On Being American
So there I was, at an intersection in Albuquerque, barked at by two guys in a shitty, broke down truck. It was a beautiful, sunny day. I was out for a run. They told me to go the fuck back home.
It goes without saying, this is not how you should welcome someone to town. Simple hello’s usually suffice. Or, just minding your business and leaving people the hell alone.
As with similar encounters, they came through quickly, rounded the corner, and drove off into oblivion. If I were to guess, I’d say they burned through a few Marlboro reds, and while having a good laugh in the truck, felt really great about being so effing ‘merican, putting another oriental in his place.
This would become my most compelling memory of Albuquerque, destined for the subconscious, to be etched deeply, and indefinitely. Although it warranted nothing more than a simple dismissal, the impeccable timing of it all, that really struck a chord. Now two decades later, I often find myself ruminating about that sunny day, working through the details, realizing so many others are still being treated the same damn way.
You see, I’d just left my home a few days before that, most of my belongings packed in the back of a Tacoma. I’d said my goodbyes over the course of a few months, parted ways with everything I’d known, even leaving behind a comfy cubicle in corporate America.
I was on a pilgrimage of sorts to Alabama, headed toward Montgomery to answer a calling, after the events of 9/11. It was a deep, engaging, powerful calling. Undeniable and impossible to ignore. Prompted by patriotism and self-sacrifice, feelings of guilt and a desire to make reparations for things that happened well before me, a war from years past that consequently sent me to the States. That was actually the first time I’d left home.
Turns out, I didn’t cower to those clowns in their shitty truck. Instead, I kept on moving. Not just down the street, but all the way across our amazing world, through a distinguished eight years of military service, paying no mind to others who would subsequently bark and threaten, if only from afar.
In doing so, I crossed paths with the greatest of people, a handful of whom I would do anything for. I logged countless memories of travels and wild discoveries, and saw with my own eyes, stories of life and living. It was time well spent in the service of this country, but more so a moving verse on universal acknowledgement, listening to your inner self, intentionally leaving the familiar for the unfamiliar.
I think about Albuquerque not with contempt and anger, but with subdued appreciation and cautious optimism. Truth be told, we all have choices to make, choices that’ll affect our lives for years to come. Whether to see the world from the standpoint of us versus them, or to find the strength to live with selfless generosity and hope.
That, by the way, is what it means to be American. Fuck those guys in their shitty truck.
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