A Thanksgiving like no other: Finding uplift in a dark year
In the 1980s, Andrew Oram, fresh from college, won a small fellowship enabling him to build his own bicycle and then pedal it across Europe. He carried a camera; he took pictures. Until one day when he found himself along the rolling coast of what was then Yugoslavia – near Rab maybe, or Split, he’s no longer sure.
Like always, he grinded the uphills, flew the downs, and spun the twisty flats. The usual, except that on this day the sunlight was unlike any he’d seen, the turquoise sea so clear that floating skiffs seemed to rest on air. On this day, he found himself in the most beautiful place he’d ever been.
He reached for his camera.
“And suddenly I said to myself, ‘Andy, are you really seeing what’s in front of you? Or are you taking a picture of it so you can show people at home?’
“I realized some part of what I was doing – had been doing the whole trip – was interfering with my seeing, my being in the moment. ‘When’s the next time you’ll be on the Dalmatian Coast?’ I asked myself.” (Answer to date: never.)
He put the camera down. And that evening, when he reached town, he mailed it home. He rode on without it.
Why is Mr. Oram, a longtime friend of mine, telling us this story now, when asked about Thanksgiving at a time when a lot of Americans are finding it harder than usual to be thankful?
He pauses, says nothing for a spell. He lives in Keene, New Hampshire, now with his wife and daughter. He works as a personal finance coach. Outside the leaves have fallen, the soil turned hard. His small city has seen few COVID-19 cases yet
2020, our “annus horribilis”A salve during moments of great affliction“We’re bonded like never before”An expectation to be grateful
