What Traveling Taught Me About Patriotism
I was in 9th grade on September 11, 2001. Living about 75 miles outside of Washington DC, my second period class was on the exact opposite side of school from where I needed to be for my third period choir class. I was given special allowance from my teacher, Mr. Grant, to be few minutes tardy in order to make the trek to his classroom. On any other day, I’d be greeted by the sound of my classmates warming up their vocal cords as I rushed into the room; but September 11 was different. I walked into a room that was completely silent. Everyone was staring at the TV. I remember whispering to myself as I walked across the room to my seat, “Everyone is so quiet.” I noticed Mr. Grant in the back of the room at his desk. He was unusually and utterly silent. Many of my classmates’ parents worked in Washington DC for the federal government, including my own father, and many of us did not know what our parents did due to the nature of their work. We knew they worked in DC, but had no idea what building they were in. The fear my classmates were experiencing was very real, especially when The Pentagon was a target for the attacks. When the second plane hit the World Trade Center, I was already in the bathroom consoling friends who were upset about the potential danger their parents may be in. A student rushed in and yelled, “A second plane hit!” I can recall feeling so angry as I cursed at the unknown perpetrator of these attacks.
In the years that followed, I’d say I was relatively patriotic. I always felt as though I was in the presence of a celebrity any time a uniformed service member came in for lunch at the restaurant I worked at. I came to know several service members over the years, and ultimately married one. I was indoctrinated into a life of military service without having been an active-duty member myself.
It was in 2008 when things began to shift in my mentality. This was also the first year I was cognizant of a “government shut down.” I had never heard of such a thing. How could the government shut down, and potentially not pay people for their work, just because they could not, or would not, agree on the issues at hand? This concept was incomprehensible to me. This was the first time I tried to convince Bert to leave the military and move to New Zealand. “Look, they have something similar to a Peace Corps! Their country doesn’t really use a combative military like we do, because they aren’t combative! And if they get into trouble, they call Australia to help them out! How great is that?!?!” He laughed and said, “absolutely not.” I was tired of the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Having been a military girlfriend and spouse during a time of war, I was ready to live in a world where combat deployments were not commonplace. It seemed senseless.
As the years went on, particularly the past ten years, I became the definition of un-patriotic. I’ve transitioned from respecting our flag to feeling ashamed of what it might stand for. A few events have caused this slow transition, most of which revolve around racism, healthcare, LGBT+ rights, and gun laws. For years I’ve been convinced that other countries do these things better and we should take their lead for the sake of equality. How did a symbol of national pride, the American flag that we all flew on our homes and cars following 9/11, turn into a symbol that didn’t represent all of the people in our nation? I haven’t been able to make sense of it.
Cut to our first hour in Greece, 2025. We were in the car with the Uber driver and he’s telling us all about his country. If you’ve ever seen the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, this driver couldn’t have been more quintessentially Greek based on the depiction from that movie. Everything Greek was the best in the world, or the oldest in the world. “The olive oil here is the best in the world. Our diet is the best in the world. Greeks invented democracy.” It was hilarious and adorable. In all of the countries we had visited up to this point, which was about 20 at that moment, no one had been as prideful of their country as he had been. It was the breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed.
What surprised me, and what stuck with me, was what he said next. He was telling us about the financial crisis Greece has been recovering from. Due to Greece’s government mismanaging money, every Greek citizen was negatively impacted. Greeks lost jobs, lost their pensions, and many had their wages garnished to the tune of about 45% to make up for the deficit. Our driver described this very matter of factly, and ended the story by stating, “Things are getting better now.” He interrupted his story with, “That restaurant, Jackaroo, has better fried chicken than KFC!” Our driver didn’t complain about the corruption in the government, or the fact that he and his countrymen were in an extremely stressful situation at the hands of someone else for years. It’s just something that happened to them, and yet, Greece, his homeland, was still something to be marveled.
My interaction with this man reminded me what patriotism felt like. It felt so good to be with someone with so much pride of place, and I got the warm and fuzzies remembering when I felt that way so many years ago. In America today, patriotism seems to be synonymous with political affiliation. If you’re patriotic, you clearly voted on one side of the aisle, which means you’re an idiot. The polarization we have been experiencing for nearly a decade has been exhausting and, until my time in Greece, destroyed my pride for my country.
Everywhere we’ve traveled, when we’ve talked about America with non-Americans, we’ve been met with a variety of comments. “Oh, you escaped” is a common one we’ve heard. I was at the pharmacy picking up a prescription in Italy and the pharmacist charged us $15 for two medications, a bill which would be unheard of as an uninsured person in America. When I was talking about how unbelievable the price was, the pharmacist nonchalantly and somewhat aloofly said, “Yes, I know. You’re in Europe now. You’re safe from America.” This one hit me like a freight train. I’m safe from America because I’m out of it? Wow.
Of all of the conversations I’ve had from over 20 countries around the world, the overwhelming sentiment from every stranger we met was love for America, and hope that we get it worked out. Everyone can see we are going through a political and national divide, and everyone sincerely just wants us to be ok. They don’t want America to be alright for their own economic benefit. They see us calling out and struggling with each other, and they just hope we pull through it and become better on the other side.
In a million years I did not expect this trip to re-instill my sense of patriotism; however, it kind of did. America is responsible for many wonderful things throughout history. In my heart, I know this is a fact. We’ve done wonderful things as a nation. Sure, we have also been responsible for many terrible things, too, but we are not unlike anywhere else in the world. I guess I needed to see that with my own eyes. I needed to hear stories of how other countries have blemishes in their history books to affirm and validate our own. I get to choose where I spend my attention. I can choose to focus on the dark side…on the things I grossly disagree with. I can get on a tirade about how (insert politician here) is messing things up, or how the issues I hold dear are regressing. Or I can choose to focus on the positives. I don’t have to agree with social and political events to feel proud of my country’s positive contributions to the world. I needed Greece, and this trip to remind me of the truly beautiful and wonderful place I call home. I’m so grateful for this revelation, and it came just in time. I land in America five days before America’s Independence Day celebration. Maybe I’ll wear something red, white and blue.