The Thanksgiving Deliveries

There’s this idea in taking on depression called “Behavioral Activation”. Basically, it means get out there and do shit, even when, no especially when you’re feeling kind of down.

I got the phrase and concept from a pretty awesome therapist I saw for a little while in Portland who used the ACT technique. The basic idea is to figure out what your values are, and then use them as the landmarks to move toward, instead of focusing on feeling “not bad.” Take actions that line up with who you are in the world. That way even if you still feel bad, you’ll have done actual things to make the world better. As a side effect, you often also feel better.

I’ve been feeling the depressions coming on in the last few days, slinking in from the corners, turning the world a little more gray, shading in blocks of time with, “It’s hard out there. Wouldn’t you rather just stay here instead of going out there? I mean, you’ve been working really hard. Why don’t you have a beer? or Two? or Four?”

I’ve been wrestling with this particular monster long enough to be able to spot it in the early stages, when there’s still something I can do about it. Behavioral Activation is one of those things.

Today, that took the form of thanksgiving deliveries.

Today’s the American Thanksgiving holiday. It’s a time to gather together with family, pick up long-running fights, eat a ton of food, push each other’s buttons, have a few moments of genuinely powerful gratitude, and watch some football.

Everyone does it a little differently, but in my experience, those are the basics. In my world, thanksgiving needs two proper components: Steven’s Famous Mashed Potatoes, and cranberry sauce from the can. The jellied kind. With the ridges still in it. Everything else is blasphemy.

Here in Thailand, nobody celebrates thanksgiving - though, interestingly, everyone seems to know of its existence. There’s even a Thai word for it: วันขอบคุณพระเจ้า, roughly, “day of immense gratitude (in the USA)”. So I decided that instead of holing up in my apartment, making some food, and just letting myself sink a bit more, I was getting out there and doing something.

So I did. Went to the store, got all the supplies for Steven’s Famous Mashed Potatoes, wrote up a little script explaining that back in the U.S, today was thanksgiving, and that we said thanks to the people who were kind to us, and gave food to our family and friends. It’s not entirely true, but if I get to explain my weird holiday to people in another culture, I’m making up a better story. One that lets me give them tubs of mashed potatoes.

In the afternoon, potatoes were peeled, boiled, and mashed smooth. Copious amounts of butter and sour cream were added, the script was translated with the help of Mr. Dictionary, and the deliveries began.

I went to the people I’d thus far call my friends in Thailand, mostly folks who work at the restaurants near my house. The dictionary translation might have been right, but my tongue can’t yet properly say any twistingly tonal Thai, especially words I haven’t heard anyone say yet. It was a bit of a shambles, and I’m certain that none of the things I tried to say about the importance of gratitude, and how thankful I was for their patience and help in helping me learn Thai made it across the table. Saying the stuff about hazelnuts being from Oregon was a pipe dream. However, everyone did understand that it was Thanksgiving, that I made the food for them, that I wouldn’t be offended or hurt if they didn’t like it, and that I was pretty clearly trying to say a whole lot more.

More than anything, I think what came across was this: this guy who comes into my restaurant most days and has learned a little Thai and is always writing in that little red book made some food and brought it to me because it was thanksgiving in his country. And that, honestly, I can live with.

It’s behavioral activation. The actions are what counts. Today, I’m reminded that almost all of them beat staying home.

p.s. Thanks for reading. Not least on my list of things to be grateful for is the opportunity to write things like this, and the fact that you’re willing to spend some of your precious life reading them. Thank you.