Not Quite Ready–But Getting There 11/30/2025

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I don’t think I’m quite ready. Every year I’m so sure that I am — that excitement is the only thing stirring in me — but this time, I’ve stumbled into new sentiments. By the time you’re reading this, Thanksgiving will already be tucked away and we’ll be well on our way to Christmas. I love this stretch of the calendar, but lately I’m feeling the sting of a problem that seems to grow sharper the older I get: time is moving too quickly.
Normally, when I’m barreling toward an event I’m eager for, that speed feels like a gift. But this year, even though Christmas is my absolute favorite holiday, its bullet-like arrival is catching me off guard. I’m not entirely sure what makes this season different from the others, but here I am — still excited, yet tinged with a slight anxiety and a dash of overwhelm.

I wrote that intro several days ago, and now, as we inch closer to the date on this piece, I’ve experienced a few moments that have soothed those frayed nerves. My Thanksgiving journey proved helpful, just as I hoped it would.

My holiday travels took me along a mostly rural route from central Alabama into the foothills of the Appalachians in the northeastern part of the state. Down every highway and byway were the unmistakable signs of Thanksgiving Day at hand. I lost count of the houses with an absurd number of cars parked outside — so many that I found myself wondering how that many people, even one per vehicle, could possibly fit inside. More than once, folks were hovering in the yard, bundled against the cold, the uncle-and-cousin types who seemed to be waiting it out. They weren’t talking much, just standing there, anticipating the moment the food would be ready. They’d head inside long enough to get a plate, but they knew they’d probably have to mosey back out to the yard to have enough elbow room to maneuver a fork.

And then there were the cars with their trunks wide open — mysterious aluminum pans and heirloom ceramic dishes being carried inside in assembly-line fashion while front doors were held open and the household matriarchs pointed out where everything should go. I smiled when we passed a house where a very grandpa-esque gentleman was taking a roasting pan out to the large trash can by the road. He looked like he’d been assigned the solemn duty of disposing of the least desirable bits of the bird. His expression was a blend of weariness and determination — the look of a man who despised the task but would perform it faithfully, lest the kitchen artisans hold it against him.

Scenes like these dotted the landscape. Old houses with wide front porches and a steady stream of guests coming and going. Kids tossing a football in the yard despite the chilly air. A bundled-up car seat being carried into a house for the very first Thanksgiving appearance. These were the classic moments playing out across the country. I was headed to one of those crowded places myself, full of the same rhythms and rituals.

But in every car and every yard and every porch, we were all in the same boat — doing our best to stitch together a memorable Thanksgiving, knowing that once we’d eaten our fill, the work of creating an equally memorable Christmas would begin. So, while I may have more gifts left to buy than I typically do by now, I’m in good company. So many of us are simply trying to bring smiles to faces and joy to hearts. And truly, there are far worse problems to have.