There was a stretch of years in my 20’s when I struggled with whether or not one could be authentically grateful in a world with so much injustice. The more aware I became, the more tainted were the ‘blessings’ I enjoyed. Gratitude, it seemed, involved temporarily closing one’s eyes to the bad stuff and giving thanks that, despite it all, me and the people I most love have got it pretty good. It didn’t help that our national holiday of Thanksgiving could also be told as a story of disaster and loss for American Indians.
But I no longer think this way.
Specifically...