How My Parents Convinced Me to NOT Become a Doctor

I’m about three weeks into my internship now. I don’t know why I’m shocked. I guess I assumed I’d spontaneously combust before I got this far, but here I am, actually doing the damn thing.

It hasn’t been an easy road, but at least I don’t have to go it alone. My wife’s been so supportive and understanding, cheering me on from the sidelines (well, from the couch in our Airbnb). Sometimes when it’s especially stressful, she puts on kids’ shows to cheer me up. Today, she put on Bluey, which is her go-to for wholesome entertainment.

The episode she chose was “Dragon,” where the titular puppy’s family draws and narrates a fairytale adventure. The rest of the family is floored when its matriarch reveals her secret talent — she can really draw. While the dad struggles to draw a simple stick-figure donkey, the mom illustrates a beautiful horse companion for her character in the story. A flashback reveals the true reason she’s so good at art — her own mother encouraged her when she was a child.

“Doesn’t that remind you of us?” my wife said. “We’re good at what we do because our parents encouraged us too.”

You see, I wasn’t always going to be a music therapist. When I first signed up for college courses as a high school senior, I had my mind made up. I was going to be a cardiologist. I liked to tell people I was doing it because my dad had a heart attack and I wanted to help other people like him, but the real reason was because my boyfriend’s best friend’s dad was a cardiologist and he was like, really rich and powerful. So I decided I was going to be a pre-med student.

But fate had other plans.

The night I went to orientation and declared my major, my parents walked in on me practicing guitar. They sat me down and lovingly told me that if I went down the med school path, I’d be wasting my talents. They told me I had a future in music, be it as a therapist, professor, or rock star. Screw the money and prestige — they encouraged me to follow my passion instead.

Which makes my parents the first in the history of human civilization to convince their child to *not* be a doctor.

So I called up the university right away and told them I’d made a mistake. And that’s how I ended up studying classical guitar instead of, I don’t know, anatomy and crap.

Music hasn’t been an easy road, and I almost gave up multiple times. There were the times I dropped out of the music therapy program. There was the time my own pastor told me I wasn’t a good enough guitarist to perform on stage. There was even a time I almost gave up on playing music entirely after my first real band broke up. But each and every time it got difficult, I went back to that conversation with my mom and dad, and I remembered why it is I was put on this planet — to make the world a brighter place through music. And I pressed on.

There will be times during this internship where I’ll want to give up. But I have so much support and so much love in my life. It’s why I’m able to do what I do. I still remember the pride in my dad’s eyes when he’d tell everyone he’d meet about how his seventh grader could write and perform her own music. That kind of stuff sticks with you. I want to make him proud.

I’m going to finish this internship and make it as a music therapist, even if it kills me.

I Just Can’t Wait to Be King

So I already fell off Bloganuary. Blame my internship. But I’m interrupting my radio silence because I have some exciting news to report to everyone!

I am going to start doing drag!

Drag Race' Legends To Host Political 'Drag Isn't Dangerous' Telethon — I can only *aspire* to this level of fabulousness, though.

My wife and I have been frequenting the gay bar down here in Fort Wayne. It’s a little blip of queerness in an otherwise very cishet state. Drag is a huge part of the culture there, and as I watched the queens and kings work the crowd, I realized I was made to do this kind of thing. Dress up obnoxiously, wear a crapton of flamboyant makeup, and lip-sync to fun songs in front of a bunch of people?! It’s like they created a job description just for me.

At first I wrestled with whether I’d be a king or queen. After all, there are AFAB queens, also called “bio-queens,” which sounds very sci-fi, like some kind of alien insect queen.

But the thought of being a king is kind of exciting. After all, I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I’m bigender, or at least genderfluid in some capacity. As a kid, I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be a girl. I felt like my voice was too deep and my mannerisms were too boyish. I found myself identifying more with Bon Jovi than Disney Princesses. As I got older, I settled into womanhood and actually became something of a girly-girl. In fact, I’m probably girlier than most women out there — I love makeup and dresses and being pretty! I’m at home with my femaleness, but I still feel like there’s a little man living inside me. And I think drag will be a fun way for me to get to know him.

