Thanksgiving Reflections
Every year around this time, I find myself slowing down in a way I never quite manage the rest of the year. Maybe it’s the smell of whatever is roasting in the oven, or the familiar chaos of too many people in one kitchen. Thanksgiving has always felt like a pause. At least right up until my brother-in-law inevitably manages to start a small fire in the oven and we’re all sprinting for the fire extinguisher. But even with that annual tradition, it’s still a moment where life asks us to look up and take stock.
This year, launching my campaign, I’ve been grateful to meet so many people across every generation who share the place I’ve been lucky to call home nearly my entire life. Last month, I spoke with a civics class at Readington Middle School. One 7th grader raised her hand and asked me a question that caught me off guard. “How do you make sure everyone feels like they belong?”
It was one of those moments that pulls you backward and forward at the same time. Suddenly, I was back in my own New Jersey public school classroom, sitting in a chair just like hers, listening to my teacher, Mr. Wolff, tell his favorite Thanksgiving story.
He told us that in the early days of Thanksgiving, many families kept an empty chair at their table. The empty chair wasn’t a symbol of loss. It was a symbol of inclusion. It was a promise that there was always room for a neighbor, a traveler, or someone who had nowhere else to go.
Over the years, I’ve seen versions of that chair in my own life. I remember the people my family welcomed in, and the moments when I needed a chair at someone else’s table. Thanksgiving reminds us that the table expands when we choose to expand it.
When that 7th grader asked me her question, I understood why the story of the chair has stayed with me. Gratitude isn’t just about looking back at what we’ve been given. It’s also about looking forward to the space we can choose to make for others, the generosity we offer, and the ways we open our lives to one another. It’s about the empty chair, always ready for someone who needs a place to sit.
So this Thanksgiving, I’m thinking about the people who have pulled up a chair for me: family, friends, mentors, and many of you reading this. I’m thinking about the small acts of kindness, encouragement, and belief that carried me through moments when I needed them most. I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have people to gather with, people to call, people to count on.
Next year, as we campaign, we will work to set a table long enough to fit 95 towns with hundreds of thousands of empty chairs, each one ready for someone who wants to be part of something bigger than themselves. Thank you for helping us build it. Thank you for bringing your family, friends, and neighbors to take a seat. And thank you for living the lesson that 7th grader reminded me of: making sure everyone feels like they belong.
Wishing you and your loved ones a warm, joyful, restorative Thanksgiving.
With gratitude,
Michael
PS: I did my absolute best not to make a Tom Kean Jr. joke here…but let’s be honest: if we did set an empty chair for him, he still wouldn’t show up. My willpower has limits.
