I couldn’t get much sleep last night thinking about you. I would like to say that I was thinking of your finer parts: the Blue Ridge Mountains, bluegrass music, hugging my parents, contributing to your public education system, and your national parks….but I wasn’t.
I was thinking about Libya. And Iraq. And Afghanistan. And even Vietnam.
I was thinking about how no matter where I travel, my nationality will bring forth opinions. Everyone, everywhere will know about you. If they like you, it’s probably because: a.) they like Lady Gaga or b.) they think everyone is living a lavishly rich life “over there” or even worse, c.) they are intimidated by your tendency to bomb governments that don’t like you.
You see, the thing is, I’m not really interested in being a superpower. I don’t actually want to be known for Lady Gaga, material stuff, or military force. I’d like to travel the world just once, and after answering the question, “Oh, where are you from?”… be serenaded with the words, “Oh, I’ve heard it’s beautiful there. Can you tell me more about it, I’m afraid I don’t know much about the United States.”
But those are just pipe dreams. For now, I’ll just keep my fond memories of you in tact, and hold close to my heart all of your positive qualities.