This Thanksgiving will be my fourth as a vegan. When I look back over my journey, the past three Thanksgivings have become like mile markers along the path. There’s something about this particular holiday, more than any other date, that I remember very clearly and specifically in relationship to my veganism. I imagine it has to do with its primary focus being a large meal, the centerpiece of which is a dead turkey.
On my first, I had been eating a plant-based diet for less than two months. I was doing it for a number of personal health reasons and because of the incredible information that I’d discovered about the diet’s many benefits. I felt amazing and, for the first time in my life, was losing weight without having to think about it. I remember explaining to my sister-in-law’s then boyfriend (now fiancé), whom we were meeting for the first time, that it wasn’t “a thing,” though—i.e. “I’m not one of those vegans, I’m just not eating animal products right now.” I remember how important this disclaimer was to me, a fact that makes me cringe today.
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