So, meet Richie Styx!

He’s an ambiguously gay British rock star from the 70s. He’s very much inspired by the likes of glam icons Freddie Mercury and Marc Bolan, with a little Richie Sambora thrown in (which is who I named him for). I had a lot of fun creating my man-sona from bits and pieces of male figures I looked up to as a kid.

I’m still just a baby king. My first performance will be an open stage night next Thursday. I feel so cool and confident as Richie though, and I can’t wait to bring him to life with my act. I think that’s the beauty of drag — you can be literally anything. You can be a Disney Princess or an alien queen, or even the old-school rocker dude you always admired as a kid.

Call me Simba, ‘cause I just can’t wait to be king.

Bloganuary #2: Playtime

We onto day two, alright? So far so good!

Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?

I love this prompt because I’m a huge proponent of playtime, whatever that looks like to you. There’s something freeing about being silly and doing things you love in a society that pushes hustle culture and the mentality of “you have to be doing something productive every waking second of the day or else you are wasting your life.” I admit I’m prone to this thinking. For a long time, I didn’t want to play. Or rather, I wanted to, but it felt like a waste of time. What are you accomplishing by simply having fun?

Turns out, quite a bit!

According to Psychology Today, play can be a way for an adult to “reduce stress, promote optimism, and strengthen one’s ability to take on other perspectives.” It’s also a great for socializing, as anyone who’s ever been to a game night with family and friends will tell you. Play is one of my favorite ways to build relationships in my life, and I always end up feeling closer to the people I engage in it with.

Until your mom steals all your stars in Mario Party and she’s suddenly Satan.

As adults, we don’t leave a lot of playtime in our schedule. When we do have free time, it’s usually spent passively consuming media, which isn’t inherently bad, but like food that lacks nutritional value, can be detrimental in high doses. What happened to getting out a big sheet of paper and drawing stuff? Or going outside and playing a sport. Even playing a video game that requires you to use some brain cells is beneficial — research shows that gaming can have a positive effect on memory and attention.

No, I was not wasting my time as a child playing The Sims. I was, uh, working on my cognition.

In my personal life, I try to allot some time every day for play. One of my favorite ways to unwind is art. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the greatest artist ever (see: my potato-looking oil painting from my most recent blog post), but I find it relaxing and engaging. There’s a certain amount of freedom in doing something just for you. In the past, I’ve attempted to sell my works, but I’ve realized you don’t have to monetize everything you do. It’s okay to do something for fun!

Same with swimming. Back when I lived in Michigan, I had a membership to a gym with a pool, and I’d go every morning just to splash around and doggy paddle from one end of the pool to the other until I got tired. I wasn’t doing it to train for the Olympics or even just to stay in shape. I did it because I just liked it. I liked the feel of the water, the feel of floating, the way being in the pool took me back to an innocent time when I’d splash around in my backyard pool as a child.

And of course, I play video games. I typically enjoy simulation games like Stardew Valley, The Sims, and Animal Crossing, games where I can feel a sense of control over the world and everything that happens in it. People really underestimate the power of imagination! Using our uniquely human ability to create entire worlds is the closest thing we’ll ever experience to being God, and I think in a way, it brings us closer to the Divine, however that looks for you. I love creating characters and telling stories, which has been a human phenomenon for time immemorial. The ability to engage in imaginative play is what makes us, well, us.

These are just a few examples from my life, and I hope they inspire you to find your own form of playtime. How do you “play” as an adult? Feel free to tell me in the comments!

Bloganuary #1: ADHD and the Mythical Art of Follow-Through

I guess there’s a challenge to blog once a day, every day for all of January, with these fun little prompts to guide you. I’m great at doing challenges (looking at you, 75 Hard), so I thought I’d attempt this one. Just don’t expect this to be very consistent.

What are your biggest challenges?

I think my biggest challenge is exactly why I need a challenge like this one to kick my ass — I have exactly zero follow-through. Like, none. I’m great at getting excited about things yet terrible at seeing them through. You can see it all throughout this blog. I had so many neat ideas, so many it would be pointless to link to all of them.

