His teacher. The earth. Cars. His mom and dad. Music. Shapes. Love.

These are the things my five-year-old son, a kindergartner at Eastview Elementary in Monticello, listed when asked what he is most thankful for this year.

As tender as those sentiments are, you might wonder why I’m beginning here. As I near my fourth decade on this earth, I’m reminded of how everything – holidays included – changes as we age. We try to hold onto the traditions we loved as kids, to tap back into that sense of wonder that once felt so natural. We’d arrive at the festively adorned table with food magically prepared and waiting, our only responsibility to eat and not make too much of a fuss.

Well, perhaps that part hasn’t changed.

But what was once effortlessly carefree now involves days – sometimes weeks – of coordinating, planning, shopping, cleaning, scheduling. We wonder whether we’ll make our connecting flight, which route will help us avoid traffic, whether we have enough clean sheets, and if anyone remembered to close the garage door. The very season meant to slow us down, speeds us up.

Still, the wonder isn’t gone. It’s just tucked into the corner of our routines and takes more effort to see. Maybe that’s why children are so good at finding it; they’re closer to the small things we adults tend to overlook.

That’s the headspace I’m trying to return to.

Life piles so much on us: worry, stress, anxiety, bills, schedules. The simplest things – even the closest things – become the hardest to see. The things we voiced freely as children without thinking or embarrassment.

The irony is that those are the things we need most.

At the heart of Thanksgiving is this idea of gratitude for what truly matters. Yet I can’t recall hearing an adult express thankfulness for something as elemental as love. We mention people we love, sure. Or places we love. But what about just…love itself? The very force without which none of this would be happening.

Henry David Thoreau touched on this in Walden when he wrote, “Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind.” When you strip away the excess, you find we actually need very little. The rest are add-ons – things we’ve convinced ourselves are essential, feeding a cycle of wanting more: bigger, newer, faster.

That constant desire for more keeps us from appreciating what’s already here.

Thanksgiving is a good moment to push back against that impulse, but I encourage you to extend that practice beyond one day. Try to return to that childlike gratitude for things as simple as shapes. The earth. The presence of love. These might seem obvious, but it’s the obvious that easily fades into the background.

Wake your eyes up again to the things so simple you forgot to notice them. Those are the things with the deepest impact. Even an atom, the smallest thing imaginable, holds the structure of everything that exists. 

It’s the smallest things that anchor us.

So take a moment to reexamine what you already have, whether it’s the comfort of a familiar routine or simply the promise of a new morning. I suspect you’ll find those things are more than enough.

Happy Thanksgiving.