Posted by Ryan 

During my first year of college I lived in NYC.  I started an unintentional tradition that year that has kept strong ever since.  Let me preface all this by saying I am somewhat of a Grinch when it comes to the holidays.  I hate the crowds, the tourist, the anger and frustration masked by cheer and blinking lights…but I digress.  During my first year here I decided not to go home for Thanksgiving and instead have my Mother come to New York.  I was only eighteen and had just moved that August so I didn’t know the city that well.  We stumbled through the holiday going to a random restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner, getting lost on the subways, seeing all the tourist spots with all the other people that flood the city for that magical month and a half.  In the years following I went to various cities around the world for Thanksgiving.  The logic is if I don’t go home for Thanksgiving I’ll be able to enjoy Christmas at home rather than be totally burned out on the season already.
Last year having just moved back to the city I laid low and went to a nice dinner with friends.  This year however was the culmination of the tradition; it came full circle in a way.  My Mother returned to New York to celebrate the holiday.  Five years had passed and infinite knowledge about this city and life in general had logged its way into my brain making this visit was quite different.  There was no subway confusion.  Very little tourist interaction except for a few choice moments at Saks where, bless her heart, my Mother fell pray to a Givenchy makeup counter sales wizard despite my attempts to block his advances.  We toured downtown wandering the abandoned streets, ducking in to tiny furniture boutiques.  Brunched in Tribeca, strolled around the piers and had a truly fantastic Thanksgiving dinner.  Though this trip was smoother I could not help but think about how far I have come in this city.  Every street we went down I had a story, many of them starting with “I was drinking one night on this street and…” but just as many having to do with work.  I pointed out the Hearst building from Central Park, Conde Nast in Times Square, various showrooms I have pulled from for magazines and endless stories about editors, magazines, meetings and all the other crazy happening that come with living and working in New York City.  My mother, while not too impressed with the drinking stories, was impressed by the way this small town Michigan boy has adapted to life in the big city.  Now all I have to do is figure out where I am going next year for Thanksgiving, after all tradition states I cannot stay home and I have been here for the last two years.