On being alone on Thanksgiving

Long ago, in a previous century, on a planet far away (Los Angeles vs. my current now long-time domicile in Charlottesville, Virginia), I spent my first Thanksgiving away from home.

I was 18. It was during my freshman year at UCLA, where I had arrived several months earlier after my first ever plane trip.

I recall being part of a group of about 20-30 fellow "left-behinds" consigned to spend the four-day-long holiday in our own dorm rooms in the four large eight-story high residence halls that existed at UCLA at the time.

Most of those who didn't go home for the holiday were foreign students for whom air fare would have been prohibitively expensive.

Just a round-trip back home to Milwaukee was way beyond my means.

One residence hall kitchen was staffed for us and all meals were served there, three times a day just like when class was in session: no extra charge.

It occurred to me that being alone on holidays might end up being the norm because I like being alone.

There were several things I enjoyed about this first time (but not the last!) experience:

1. Having my room all to myself as opposed to sharing it with my drug dealer [amphetamine/"speed"] roommate: it seemed much larger when I had it all to myself.

2. The peace and quiet in the corridors, bathrooms, elevators, and common areas as compared to the everyday commotion in a 800-person dorm.

3. Wandering around the huge UCLA campus, almost completely deserted, like a sci-fi movie.

I just took a minute to go back over my life to calculate my Thanksgivings Alone vs Not since that first one at UCLA.

Alone: 18

Not Alone: 40

My solo holidays continued to be the norm through the 1960s and 70s, resumed in 2020 (Covid) after decades of family gatherings and have continued as such since then because that's the way I like them.

Wait a sec — what's that song I'm hearing?