Mme. Piggy has a post up mourning the–hopefully temporary–loss of a Thanksgiving tradition. It resonated with me in a way it might not have any other year. This year marks the end of a tradition for us as well.

For me, Thanksgiving has always meant my grandparents, my mother’s parents. They were the in-town grandparents when I was young, and Thanksgiving was always at their house. (We lived in another state for a few years, but I don’t remember those Thanksgivings.)

Things changed, of course: more leaves in the table as more kids came, a kids table when we became too many, a shift to early Thanksgiving when my grandparents became snowbirds, adult grandchildren bringing dates. But my grandparents were the constant.

There was a brief break in tradition when my grandparents shifted to a longer snowbird schedule. We had to choose between early Thanksgiving and celebrating the fall birthdays. The birthdays won, and Ben and I started hosting Thanksgiving in our new house.

Hosting was much more convenient for us. It allowed us to combine family obligations from both sides in one place, and our kitchen is much more able to cope with preparation for a feast. Still, it felt wrong without my grandparents, like a fake holiday, like we were playing house while the grownups were away.

Then they sold their place in Arizona and started coming to our house for Thanksgiving and all was well again. Sure, my grandpa keeps thanking me for all the good food as though my husband doesn’t grill the turkeys and make gravy and as though no one else brings anything to share (instead of him being the only one), but there are some things that aren’t worth trying to change. We had a tradition going. “Over the river and through the hood to Steph and Ben’s house….”

Then there’s this year.

During the fall birthday celebration, my grandmother started hinting about how they don’t get around so well anymore and how it’s so nice that everyone else comes to them and maybe Thanksgiving? I changed the subject.

She called a couple weeks later to make the suggestion explicitly. I put her off until after the election.

I knew then we’d go, and we will. Tomorrow, we’ll pack up a ridiculous amount of food and cooking gear and carefully coordinate the use of a tiny kitchen. It’ll be tricky, but we’ll manage.

Much harder will be facing what the end of the tradition means. My grandparents are both in their nineties now, and neither is as hale as they once were. It won’t be that long before the feast moves back to our place.

But will it be Thanksgiving without my grandparents?

So, last night I was working on a roundup of some of the cool blogs that have been recommended in the responses to our questions on science and science fiction, when I made the mistake of taking a break to check in on some of the blogs already on my blogroll. I was completely derailed.

DrugMonkey had a post up about the tribe(s) of science and action for the common good of the tribe. It was, if I’m reading him right (no guarantee), an introduction to some thoughts on applying humanity’s tribalist tendencies to achieve a greater good. It’s an interesting idea, and I agree with the goals…but he said, “tribal.”

I reacted. Nothing out of line, just a pure emotional response. So, of course, I have to break it down.

I don’t belong to any tribes. The whole idea makes me itch.

I belong to a couple of small, manufactured families, but at least in this day and age, that’s not the same thing. Knowing with whom I chose to spend my time doesn’t tell you much about me. Not the same way that being part of a tribe would. I like my families, but I don’t identify with them. I am not them. They are not me.

This isn’t true in tribes. The premise of a tribe is that the tribe’s welfare is your welfare. In order to make this real, the tribe’s identity also has to be your identity. You can have your own place, yes, but only as long as it fits within the tribe.

To take a nice, contentious example, I’m female (physically, genetically). I don’t communicate “like a woman.” I don’t solve problems “like a woman.” I don’t accept the roles of enforcing social norms or making peace or having or raising children. The majority of my allegiances are to men but are neither sexual nor power-imbalanced. I don’t fit comfortably within the feminine tribe.

I could do what others do and try to stretch the tribe itself to fit me better. There are no guarantees, though, that this will happen. Look at the resistance others get when they try. And even if I were to fail, the tribe would have demanded my cooperation during the trial.

I’ve lost the benefits of being part of a tribe along with the obligations, of course. After all, your welfare is also the tribe’s welfare. It could be a lonely type of freedom if I weren’t an introvert. Still, I think I prefer this to a lonely belonging.

There is a piece of writing advice that says to claim for yourself the identity of “writer.” It’s meant to carry the writer through the times when it doesn’t feel as though progress is being made–the middle of the novel, incoming rejections, having to practice and practice a particular skill to get it down. So far, so good.

There is also a bit of advice that says simply, “Writers write.” It’s very practical advice that says you’ll never have a finished product worth publishing if you don’t sit your butt in a chair and crank it out. Also good advice.

However, these two pieces of advice together have caused some serious heartache for people whose writing has been interrupted for long periods by, well, life. Being one of the few tangible rewards for most people who write, tribal identification is highly prized, but it slips away with every day not spent writing. I’ve seen an award-winning author ask, “Am I a writer?” because she writes slowly and in spurts.

So, no. I write, but I am not a writer. I geek out, but I am not a geek. I have U.S. citizenship and take an active role in politics, but I am not an American. I am not my school, my hometown, my local sports team, my hobbies, my career, my gender, my body shape, my political beliefs, my socioeconomic status, my health issues, my pet ownership, my musical preferences, my clothing choices, my operating system. These things are part of me. I am not part of them.

I belong to no tribe.