I grew up walking along the shores of Lake Erie in Cleveland, Ohio. I've watched the waves roll in during summer storms and stared out over the frozen water in winter — and never once did I stop to think, "I'm grateful I don't see warships on the horizon."
I didn't know that was something a person could be grateful for.
Then I covered Ukraine and the Middle East — and everything changed.
This past Thanksgiving was the first I've celebrated in three years. Most of my time since 2022 has been spent in Israel, Gaza, Ukraine, the Baltic states and other tense corners of the world. Sitting at the dinner table with my parents, who have watched me stand up from holidays and walk out of weddings to cover whatever calamity struck next, felt different this year.
For dessert, I skipped the cookies and instead served myself a slice of humble pie. It took 29 years for it to fully sink in how much I'd taken for granted.
I was 25 the first time I went to Ukraine. Before the flight, I was convinced I understood the world — armed with a good college thesis, a few dense books and, if I'm honest, more TikToks than I'd like to admit. One day in Ukraine taught me I had a lot to learn. One day in the Middle East taught me I didn't know much of anything.
Everywhere I go — Hungary, Latvia, Morocco, Qatar, Brazil, India, South Korea — I get one or two questions answered, and 10 new ones take their place. But the one thing I've gained is an overwhelming gratitude for being an American, because I had no idea how much I had to be grateful for.
So yes, I'm grateful that Lake Erie has no enemy warships. Ukrainians living on the Black Sea would give anything to say the same.
I'm grateful we were snowed in on Thanksgiving. Israelis from the southern kibbutzim would trade places in a heartbeat.
I'm grateful when the snowplows in Cleveland can't keep up, and the streets turn into an icy slip-and-slide. It certainly beats entire blocks of Gaza lying in rubble.
I'm grateful the Cleveland Browns seem determined to break our hearts — and then break ground on a new stadium outside the city limits in 2026. I'd rather be us than the Estonians who spent this summer digging anti-tank trenches along their border with Russia. The odds of an invasion here are zero. I never thought to give thanks for that.
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