And maybe like two of them came to fruition.

I write a lot about my ADHD. It’s kind of a big deal for me. It’s practically my entire personality. I know there’s some controversy about saying “she is ADHD” versus “she has ADHD” but the truth is, I freakin’ am ADHD. I’m three ADHD diagnoses in a trench coat cleverly disguised as a fully functioning adult.

It’s always been a part of me, ever since I was a hyperactive child spinning around in circles in the back of the classroom or pacing back and forth during dinner as I chewed my food. As a child, most people found that stuff endearing, and I got good grades and didn’t like, go around punching other kids, so nobody cared. But as I got older, it definitely got a lot harder to cope with. Suddenly, I found myself failing my courses. My first marriage crashed and burned. All of my stories remained unwritten and unpublished. I couldn’t commit to anything because I’d get bored and move on to whatever was sparkly and interesting to me at the time. Which is not a productive trait to have as an adult.

I don’t know if all my fellow ADHDers struggle with follow-through, but I know for me, it’s one of the defining features. I can’t focus my attention on something for an extended period of time, whether it’s a job or a relationship or my education or any creative endeavor. As soon as it becomes boring to me, I start looking for something else, and that becomes my new fixation until the next shiny object comes along. It’s an ugly cycle that leads nowhere.

It has gotten better. My medication helps a lot with motivation and I’ve learned skills for making sure I stay on task, like keeping a planner on my phone. But it’s still a challenge for me to accomplish big, long-term goals. That’s why the Dear Cadence series was such a huge deal for me. It was the first series I’ve ever actually finished, and the high I got from writing those last few sentences of the final chapter was one I’ll never forget. I want to chase that high again, but it’s the little hits of dopamine I get from having a brand new idea or opportunity that distract me.

I think in 2024, I’ll work on this. Maybe I’ll actually finish the Venona series (if I don’t scrap it and rewrite it altogether). Maybe this is the year I learn more about recording music and set up my studio finally. Maybe I’ll start my music therapy practice and not back down when things inevitably get tough. Maybe I’ll take up oil painting again and not give up when my subjects look like potatoes.

I have a feeling this will be the year I finally tame this part of myself. Here goes nothing.

It’s the Final Countdown! (Doodoo Doo Doooooo)

My last post was very cynical, and perhaps rightfully so. The world is on fire, after all. Literally, if you consider the fact that it’s almost January and it has yet to truly snow in my dear old home of Michigan, a land renowned for its wintery scenery. We had a white Christmas, though!

Outside of global catastrophes like climate change, though, life’s been pretty good, if hectic. This is my final week in Michigan before my big move to Indiana, which still doesn’t feel entirely real. The wife and I have been scrambling trying to get things in order before we leave. We bought my car, for one, which feels nice. I own a car. And like, not a shitty one. It feels good, man.

I don’t know if I’m ready to live so far from everyone and everything I know. The closest I came to anything of this caliber was my failed move to Florida after my life in Michigan imploded following the implosion of my old band and my failure to procure a big girl job with my newly minted journalism degree (which is about as useful to me as an expired car wash coupon). I moved back after a miserable month of flying roaches, nonstop tropical rainstorms, and a sad existence as a Sonic carhop.

Roller skating carhop in the 1950s. | Vintage photos, Vintage ... — Which would have been worth it if I got to wear a cute lil outfit for it.

But I have a good feeling about this move. The internship at Mainstay Music Therapy will be a rewarding one I feel, and one that will likely prepare me for my work in the field. I worked my ass off to procure this internship, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the best of it. I’ve learned most of the songs off the repertoire list, I’ve refreshed my memory on the basics of music therapy, and now all that’s left for me to do is jump in and get my feet wet in the real world.

We’ll be staying at a quaint AirBNB for the extent of the internship, an upstairs apartment inside a fanciful green historic home in downtown Fort Wayne, and I’m pretty excited to make this little place a home for the next six months.

If I’m gonna leave my comfort zone, I’m gonna do it in style.

