I am a curmudgeon with a penchant for writing editorials exposing the frailties and baser instincts of politicians, preachers, billionaires, and bureaucrats who wield power over us. But on Thanksgiving Day I channel the spirit of the Dalai Lama and I wax poetic about things and people that are a blessing in my life.

I’ve been posting essays online since 1998, and some of them have gone viral, but nothing is more satisfying and ego gratifying than seeing my words published in a print publication. There is a visceral thrill and tactile satisfaction in turning the pages of a newspaper and reading news, editorials, and community events. I’m thankful that the Bedford Bulletin still publishes a print edition.

I feel a familial obligation to contact my family members who live out of state on Thanksgiving, even the ones who have political and religious views that are antithetical to mine. I end the perfunctory call and check them off my list. But I am thankful for Jackie my sister I seamlessly vibe with; I feel refreshed, reenergized and thankful whenever I call her, not just at Thanksgiving.

I was devastated by the election results; it is sobering to realize that voters placed party and perceived economic benefits over democracy and freedom. But I am thankful that I live in a free country where I can still express my opposition to the party in power by writing letters to the editor, attending demonstrations, and publishing my anti-Trump essays on my blog.