I grew irrationally angry in a quaint coffee shop as I attempted to complete my (challenging) syntax homework: Why is there Christmas music playing in November? Surely, it violates natural law to play such tunes before Thanksgiving. Then, I had a devastating realization: They don’t celebrate that here in England.

Throughout my childhood, my family celebrated Thanksgiving — and sometimes the Canadian version, too, since we have dual citizenship. I have fond memories of watching the “Charlie Brown” cartoon special, cooking alongside my mother, and seeing relatives on video calls. Usually, I spent November and December rehearsing for ballet productions of “The Nutcracker,” and Thanksgiving provided a much needed reprieve from dancing (and a necessary carb indulgence). In college, Thanksgiving break alleviated me from attending lectures and effectively forced me to begin writing my final papers; I remained on campus every break because I needed the library, and each year, I joined the Catholic group in the afternoon for a lovely meal.

Suddenly, the holiday felt so obscure and distant, even though I had cherished it every November. Here in England, it was just another Thursday. No grocery stores advertised turkey prices. No department stores sold corny wall-art decorations that said “friendsgiving” in cursive. No companies gave the day off of work. I had lectures to attend, essays to write, and syntax trees to draw.

But I wanted to celebrate it, even though I haven’t met many people here, since I’m introverted and prefer to stare at books rather than faces. For whatever reason, I thought it would be a grand betrayal to let the holiday pass by without any acknowledgement, as if forgoing sweet potatoes with marshmallows is akin to denouncing the Constitution. So, I cooked a large meal, and I was accompanied by a new friend who works on my street, a couple, and their two very young children. (The four-month-old was terrible sous-chef but impressive napper.)

Living abroad, the holiday didn’t feel so patriotic. I should have insisted to my English guests that it was customary to say the Pledge of Allegiance and sing the “Star Spangled Banner,” but I didn’t have that genius idea soon enough. Instead, we entertained the cultural differences between America and Britain, then debated whose version of the English language is superior. We said a Catholic prayer and, thankfully, the short ribs were tasty. We each expressed something that we’re grateful for this year as we ate panna cotta (which was just okay because I used too much heavy cream).

Although the holiday began with the brave Pilgrims and cannot be isolated from American history, it does prompt us to recognize a valuable lesson, regardless of where we are in the word: give thanks. Each day in England reminds me how thankful I am to be an American.