Thanksgiving

Went to the ranch for Thanksgiving. Its not the same ranch we grew up going to. Its across the highway from that one, much smaller but still very much adored by our family. The Frio River runs through it. It was really full this time, due to the floods during the spring and summer. The water is almost fluorescent blue, flowing over the road that crosses it. Legend has it that this crossover was the same one used by Santa Anna when he took the Alamo. Right there on our land. I heard that for the first time this Thanksgiving.
I spent two days there and got to see my entire family. I got into my car to head home and immediately started crying. What is it about being with family that makes me feel more alone than anywhere else in the world? My immediate family of six…my parents and four kids…has blown up to sixteen now that everyone has families of their own. I have seven nieces and nephews ranging from six months to 14 years old. I love getting to hold babies and having all the kids running around.
I was looking forward to seeing everyone so much before I left. I am completely baffled that I was so disengaged while I was there…avoiding conversations, engrossing myself in a puzzle as if it were the boyfriend I never get to bring to family gatherings, always so sleepy. When I get with family I feel like every bit of energy is sucked out of me taking my entire personality with it. Then I leave wondering why I feel like no one really knows me.
I used to blame it on the tryptophan in the turkey, but recently found out that I would have to eat an entire turkey in one sitting to have the sleepiness attributed to it. So I think I will have to admit that there is some stress, however unconscious it might be, that is related to being with family. They say stress manifests itself in different ways. Some people get panic attacks or high blood pressure. It seems I tend more toward narcolepsy and binge eating. Like when I used to get overwhelmingly sleepy during finals at school or when it was time to sit down and do a research paper. All of a sudden that leftover piece of cake in the fridge is calling my name and I’m pretty sure if I just go to sleep now and get up early the next day I will have much better clarity of mind to write an entire ten-page paper.
I am so happy to be where I am in life. I think I can truly say that. I like being on this side of my identity crisis. I feel much more secure in who I am and the flexibility that comes along with that. I know that my personality is not set in stone, will continue to change over time and in fact changes daily depending on my work schedule or the weather or any other number of variables. I am finally comfortable with it, like a worn out sweatshirt or running shoes. The people who know me best find me predictable at times, which makes me feel sane and irritated at the same time. The people who know me best like me for me, I can finally accept that. They know how corny I can be, that when I say certain things I really mean something else, that when I’m really sweet its usually because I’m angry and when I’m sarcastic, I’m having the most fun. The people who know me best are not my family.
I think there’s something about being the youngest that makes that pretty hard. I grew up as a spectator. My siblings are some of the most amazing people I know and I got to grow up watching them become the unique people they are. The four of us are so different. We aren’t just in different places, we are the four directions on a compass rose with arrows that point to the never-ending expanse that separates us. I went to countless basketball, baseball and football games, studying them and keenly aware of everything. I didn't study them like I studied for my finance tests. More like the way we study a hobby...or the way American culture studies movie stars. I watched in awe as they prepared for their proms, walked across the stage during graduation, got married, had children. I soaked it all up and it was part of my identity. Since I was young, I have had this way of losing myself around my family. I remember being asked a question once at a family function and before I could answer I had to remind myself that I existed and was actually present in the room.
My family loves me. I have never doubted that. But sometimes I wonder if they love some version of me that doesn’t really exist. Often they ask me questions and don’t stick around for the answer. I don’t blame them. I mostly feel that their lives are so much more interesting or pressing than mine, how could they be expected to stick around? I think my singleness and my lifestyle are an enigma to them. They don’t understand it, and so they aren’t comfortable with it. I can’t possibly find the words to explain to them what life is like for me. I can’t open for them the amazing personalities of the people I do life with or give them glimpses into the dinner parties we have, laughing around a table. I visit their lives, they don’t visit mine. That would just be silly.
Birth order is an interesting study. I don’t think older siblings are as wrapped up in each other as the younger ones. I left the ranch while they were all still there. They’re parents now and so they are distracted. I got fleeting goodbyes as they ran after kids or fed babies. I felt so alone when I got in my car and headed down the road. The first two of the six hour drive were a pity party. The closer I got to home, the more normal I felt. I talked to a few friends on the way and realized that my life is very full. In fact, I love my life and I am blessed. I just can’t take it with me on holidays.