I’ve also been scoping out the local hotspots on Instagram. There’s a coffee shop inside a conservatory, a few different local stores that look promising, and even a gay bar. That’s right — apparently Fort Wayne has a surprisingly robust lesbian scene. Will this be the arc where my wife finally finds another partner? I hope so — this polyamory thing feels very unbalanced with me having multiple partners and my wife having no one aside from me. Which is a damn shame, as she’s absolutely adorable and deserves an entire harem of cute girls by her side.

My biggest hope for this new chapter is for me to figure out what I’m doing with the rest of my life. The dream is to open my own private practice akin to Mainstay in the Detroit area. I know it’ll take a lot of work, and I’m determined to make it happen. “Determined” — that’s the word I wrote as my “word of the year” for 2024, and it feels right. I’m determined to get through this internship, pass the board examination, and get my career off the ground. Maybe I’ll go back and get my master’s degree. Maybe I’ll work in the field for a bit at a school or hospital or another practice. Maybe I’ll jump right in and start working as a free agent. There are so many possibilities, and I’m determined to make something work. As a wise man once said, “success is my only motherfuckin’ option, failure’s not.”

I’ll maintain this blog while I’m in Indiana to keep y’all updated on the goings-on of my life. I can’t promise consistency, but this corner of the internet is where you can continue to expect to see the musings and observations of Jessa Joyce, whoever it is she’s becoming. I hope she’s becoming something great, and I hope this move will be the stepping stone she needs to realize her power.

Here’s to a new year, a new state, and a new adventure.

The World is a Scary Place and I’m Kind of Over It

When I was a much younger Jessa, I thought I had a future in journalism. I envisioned myself curled up on a leather sofa in my high-rise apartment in NYC typing up a rough draft for a juicy exposé. It wasn’t exactly my dream life, but it seemed more attainable than, say, going on a world tour as a Taylor Swift-level rock star, and just as cushy. And I was good at journalism. I remember joining the university newspaper on a whim and absolutely wowing the editors with my writing skills. It seemed perfect.

But despite earning my journalism degree, I never pursued news writing any further. Because frankly, it’s depressing as hell.

And I’ve heard Hell is pretty depressing.

I don’t like to read the news. I keep up on it, sure, but I don’t enjoy it. I feel like these days, it’s all bad news, and lately I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by the weight of it all. So many awful things are happening and I feel powerless to change it.

Literally last night, my wife watched this video on how the right is boycotting damn near anything and everything remotely queer. Imagine someone hating you so much, they protest your very existence. And the sad thing is, it’s working. As the YouTuber in the video mentioned, Bud Light’s stock fell drastically after partnering with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney. There are enough people out there who hate me and my loved ones to cripple an entire corporation. It’s scary.

And this shit happening in the Middle East is upsetting as hell. The whole Israel vs. Palestine thing? I don’t even know what side I’m on anymore because the more I research it, the more I’m not sure there even are good guys, save for the innocent civilians caught in the crosshairs. Like, I support Jewish folks having a safe place to live away from oppression, especially after everything they’ve been through throughout history, but does it have to be like, right the fuck there? Where people were already living? It’s a messed up situation all around, and I wish there was an easy answer.

And then there’s the mundane dystopian shit happening here in the US. There’s a whole fucking subreddit dedicated to inspiring stories of medical debt and the perils of capitalism. A teenager sacrificed her college fund to avoid homelessness. People have to ration their fucking medications. There are plenty more stories out there of horrible situations rebranded as inspiring that highlight just how messed up our society has become. Like, I’d call our healthcare system a joke, but it stopped being funny a long time ago. It’s damn near predatory. I shouldn’t be one happy accident away from ending up on the streets. No one should. And yet…

I hate it here. “Here,” as in Earth. “Here,” as in “being a part of humanity.” I want to believe people are generally good, but the greed and the prejudice and the violence is leading me to feel otherwise. I’d like to believe it’s not human beings, but power that’s the problem. None of these atrocities would happen if not for the people in power. Everyday folks like you and me, we’re not the problem, but we still sit idly by and let these people do rotten, despicable things to us and our fellow man. And it’s fucked up because what can you do? I feel helpless.

