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| From my float down the Deschutes River |
Identity is often thought of as this fixed sort of thing and I also find that my identity shifts depending on location. Being on the West Coast, I cling to traits of an East Coaster - relishing the word "wicked" and venting about the humidity and unfriendly, abrupt, and grumpy people over there. When in Scotland, I become an American - searching for tasty beer, using "awesome", and defending aspects of America's worldview and culture to people. When in developing countries, I become a Westerner - mindful of individualism, efficiency, and competition. When on the East Coast, I either become a New Englander in New Jersey or a Jersey-er in New England or a Northerner in the South.
Being an American boils down to these instances at times (for me):
I ask for coffee "to go" when abroad and walk with it in hand, down the street - and notice that I am the only person on the street doing this - and I feel, for some strange reason, satisfied.
I pass through Times Square and feel this energy in the air - this vibe that I attribute to an "immigrant energy" or "anything is possible" still alive from all the people who first entered through there, and still do. As I look around the streets, I can't get over the incredibly diverse amount of people walking alongside yellow taxis and beneath hovering skyscrapers.
On the red dirt road of Uganda, I listen to my big white original Ipod while walking to my homestay. I can see tall shadows in the dirt of a couple boys following behind me. I stop and let them listen and they are beside themselves - squealing and laughing until they run away.
I buy a Vitamin Water and a pack of gum. I don't know what exactly is in a Vitamin Water but revel in the creative description on the label and the idea that they're created for different moods and personalities. I chew this gum that I know will last longer than any other international kind.
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I'd like to say I feel proud to be an American (and I do), but at the same time, I didn't do anything to become it. I feel grateful to have grown up here. Despite traveling other places - and really loving life there, too - there's something about coming home. I like my life here and I also struggle with it sometimes - the consumerism, white noise, stale air of shopping centers, not to mention a variety of other "issues". I get angry with Americans and I love them, too. When I see a person dressed and painted with red, white, and blue, waving that American flag and drinking a beer, I think, "Yep - I get that!"
Cheers to this big ole mess of a crazy country.
