Every Thanksgiving, we all write down three things we're

In the words of Debby Ryan, we glimpse a ritual both playful and profound: “Every Thanksgiving, we all write down three things we’re thankful for and put them in a hat. Then we pass the hat around the dinner table and everyone has to guess who wrote what!” What appears at first to be a simple family tradition reveals, upon reflection, a truth as old as humanity itself—that gratitude, when spoken aloud and shared, strengthens the bonds of kinship, transforms the ordinary meal into sacred fellowship, and teaches the heart to see blessings even in the smallest of things.

The essence of this tradition lies in the act of writing down gratitude. For words unspoken may fade like morning mist, but words written endure, carrying weight and permanence. To write is to declare, to inscribe into memory the treasures we hold dear. And in writing not one, but three blessings, the heart is trained to search deeper than the obvious, to dig beneath surface joys and uncover the quiet gifts that sustain us. This practice, repeated yearly, becomes a liturgy of the family table.

Yet Ryan’s ritual does not end with writing; it continues in the passing of the hat. This act transforms thanksgiving into a shared mystery. Each paper becomes a clue to the soul of a loved one, an intimate glimpse into what they hold most precious. Laughter, surprise, and recognition mingle as family members guess whose gratitude belongs to whom. In this guessing, bonds are tightened, for to recognize another’s joy is to know them more deeply. Gratitude thus ceases to be private and becomes communal.

This tradition recalls the ancient symposia of Greece, where philosophers and poets would gather at a common table, not only to feast but to share reflections on life, virtue, and the gods. In such gatherings, food nourished the body, but words nourished the soul. Ryan’s family ritual is a modern echo of these feasts, for around their Thanksgiving table, sustenance is joined with storytelling, and gratitude becomes the banquet’s richest dish.

There is also in this practice a profound lesson of humility. For when each slip of paper is read aloud, gratitude is unmasked as universal: one may give thanks for health, another for family, another for a moment of laughter or the warmth of a home. No matter how grand or small, each offering holds equal weight. The game of guessing who wrote what reminds us that gratitude transcends status, that joy is found not in wealth or fame alone, but in the simple gifts shared by all.

The lesson for us is clear: we must not let gratitude remain locked in the heart, nor should we keep it hidden in silence. To write it, to speak it, to share it, is to magnify its power. When gratitude is spoken in community, it multiplies, binding people together and turning the ordinary table into holy ground.

Practically, this means adopting similar rituals of shared thanksgiving in our own lives. At meals, in gatherings, or even in quiet circles of friends, let us name our blessings aloud. Write them, exchange them, let them be guessed and laughed over. In this way, gratitude ceases to be an individual act and becomes a collective song, harmonizing many voices into one.

Thus the wisdom of Debby Ryan’s tradition shines: the hat passed around the table is more than a vessel for paper slips—it is a chalice of memory, humility, and joy. Within it, gratitude is gathered, mixed, and shared, until it no longer belongs to one person alone, but to all. And so we are reminded: give thanks, not silently only, but openly, joyfully, and together—for in shared gratitude lies the truest feast.