Serving connection instead of performance.
The start and stop of the sink was nothing compared to the clinking and clanking of the dishes. I'd been trying my hardest to ignore the low hum coming from the kitchen, but the cackles couldn't be drowned out.
Friendsgiving is a strange practice. It's a dress rehearsal for a national holiday, but instead of getting together with your family, it's just a different group of people you don't see enough of.
My family's specialty was the pre-dinner social choreography of "wine & cheese." I never understood why the performance was necessary—perfectly arranged blocks of cheddar beside finely sliced meats, with an array of fruited spreads to add a splash of color. Brie and boursin added texture to the canvas, but all of it was admired through surface level conversation, polite restraint, and redirected questions. The artistic looking appetizers served as a focal point so nobody would have to fill the silence with too much of themselves.
Today, a group of my friends gathered for what's become an annual tradition: Friendsgiving. We flock from across New England to reconvene and learn about the people we used to see daily.
Isobel and I were in charge of the charcuterie board.
I'd been laying out rows of crackers while she passed me slices of cheddar to arrange next to the meats when I thought back on the many Thanksgivings of practice I'd had. The commotion around us was light. Jovial. Laughter floated easily through the air. And I wasn't used to it. I wanted so badly to be part of it while allowing myself to admit I was overwhelmed. My nervous system doesn't do well with overstimulation in general, but gets especially bunched up when it comes to loud noises.
I've had lots of practice with performing—but today, it took extra effort not to.
Isobel had shot me a smile, I'd taken a few deep breaths, and we created a kickass charcuterie board. This time, I knew for sure it wasn't about diverting attention.
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
76/365
What's something you've reclaimed for yourself? How'd you do it?
onward.
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