Last night I celebrated Thanksgiving with new friends. We had little in common except our homes: we all live in Marrakech. And we all live elsewhere too.
Some of us live in Gueliz; some in Targa; and some in the medina. All neighborhoods of Marrakech, each with its own distinct identity.
Some of us also live in the US; some also live in Britain; and some have lived in Marrakech their whole lives. All nations of the world, each with its own unique traditions.
We shared what we were thankful for. We ate far too much food. We laughed at the dog's antics.
Within that time and in that space, we served as each other's family. We made ourselves at home.
What is this concept of home, anyway? How can I have a home in the US and a home in Morocco, and then make a temporary home with other people who I know little or not at all? How can some people and places just feel like home, while others don't?
I am not the first person to conclude that "home" is where one finds belonging. We all need this quality of being known and accepted by others. At least, that's my take on things. I tried being entirely self-sufficient here for the first month or two. (Mind you, I never actually was: I needed lots of help to learn the ropes of this place.) I presented myself as being perfectly placid and unbothered by the massive changes in my everyday life. I broke around mid-October, and have been better for it since then. True friends have helped me process the aftermath of the grenade I threw right into the middle of my safe life by deciding to come here, relieving me of the self-imposed pressure to keep up a nice facade. It's humbling, but also freeing, to realize that your independence does not release you from needing other people. Thanksgiving is a reminder of this truth for me. Even if I made enough food to feed my entire extended family, I would still feel hungry if I tried to do Thanksgiving alone. I need a home to do it in, and family to share it with.
Which takes me back to last evening. Thanksgiving 2019 was different from what I've done my whole life, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss my parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles. But in the midst of these changes, I found a temporary home with people who also needed a Thanksgiving family. In a sense, we needed each other to say, "You belong." We needed each other to say, "You are welcome here." Once that was done, the rest was easy. We could be each other's family for the night. We could make a home.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. And happy Advent season to those who celebrate it. Here's to family and home, wherever we encounter and make them. Much love to you all.
Sorry I am so late with my Happy Thanksgiving, but please know that despite my tardiness, I am thankful that you are part of my life's memories.