I guess that’s part of the reason I write this blog, to feel some semblance of control in this bleak world. I hope my words reach people. I want us to fight for peace, for housing and food and healthcare for all, for a better future for us human creatures. We’re all in this together, and I hate seeing how divided and polarized we’ve become. I feel weary, but I have hope that things will get better in my lifetime.

Maybe I’m too optimistic for my own good.

How to Be More Original

So, I signed up for a virtual audition with The Voice. Get your laughs out now; I know it’s silly. But I’ve wanted to be on one of those ridiculous singing shows ever since I was little. The Voice. American Idol. X Factor. Like, I’ll take any ridiculous singing show.

I remember watching those shows with my family as a kid and imagining I was on that stage, performing in front of millions of people at home. My name would be in lights. I’d actually be popular, which was a pipe dream for socially awkward, autistic little Jess, who discovered performing music was a way to make people like her.

My first foray into the world of televised singing competitions came in college. I found out the American Idol auditions were coming to Detroit. I stood out in the cold with my two best friends at the time, Crass, rehearsing my little heart out with my guitar and chosen two songs. I’d play a jazzy cover of “You Give Love a Bad Name” followed by my original, “Oceanography” (which I recently re-recorded and released, actually).

I knew I had it in the bag. And to be honest, I did make it pretty far into the audition process. Something no one tells you about American Idol is it’s not one or two standouts and five hundred duds auditioning. NO. It is quite the opposite. You’ve got five hundred Mariah Careys in the room with maybe one or two William Hungs.

So the fact that I made it three rounds into the audition process is astounding. I passed the initial audition, another audition in front of a set of producers, and made it to the executive producers.

Judging by the fact that I’m typing this and not, I don’t know, on a yacht sipping a pina colada with Simon Cowell somewhere, I obviously didn’t make it.

It’s what the producers told me that will stick with me forever though.

You’re just not unique enough.

After years and years of being the outcast for being too unique, I, Jessica Joyce Salisbury, was not unique enough.

I almost laughed. It didn’t seem right. I wasn’t like any of the other girls auditioning. I had blue hair at the time, for cryin’ out loud.

I’ll forever associate my blue hair with the Band That Will Not Be Named, though.

I guess in a sea of, say, Ypsilanti, I was basically the town’s Taylor Swift, but in a sea of millions, I was just another girl with a guitar. There wasn’t anything original about me. I didn’t have some sad sob story except the fact that I grew up without friends (which is a sad sob story another million other singer-songwriters already have). I didn’t even have that unique of a look. I didn’t come in there looking like Lady Gaga, or that girl who wore a bikini to her audition. I was just…ordinary.

I think I’m running into the same problem now as I go about promoting my music. Every artist needs a hook, and I honestly don’t know what mine is. I’m autistic and ADHD. So? There’s millions of neurodivergent artists out there doing the damn thing. I don’t have a unique look about me. I dyed my hair black in part to quell comparisons to Swift, but now people, especially older ones, compare me to Ann Wilson from Heart. Not that I minded either comparison all that much, considering both women are musical inspirations (and big gay crushes) of mine, but I wish I had a look that stood out more. Even the split-dyed look I sported for a while has already been done better by Melanie Martinez.

I don’t know what I need to do to set myself apart, but I’m sick of being the only person who cares about my music. I just wish I knew how to make other people care about my music. I can’t just pull a U2 and download my songs onto other people’s devices or like, stream “Oceanography” or “Sweet Honey” directly into people’s heads. (If that were possible, it probably wouldn’t be legal.) I’m not a virtuoso by any means, but I’m a damn good songwriter. That should be enough, but we live in an age where anyone with a laptop can be a songwriter and produce their own music. That’s not a bad thing, but it does make the competition that much more fierce.

Maybe I’ll get through the Voice auditions and finally get my big break, who knows? All I want is for my music to be heard by other people. I’ve always made music as a way to connect with other people. I don’t do it just for my own amusement.

Even if I do listen to myself more than I’d like to admit.

