This year was my first Thanksgiving by myself.

I don’t mean that I spent it alone, I mean that I didn’t tag along as someone’s plus-one.

I didn’t go home to see my family.

I didn’t go with my roommate to see her family.

I didn’t stay in town with my Cambridge friends.

I drove a few hours away and spent Thanksgiving with some family friends, and a bunch of their friends that I had never met before.

And you know what? I learned a lot about my default social settings.

I’m just here.

I was at Thanksgiving dinner, before the actual dinner had started. I was in the living room, being introduced to my host’s church friends. A lovely family–the grandparents, their kids, and their grandkids. The full set! I was smiling and waving as my host introduced them all–you know, all their names (that I immediately forgot) and how they met (which I also couldn’t keep straight)…and then do you know how I introduced myself?

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Lucy, and I’m just here.”

…

What. The heck. Does THAT mean? Even as I said it, I was like…huh?

They all called me out on it immediately, too. And good for them! “No, no you’re not!” they assured me. “You’re here just like all the rest of us!”

And we filled our plates with turkey, bread, and green beans. But all through dinner I kept on thinking, why did I say that?

It’s like I completely forgot that I was an adult. That I was invited, and that I drove myself there. That I’m old enough to vote, to drink, and to remember who Hannah Montana is.

And I think that’s a part of growing up. You forget that it’s happening.

When you’re a kid, you think being an adult is just something that magically happens to you one day.

Then you get a little older. And a little older. And a little older. And then you realize that you have no idea what you’re doing and that’s not going to suddenly change. You have to face the fact that you’re gonna have to make decisions. You’re gonna to have put in some work.

I’m used to being a daughter. A sister. A kid! I’m still going around out here like “I don’t know, man, ask my parents!”

I’m not used to being an adult of my own.

Not yet, anyway. I’ve got plenty of time to work on that.

Gravy time!

I think that this “I’m just here” idea weeds itself into a lot of different places.

I’ve talked before about the side-dish mindset. The angle I brought up last time was the idea that if envy is the basis of all the cheerleading in a friendship, then eventually that friendship is going to fall apart.

But there’s more side dishes than one. That’s just the mashed potato problem. We’ve still got green beans, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and a whole loaf of sourdough bread.

So here’s some gravy for that mashed potato problem: You don’t need to hide behind other people in order to fee like you belong.

That’s the thing about community. You need people. You do! Folks were made to function together as a unit. A Megazord, if you will. (Power Rangers, anyone?)

But don’t forget that you’re also you. You’re an arm in your community–or a leg, a foot, an ear–whatever suits your fancy. The point is that you’re a part with a unique way about you!

And when you slip into the back and say “I’m just here,” you’re not just underselling your relationship with the people you’re with. You’re not being the arm. You’re hiding within the community, not functioning as a part of it.

Whether you’re at a place because you’re meeting a friend, watching your kids, or looking to meet new people…you don’t have to “just” be there.

You can be there like everyone else.

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