After I write something as negative and cynical as the last entry, I find myself with a case of regret the next day, like I overstated the feelings and want to take some of it back. But the remorse eventually passes and I end up not wanting to take any of it back. It’s what I’ve felt for a long time—that it seems like we’re motivated by shallow things here in America.
What have we fought to protect? What way of life are we supposed to be so dedicated to dying for? Is what we have now what the founding fathers envisioned? Because sometimes it has the feel of a runaway train that’s bouncing down the tracks, too caught up in acquiring things and only reinforcing the difficulty of being even a little selfless.
America exists in reality and as an ideal. The ideal has only been partially realized. There is a long way to go before we are what many come here hoping to find.
3 Cents' 