I didn’t answer the question in the title, mostly because I still don’t know myself. I guess I’ll always be on the journey to find new ways to stand out in a big wide world of other creators. That’s all we artists can do.

New Music: Oceanography

I’m going to start using this platform to promote my music endeavors as well. They’re both part of me, my writing and my music, so it feel appropriate to use my personal website for both, right?

Anyways, here’s my first official release under the name Jessa Joyce, and it’s a rerelease of my very first EP, which was originally released under the Wake Up Jamie name. (Wake Up Jamie is now a band, but these rereleases will be technically a solo project. Confused yet?) This is the title track, which is in the process of being released to streaming platforms everywhere, but can be listened to right now on Bandcamp, or right here!

Oceanography master.wav Download

The song itself is about longing, about meeting someone and being so enamored with them, you want to know anything and everything about them. It was written by a very wide-eyed younger version of myself who was in love with the idea of love, and I feel like some of that giddiness is still hidden within this more updated version. At the time, I was obsessed with all things nautical, hence the title and the theme of the song. All of the songs on the EP have a slight nautical theme to them, which I still really love. I’m a Michigan girl at heart, so what can I say? I really like large bodies of water.

Here are the lyrics, so you can sing along!

Oceanography (words & music by Jessa Joyce)

You’ve got an ocean in your eyes

And I can’t spot land for miles

Throw away the compass and the maps that I’ve used

I wanna get lost in you

Fishing lines wrapped around your oar

I’m a boat tied to your shore

I won’t scream when the seaweed slips into my boot

I just wanna get tangled up in you

Cause I wanna know everything

If you’d just drag me to sea

And I, I’d give you everything

If you’d just give me the key

In my mind your body is a book

Crammed with all the notes that you took

About the destinations and the places that you’ve seen

I wanna feel your story in me

I’ll cast my dreams upon sailboats

Reading Flowers For Algernon on the east coast

I’ll feel the warm breeze upon my lonely seabed

And I’ll wish it was you instead

Trapped in the Mitten: A Tale of Wanderlust

Yesterday at Thanksgiving, I was helping my niece put together a puzzle of an outer space scene. We pieces together each of the planets one by one until a cohesive picture began to emerge. I was putting together Saturn I think when my niece shows me her completed Earth.

“Look!” she said. “This is Michigan!”

I mean, Michigan is on Earth, so she’s not wrong.

I never thought about it before, but when you’re little, the world seems simultaneously huge yet tiny. To her, Michigan is the world. And if I’m honest, Michigan is my world too.

I was born and raised in south Detroit, just like a certain city boy who took the midnight train to anywhere. Technically, “south Detroit” is Downriver, a collection of blue-collar suburbs just south of the big D. It’s admittedly a bit of an industrial wasteland in some areas, and a little more “Kid Rock” than I’d like. Like, confederate flags aren’t an uncommon sight, despite being in the frickin’ north. But it has its charm, and I don’t have any regrets about growing up there. It made me who I am.

Still, I never left the safety of the Mitten. I chose a university that was within the same area code as my hometown. After graduation, I briefly moved to Florida, decided it sucked (it does), and came back to Michigan within two months. And after marrying my wife, we settled in the posh northern suburbs of Detroit where she grew up.

Michigan is my world.

So why do I have this wanderlust?

I’m not well-traveled by any stretch of the imagination. The furthest I’ve been from home is Denver, Colorado, and that was a relatively recent development. I’ve been out of the country once — to Canada, which doesn’t count if you’re from Michigan. Michigan is Canada Lite, with the Tim Hortonses to prove it. (Is that the plural of Tim Hortons? Because there’s definitely more than one.)

I’m pretty sure there’s more of these in Michigan than McDonalds.

I guess I feel like I’m missing out on a grand wide world by being stuck here, within 100 miles of where I grew up. That’ll be changing soon, as I’m moving to Fort Wayne, Indiana for my internship. But still, it’s Indiana. I’m not even moving out of the Midwest. I’m arguably moving to a worse state. Like, what reason does anyone have to visit Indiana? Aside from my girlfriend and my internship, there’s not really anything there for me. Corn? A racetrack?

