American

Lately, this fact has come to my attention:

I am an American.

As obvious as this statement sounds, it has only been brought to my attention in the last year or so. Before then, it didn't matter. When I was at Purdue, in a group I identified myself by what I studied. And then in DC, I identified myself with where I went to college. And then in Korea (amongst friends), it was by my home state. Amongst my colleagues and students, it was by saying I was from "near Chicago" (because they had no idea where Indiana was). And finally here, circling the globe amidst travellers from every corner of the world, I have simply become "American".

This makes me uneasy. Am I proud to be American? I'm still figuring it out.

I would venture to say that almost everyone in the world (who has access to the global news) cares about America. They care about the President. They care about the election. They care about the war. I can't escape it. The mere mention of my nationality brings up heated debates among people who haven't lived there, can't vote and generally have no voice to be heard in the situation.

And I'm expected to defend my country and my people. My label is "American", and it represents something that 95% of the world either disagrees with or finds fault with. Some of the time, I agree with their complaints. Some of the time I laugh it off. After all, there's not much I can do but listen to them.

But I can't seem to find the line between between loving my country and loving "being American". Other citizens can love their countries; if an Italian man is proud to be Italian and defends such a right, he is patriotic, perhaps even noble. If an American is proud to be as such and defends America, many times he ends up looking like a jerk.

I love my rights. I love my freedoms. I love my opportunities and my big, American dreams. I love that literally, anything is possible. I love that I belong somewhere. I love that I have a home. I love that there are people who stand beside me and defend me. I love that I have a voice and that I am heard.

And I appreciate the people I meet and the people I call friends who have grace for America and its sons and daughters.

So, after all of this processing, I still don't know if I'm proud to represent all that America stands for.

But I am certainly not ashamed to call myself "an American".