of chaos, I actually perform better. I suppose that explains the volume emanating from these speakers. I had to create controlled chaos to slow my thoughts. It seems the spiraling happens for me when I’m left to my own devices, thinking of all that needs to be done that can’t be fixed immediately. So, when I sit and dwell on future events or things I personally can’t control, I begin to fixate, and then it’s just a mess after that. There’s a lesson here somewhere. Something about idle hands, I’m sure.

Here’s the thing: most of what I’ve worried about is inconsequential to my life. Will my book sell? Maybe. Will not selling cause me to go into poverty? Nope! So why worry? I can’t control the outcome; I can only control my input. So, what does it matter in the end? I’ve spent so much of my life burning anxious energy for this or that, and I truly wish there was a way to tell my brain to take a chill pill. This is the sentence that my psychedelic imbibing friends will point to and tell me that there is, in fact, a pill or fungus for that. I digress.

So, today, being that I’m writing this on Thanksgiving, I choose to be thankful. That is in my control. My attitude of thankfulness causes me to pause, reflect, and remember I’m not alone. So many of you have helped prop me up when I was low, celebrated wins with me, breathed that refined mountain top air, and will likely be there when I inevitably crash again someday. I appreciate you. Every single one of you. To steal a line from a friend of mine, “to my friends old, new, and yet to be,” thank you!

Mostly, I want to take this last paragraph and double down to thank my wife. She is the unsung hero of anything I’ve ever done that amounted to anything of value. She’s my first reader, a brutal editor at times, and mostly she exists as my conscience. I run things by her to make sure I don’t go too far or say something overtly offensive. She hasn’t let life kick the empathy and human kindness out of her, and I am eternally grateful for her sweet spirit. She’s the strongest person I know. I wish I were half as good as she is. I don’t deserve her, and I’m thankful she’s mine.

The dinner bell is ringing, and we’re about to load up my truck for our second family gathering of the day. I truly hope that you and yours had a great Thanksgiving. It may be a helpful exercise to remember all those who helped you get where you are. Mostly, I want you to know that you’ve helped me. Thank you for showing up.