Okay, that’s kind of cool. You win this one, Indiana.

I hope I get to see all the wonders of the world someday. I hope I get to try the sushi in Tokyo, which I’m told is out of this world. I hope I get to see Britain, where my family came over from all those years ago. I hope I get to go on a safari in Africa, or take a train through Europe. I wish I had the money, means, and free time for all of this stuff. I envy those trust fund kids who get to jetset around the world and blog about their adventures, while I live vicariously through other people’s Instagram feeds.

I’m lucky in some ways, though. There’s a joke that there’s three classes in the US: those who go to Disney World once a year, those who’ve gone once, and those who have never gone. I’ve gone a few times, certainly not every year, but more than the average American has, probably. I should count my blessings instead of longing for a life that’s out of my reach.

That, or hope I get that one song that blows up so I can go on a world tour with my band in our private jet.

I can dream, right?

NASCAR and Cheeseballs: Nostalgia for a Family Lost

Welp, it’s that time of year again, the time where we ~~conveniently forget about how our ancestors killed a bunch of people~~ give thanks for what we have. I never used to care about Thanksgiving. I only liked getting to dress up as a Native American in grade school, which at the time felt like I was honoring my people. Then, as an adult, I took a DNA test and realized I’m genetically much more pilgrim. Of course every white family from Kentucky is convinced they have indigenous ancestry, which is why we thought costumes like this were a good idea.

Sketchy history of the holiday aside, Thanksgiving wasn’t really a thing I cared about as a child, aside from my retrospectively racist costume choices. I never liked turkey unless it’s drowned in ketchup. I never liked stuffing or cranberry sauce or any of the other traditional fixings. I still don’t like football, despite the Lions and Taylor Swift trying their damnedest to make me care about it this year. And to be honest, going to see family wasn’t really all that to me. I didn’t have any kid relatives save for a few cousins, but they were younger than me and kind of tight-knit with each other. What I’m saying is I would have rather been at home playing Pokémon or something.

My family doesn’t meet for Thanksgiving like we used to, and it’s kind of a shame, because now I’m finally at an age where I would actually appreciate it. My coworkers are all Arab-American, and I often listen with envy as they discuss their families. In their culture, family comes before everything else, and siblings and even cousins stay close well into adulthood. Our family used to be like that, but ever since my grandmother passed away several years ago, we kind of…fractured. I’m very close with my parents, probably closer than most adults are with their parents, but it all falls apart if you go out any further than that. I call my sister maybe twice a year, I haven’t talked to my brother in ages, and my cousins and I will “like” each other’s statuses once in a while. That’s about it, though.

On holidays like Thanksgiving, I feel like I’m missing something. I visit my wife’s family, and I love them to death, but part of me misses the loud, rowdy Southern charm my biological family had. I remember everyone sitting in Grandma’s living room cracking jokes and talking shit, back when I was too young to fully embrace what was happening. I regret taking those days for granted, but I was just a child then. I didn’t know that kind of thing didn’t last forever. I thought we’d be celebrating holidays in Grandma’s house with all my aunts and uncles and cousins until the day I died. It’s all over now — my cousin watching NASCAR in the middle bedroom, my grandma cooking lard-drenched but delicious homecooked meals, my uncle eating the nasty cheeseball he brought for Christmas every year. It’s nothing more than memories.

I know chosen family is a huge deal, especially in the queer circles I’m a part of, but I feel like I’ll always be missing out on something by not being close to my blood family. It’s not too late; things can change. Maybe I just need to be the one to initiate it. Maybe I need to call my sister more. Maybe I need to make amends with my brother. Maybe I should meet with my cousins IRL someday. I can’t make things the way they were when I was a kid, but I can start something new.

If you happen to be close to your blood relatives, never take that for granted. It’s such a gift to have a close relationship with the family you were born into. And if you’re like me and not as close to your family, I hope you find your chosen family to spend days like these with. Be thankful for the people you have in your life and the time you spend together, because someday, it may be little more than a distant memory.