Going to the Hardware Store to Buy Milk

Thanksgiving and the Fiction of Our Beginnings

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash

Last week, I explored the nuances between creative nonfiction and plain old fiction. As Thanksgiving approaches in the U.S., it strikes me that there’s another fiction—one baked into the very foundation of the holiday—that often goes unnoticed.

When I was living in the Netherlands (#bestfouryears), I took a trip to a small town called Leiden. There, I stumbled upon an unexpected gem: the Pilgrim Museum. Like most of us, I had learned in school that the Pilgrims came to America to escape religious persecution. But as I wandered the museum, I found myself questioning this narrative. After all, the Dutch were famously tolerant of religious differences. This was, and still is, a nation known for liberal policies, robust trade, legalized prostitution, and "coffee shops" that sell much more than coffee.

Curious, I asked the docent about this supposed escape from persecution. She smiled knowingly and explained, "Oh no, the Pilgrims left the Netherlands because the Dutch were too tolerant. They feared their children would be corrupted by Dutch liberalism. They went to America to create a conservative Christian enclave, far from the influences of this permissive society."

I was floored. The Pilgrims’ leader, William Bradford, even wrote of his concerns that their children were being “drawn away by evil examples into extravagance and dangerous courses.” Their hope in leaving, he said, was to "propagate and advance the gospel of the Kingdom of Christ in that remote part of the world."

So much for seeking religious freedom. The Pilgrims left to establish a society rooted in religious intolerance and rigid doctrine.

This revelation shifted something for me. Understanding that the earliest settlers of this country didn’t come here seeking freedom, but rather to impose strict religious conformity, casts a stark light on our present reality. While I’m no

Heather Cox Richardson

maybe it’s no surprise that a country founded on such values continues to struggle with tolerance and inclusion.

It reminded me of a phrase often heard in 12-step programs: “Don’t go to the hardware store to buy milk.” In other words, don’t expect people, places, or systems to give you what they have no ability—or intention—to provide.

And yet, how often do we fall into this trap in our personal lives?

We approach the holidays with Hallmark expectations, hoping this Thanksgiving will finally look like the ones in the movies. We gather with family, yearning for the love and acceptance we’ve longed for, despite years of evidence that the dynamic likely won’t change.

The thing is, it’s the fiction itself that often causes the pain. When we buy into a story—whether it’s the myth of the Pilgrims seeking freedom, or the fantasy that this year’s family gathering will heal old wounds—we set ourselves up for disappointment. The gap between what we’ve been told to expect and what reality delivers is where the hurt takes root. The healing begins when we see these fictions for what they are: hopeful but flawed constructs that were never built to hold the weight of our needs.

There’s a kind of peace that comes when we stop showing up in relationships—whether with family, a partner, or even our country—like wounded children, expecting something they’ve never demonstrated they can give. This isn’t about giving up hope or settling for less; it’s about letting go of the futile chase for something that doesn’t exist and making space for the beauty of what does. Acceptance doesn’t mean bypassing the hurt; it means looking it in the eye, understanding it, and choosing to no longer let it define our expectations or our happiness.

But here’s the thing: we can recognize this without despairing. History isn’t destiny, and Thanksgiving—like the Pilgrims’ story—is what we make of it. The day’s origins may be rooted in a complicated, even intolerant past, but the holiday itself can be a chance to rewrite the narrative.

And let’s face it: most Thanksgivings were never picture-perfect to begin with. From the disappointment of canned green beans pretending to be a casserole to the cranberries still shaped like the can they came from, the holiday itself is a glorious, messy metaphor (not to mention an honoring of the worst of American overindulgence). Instead of chasing an ideal that’s as fake as Pilgrims in buckled hats, the invitation is to find serenity in the midst of the messy imperfection.

This year let’s celebrate not what should be, but what is. Pass the misshapen cranberries and toast to the imperfect beauty of the present. Because even in a country with a foundation as fraught as ours, there’s still room for connection, for growth, and for hope… at least I hope there is.

Have a good holiday and stay safe out there!