Happy Thanksgiving, people. Hope you find yourself somewhere you want to be, with people you like, whose views on gay marriage, Breaking Bad, and the appropriateness of cranberry sauce from a can do not diverge too dramatically from your own. And of course I hope you’ve got lots to be thankful for. I know I do: first and foremost, for a family I actually enjoy spending time with, and then also for Nashville, Homeland (even though it’s getting a little shark-jumpy) Louie, and even Revenge, God help me. I’m grateful to live in a city that comes together instead of apart in times of crisis. And I’m grateful that F. Scott Fitzgerald was so very dead wrong when he wrote in The Last Tycoon that there are no second acts in American lives. As a person who spent more than one Thanksgiving so paralyzed by depression that I had to go lie down in another room because the simple act of conversing with others was too much to bear, I am infinitely grateful for life’s ability to change. And as somebody who had what looked like a lot from the outside, but felt like very little indeed on the inside, I can confirm what many of you are figuring out for yourselves as well: there is a second act, and it’s the one where you actually get to get it right.
Mostly this year though, I’m just impossibly grateful to you all. For finding me here, and for being so damn fun and enthusiastic. Your comments and emails never fail to make my day. Now tell me what you’re grateful for. I dig hearing about that type of thing.