In 2013, I moved to the United States from the United Kingdom, and in the years since, I’ve learned that there are really two kinds of American holidays, particularly when genuine religious faith is pushed to the background. There are the loud, commercialized holidays that feel like a national competition over who can buy the most stuff, create the most elaborate Instagram posts, or produce the most intricate display of disposable consumerism.
And then there is Thanksgiving, the one holiday that asks nothing of you except to stop, breathe, gather, and give thanks. It’s simple in the most wonderful way, and in a culture increasingly obsessed with everything but the simple, this stubborn simplicity is a moment of relief.
Even the history of Thanksgiving reflects this simplicity. Long before it became synonymous with airport chaos, football marathons, and furious early-morning shopping, the holiday began as a humble celebration of survival. In 1621, the pilgrims at Plymouth marked their first successful harvest with a feast shared with the native Wampanoag people.
It wasn’t a national event, and it certainly wasn’t something anyone could have predicted would one day involve canned cranberry sauce, the Detroit Lions, or “salads” made mostly of marshmallows. It was small, fragile, and profoundly human — a moment of peace after a time dominated by hardship, loss, and uncertainty.
Over the next two centuries, colonies and states observed their own days of thanksgiving, often in commemoration of other events, until 1863, when, in the midst of the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln established Thanksgiving as a national holiday. He called on people to set aside the last Thursday of November as a day of gratitude — not for trivial comforts, but for the endurance of the nation itself. Even in the middle of war, Lincoln believed people needed to pause and acknowledge what the nation was fighting for.
And in 2025 and beyond, this is why Thanksgiving is my favorite American holiday. As an immigrant, I know what it means to choose this country and to step into a place that promises opportunity, safety, and freedom not as birthrights, but as gifts. And Thanksgiving forces us to remember those gifts. The literal act of giving thanks is more meaningful than anything you can put under a tree or stuff into a stocking. There’s something deeply grounding about sitting at a table, surrounded by the people you love, and saying, “Look at what we have. Look at what this country has allowed us to build.”
HERE’S WHAT’S OPEN ON THANKSGIVING
It’s not just the prosperity, though, that matters. It’s the family I’ve built here, the friendships, the opportunities that didn’t exist anywhere else, and the simple, unconditional freedom the United States of America gives each of us. It’s the miracle of ordinary American life: a miracle we rarely stop to appreciate because we’re too busy chasing the next crisis or the next distraction.
Thanksgiving cuts through all of that. No gifts. No pressure. No commercial scorecard. Just food, friends, family, and a conscious decision to honor the privilege of being here. In a world that feels increasingly angry, fractured, and chaotic, Thanksgiving might just be the most meaningful tradition we have left.
Ian Haworth is a syndicated columnist. Follow him on X (@ighaworth) or Substack.