Thanksgiving always sneaks up on me. One minute I’m obsessing over a new reel, and the next I’m staring at a table full of food wondering how another year has already gone by. And if we’re honest, this year hasn’t been easy—for any of us. The world feels heavy in a lot of ways, and even in the snug circle of our traditional music community, everyone seems to be carrying something.
But maybe that’s exactly why gratitude hits different right now.
Music has this magical, stubborn way of finding the light, even when life feels like it’s playing in a minor key. Tunes born out of hardship somehow still lift us. Sessions where people show up tired or stressed somehow end with laughter. And the simple act of picking up an instrument becomes its own kind of thank-you—to the people who passed these tunes down, to the friends who keep the circle going, and to ourselves for showing up.
So this Thanksgiving, I’m reminding myself to pause and be thankful for:
The Tunes — The ones that always work their way back into your fingers when you need them most. The ones that turn a cranky Tuesday into something tolerable. The ones that connect us to generations who probably had it even tougher than we do.
The People — I’m endlessly grateful for the musicians I get to play with. They’re kind, wildly talented, empathetic, and genuinely fun to be around. There’s something special about making music with people who listen deeply, encourage quietly, and laugh easily. They show up with open ears and open hearts, and somehow playing beside them makes the world feel a little less complicated.
The Moments — The ones we create together in practice, where a messy run-through suddenly clicks and we all feel it at the same time. The moments on stage when the nerves settle, the tune lifts off, and we catch each other’s eye like, yeah, this is happening. The random breakthrough ideas, the inside jokes that only make sense to the band, the shared sense of building something—tune by tune, set by set—that feels bigger than any one of us.
And even though the world feels heavy, music reminds us that community is stronger than uncertainty, and joy can still sneak in through the smallest cracks.
So here’s to Thanksgiving—messy, imperfect, warm, grounding. And here’s to being grateful for the tunes that keep us steady and the people who keep us playing.
May your holiday be full of good food, good company, and at least one session where the magic shows up right on time.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Session Obsession 