Some would not consider our long Thanksgiving weekend of three straight days of feasting in three different states a relaxing holiday—and it wasn’t.

On the first day, after Rachel and I walked the dogs, our nuclear family of three generations enjoyed a second walk and later gathered to serve each other what’s become our new Thanksgiving staple—surf and turf—including a box of Fishers Island Oysters on the half shell.

On the second day, we road-tripped to neighboring Connecticut to celebrate with Micki (Rachel’s mom) over Pepe’s pizza and birch beer while Zephyr (3 ½) and Isla (5 months) provided all the entertainment. 

For the grand finale, we headed up to my brother Steve and his wife Krysia’s house in Massachusetts. There, we met up with nearly 50 people of all ages who happened to be related by blood, marriage or otherwise, and continuing a tradition started decades ago by our parents on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

Throughout the long weekend, I’ll admit I got tired and occasionally out of sorts, wishing fervently for some alone time. Yet something special was going on at the same time, and I kept trying to put my finger on it. Despite not inviting a switch into a holiday mode of total relaxation, why did these gatherings feel so good—and not like a forced march?I knew it had to do with being organized enough and communicating enough that we could pay attention to what matters, so I made a list of a few things we did right:

• We planned the meals and the logistics collaboratively, with everyone pitching in, but we didn’t over plan and if things changed, we didn’t worry about it. In fact, nobody got upset at each other…or at least, when they did, they chose not to let it ruin the moment.
• We showed up early and didn’t rush things, so there was ample time to light the fire pit, pick up the pizza, do the dishes, etc., etc. 
• I even had time with Micki, who is hard of hearing, to simply sit alongside her while she read a short essay I’d brought along.  
• For Rachel, there was time set aside to visit with Krysia, who’d just had her hip replaced (which also kept her out of her own kitchen).
• For me, I had authentic, two-way conversations with my 2nd cousin and her toddler, with my nephew navigating med school, and with my first cousin’s new partner. And there were several others.

In the end, my sister Louise and I acknowledged each other and, in particular, we acknowledged Steve for preparing his house to embrace a gathering of the family’s growing younger generations just as our parents once did for us.

Yes, we moved a lot of tables and chairs, made way too much food, cleaned up the kitchen, and drove a hundred miles to do it all over again. And yes, to be perfectly honest, I was too tired to go to church on Sunday. 

Yet when I tuned in the service on Youtube, it held a wonderful surprise…Rev. Bill Zelazny paraphrasing Mary Oliver: “Where we give our attention is where we invest our soul.”

Then he read the poet’s pithy “instructions for living a life:”

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

And I realized that was my theme for the holiday as well as this letter.

How did paying attention make a difference for you recently? And what difference will it make today?