How a blind man helped me see more clearly

While on a narrow-boat trip through the canals of England in 2018, I met Anthony and his guide dog, a black Lab named Harry. Being so far away from my own beloved black Lab, I was naturally drawn to Harry. I was left to my own as my travel companions had ventured off into a used and vintage clothing store, so I wandered over and introduced myself to Harry and his owner.

Most days, Harry guides Anthony along the winding, narrow, busy streets of Bradford-on-Avon to the quaint Shambles Coffee Shop, which is located at one end of a short pedestrian street. If the weather is nice, Anthony sits outside and enjoys a fresh cup of coffee. The woman who runs the small fresh produce market on the corner will then treat Harry to a carrot. Anthony told me that on the days his friend is not working, Harry is quite reluctant to leave without his carrot.

When Anthony learned that I was from Canada, he shared that while he had never been, he would dearly love someday to visit Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland. For a moment, I was lost for words. My mind had immediately fixated on what I perceived Anthony would miss, and this saddened me.

Standing there on that ancient cobbled street, I thought of where I was — my mind immediately pictured the beautiful lush countryside, the ancient churches I had recently visited, and the faces of the people and animals I had met. Then when I thought of my travels to Newfoundland, what came readily to mind was the rugged beauty of Gros Morne National Park. And home was our stunning shoreline, quaint fishing villages and sandy beaches. Anthony would see none of this.

I have become aware of what might be the most coveted gift to help endure this pandemic — the ability to find great joy in the simplest pleasures and have a deep appreciation for the small things in life.— Adrian Smith

In the recent days of COVID-19, I have found myself reflecting on my brief encounter with Anthony and trying to imagine how he would see our world during these troubling times. And I would contemplate what he taught me: I could only imagine what a person's voice would mean to a visually impaired person, and how the tone of what was said would mean as much if not more than what words were actually spoken. And I thought of how we all have been seeking out a sense of reassurance and conviction in the voices of our leaders and advisors.

Celebrating what he has

Having no visual sight to read another person's actions, their behaviours, facial expressions and body posture, I can only imagine that Anthony would come to rely more strongly on his intuition, learning to trust his sense of another person's energy or spirit rather than relying on a person's looks or possessions — coming to know a person for who they truly are as opposed to the image he or she may want to present to the world. And being so vulnerable in certain aspects of life, acts of kindness would be a true measure of another person's worth.

I have a sense that trust must play a tremendous role in Anthony's life. How Anthony would have come to know his world through a sense of touch, feeling beauty, possessing such a heightened capacity for sensuality. A touch would be far more than a touch. I respect and admire the sense of healing that touch could bring. And his need for clear, open communication — a lesson many of us could all benefit to learn.

Anthony would not see the colour of a person's skin. Black is white is brown is red — he would have a far better chance to live a life void of racism.

Later that spring morning, in Bradford-on-Avon, I crossed paths with Anthony and Harry once more as we three were crossing the same street. I reintroduced myself, and once we were on the other side, we stopped and spoke like old friends at a chance reunion. It was there again, that most beautiful trait of his, a smile that was so warm, so trusting.

Upon my reflections, I have become aware of what might be the most coveted gift to help endure this pandemic — the ability to find great joy in the simplest pleasures and have a deep appreciation for the small things in life.

I believe that Anthony upon visiting Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland would feel the beauty of these places and come to know the spirit of the land and its people. I was touched, I remain touched, by how he saw the world that I live in and too often take for granted. Anthony doesn't fixate on what he might miss; he celebrates and honours what he has.

His teachings, his vulnerability, his trust were all lessons so relevant for this era of uncertainty — great reminders of how I might want to live. I felt blessed to have met him.

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