A Simpler Thanksgiving: Returning to What Matters Most

Every year, Thanksgiving seems to come with more pressure. The menus grow, the to-do lists stretch out, and it feels like everything has to be just right. In all the planning and cleaning, I sometimes forget what the day is really about. This year, I want things to be different. I’m hoping for a Thanksgiving that feels slower, simpler, and more real.

When I was growing up in the Pacific Northwest, our holidays were never extravagant. They felt cozy and unhurried, with mornings spent outside by the water, the cold air on their cheeks, and the earthy scent of wet leaves everywhere.

On Thanksgiving, we spent the day fishing and searching the riverbank for little treasures, then headed home when the warmth of the fireplace called us back for a simple meal. My mom’s home-cooked dishes were never fancy, but they always felt perfect. As life got busier in the city, that relaxed feeling faded. Thanksgiving started to feel more like a performance than a break. Lately, I’ve been missing that kind of simplicity, the kind that makes it easy to feel thankful.

This year, I want to keep things simple. I’ll roast just a turkey breast instead of the whole bird. I’ll make a few sides I actually enjoy cooking, like sweet potatoes, green beans, and maybe a fresh salad. I’m not worrying about fancy table settings or centerpieces. The food might be plain, but it will bring good company and conversation, and that’s enough for me.

If the weather is nice, we’ll eat outside, bundled up in sweaters and blankets by a small fire. Eating outdoors in late autumn feels grounding. The cool air, the scent of smoke, and slower conversations under the sky make everything feel more real. I want to stop worrying about the clock. There’s no rush to serve at a certain time, no constant timer checks, and no need for perfectly planned courses. I want the day to move at its own pace, with a walk before dinner, coffee, and some quiet time after. I want to make room for calm moments instead of just checking off tasks.

Lately, I’ve found myself chasing perfection—trying to create the perfect Thanksgiving, the best pie crust, a flawless table, and a day that looks great in photos. But the memories that last aren’t the perfect ones. They’re the small, imperfect moments: laughter in the kitchen, a dish that’s a little burnt but still enjoyed, and the quiet after everyone is full and happy.

This year, I’m letting go of trying to make everything perfect. I want to focus on simplicity instead of making things look impressive, and on being present instead of putting on a show. Thanksgiving doesn’t have to be big or fancy. It just needs to feel real.

When you take away all the distractions, what’s left is what matters most: warmth, gratitude, and the quiet happiness of realizing that what you have is enough. Maybe that’s the kind of Thanksgiving we should come back to.