Traditions, Interruptus

What We Keep, What We Let Go, and Why It Matters

The season of rituals is upon us! Thanksgiving dinners, holiday gatherings, year-end reflections, vision boarding for the new year, window shopping for resolutions. This is the time of the year when we all morph into living, breathing, ritualistic straw-people loosely held together by the myriad of traditions we each practice and hold so dear.

These traditions form our reality. They are the threads that tie us to our past, inform the present, and tether us from straying too far in the future —but like any thread, they can fray, evolve, or be rewoven.

In our latest episode of The XYZ, we sat down on-location with a beloved community figure—Mr. Doug Polistena, owner and GM of local catering institution, the Amber Room Colonnade—to explore the topic of evolving traditions, what we hold onto, what we've let go of, and how those choices shape not just our families, but our workplaces and communities.

You can listen/watch the full episode here.

Over nearly two decades, Doug has seen every kind of event come through his doors: weddings, baptisms, quinceañeras, holiday parties, corporate events, galas, retirement celebrations, and the list goes on. Hell, we just hosted a ladies-only LEGO building event there, and for sure that was a first! There is no shortage of examples showing how traditions have evolved over time. Doug will tell you he has witnessed changes from the ways we "show up" to what we serve to what we wear to who we invite to the language we use to the swag we do (or don't) send home with guests.

But the why behind our need to come together in celebration of so many distinct traditions remains remarkably stable over time. And refreshingly human. Because it all comes down to connection.

It is a fickle blessing of our modern time that we find ourselves more of an abundance of opportunities to connect with one another digitally and instantly than ever before in the history of humanity yet struggle to find any reliable source of meaningful human connection.

Traditions offer brief, blunt pushback to that impact.

Think about it - if you slow down and require yourself to answer - like really, truly answer - the self-queries we all feel, especially around the holidays, such as: why am I pulling my hair out to make sure this meal goes perfectly? or why am I pushing the entire family to the brink by insisting we visit both sides of the family in one afternoon? or why does it feel like failure if I cater my meal instead of cook it from scratch? - I'd wager that most people would end up with answers similar to mine. You're not doing any of it because you're a martyr or glutton for self-induced stress. You're doing it because you want to make your parents/grandparents/in-laws happy. You're doing it because it is an easy and convenient means to see a lot of people all at once. You're doing it because it warms you with nostalgia. You're doing it because in a world that makes less and less sense, returning to "what is familiar" helps orient us.

So, no matter the headaches and trivialities that our traditions bring, we keep coming back to them because they give us a chance to connect with our loved ones - or even our estranged ones - and reconnect with past versions of ourselves.

When you marry into a large, vibrant Greek family, traditions are the main thru-line. It is a culture, a la so many others, where tradition is so strong and the proud, and protective echoes of the past are so loud that they converge to form an unflappable cultural identity. There's church traditions, food traditions, holiday traditions, and a million micro-tradition spin-offs. They're all important in their own way and they each serve a purpose - at least in theory - and as a result, the tolerance for adaptation varies depending on circumstance.

In short, there is no escaping tradition - and for that, I am grateful. I've inherited countless traditions - by blood and relation - and I consider myself insanely fortunate. With age, though, comes a critical thinking awakening that dials down the blind obedience of tradition. Which is to say, we have pushed over the years for progress, for flexibility, for trying new things, for widening the palette. And, it's been largely successful. But, what has always fascinated me is the push/pull that exists. On one hand, especially when you are growing your own small family unit, you crave the chance to make your OWN traditions, not defined by the generations before you. The desire to advance your own agenda and expand your extended family's horizons. On the other hand, the fear of being the first ones who buck decades of expectations and/or the fear of missing out on such a pivotal shared familial experience can easily silence your most indignant cries for autonomy and pull you right back into the crowded dining room.

Look, all of this matters because I am no less disconnected and lonely than the next midlife working parent of young children, so my energy and capacity for connection-making is low, very low actually. So, I consider myself dually fortunate to have so many built-in, homegrown traditions that force me - and yes, sometimes it does feel like work - to connect with others. I may sometimes moan and groan or roll my eyes in advance, but I have never, ever come out the other side wishing I hadn't partaken.

And maybe that’s the whole point. Traditions aren’t meant to be perfect—they’re meant to be persistent. We torpedo ourselves by keeping our eye on the altogether wrong ball. They shouldn't be measured by Pinterest-worthy place settings or whether the stuffing has walnuts (but it shouldn't, to be clear). The true measure is who shows up. How often we laugh or sigh in familiar rhythm. How deeply we allow ourselves to feel that elusive sense of belonging, even if only for a moment between dessert and dishes or between tone deaf comments between generations around the table.

So this season, may your traditions—old or new, inherited or invented—serve as gentle nudges toward connection. Whether you’re gathering around a fire pit or a folding table, carving a turkey or crafting a new memory from scratch, I hope you find warmth in the ritual of it all.

Even if your stuffing does have walnuts. Which again, it really shouldn't.