I am American.

I grew up in rural America, the belt where Jerry Springer casting crews recruited from. We were poor. Big Pharma benefitted from our ignorance and desperation, but I was happy. By historical accounts and definitions, I am a beneficiary of the American Dream. I left that small town and entered a big city with youth and ignorance on my side. I got lucky with job offers. I worked hard. I got an education and moved up the ranks. I am now white collar and middle class with a big mortgage, nice cars, and a 529 plan for my own kid. My family would say I made it big, all thanks to the endless opportunity and expansion offered in America.

Today, I'm at the age where I have more questions than answers. I am still young at heart, but the old soul has hints of restlessness and skepticism laced in the playfulness of my being.

As we approach America's 250th year of independence, I am attending the local events, the reenactments, the celebrations. The child in me still loves the celebrations, the plays, the stories. The adult in me sees the hidden agendas and the messiness of both the people and the events.

I look at our founding fathers as flawed, often ignorant people, and with a little awe at how they decided that death by treason was preferable to oppression from a government across an ocean. They were making decisions during a time when democrats had guns and republicans had decorum. This was a different country. Many of them lost their lives, their wealth, their land for something they refused to tolerate one more season. They knew the possible outcomes and fought anyway. I am not sure how many of my fellow Americans would weigh those odds today and take the same bet.

I am sure that none of our billionaires would. Zuckerberg is not funding a ghost army because he cannot stomach the government. Nor are Altman, Cook, or any others. Most of us regular Americans are not putting our houses and savings up either. That is why I am astonished they did something bigger than themselves. I am not sure we have the energy or courage left to do something that bold today.

I remember hearing the pride in the voices around me that the state I was raised in sat under the Mason Dixon line. I repeated it without knowing what it meant until a kind friend in a new city took my ignorance for innocence and gave me the chance to know better and to learn more. After that, there was no ignorance excuse. Not that I needed one. So now, I see what those stories used to leave out.

It's not lost on me that the same hands that signed the founding document built economies on human capital. Enslaved people saw a better future in aligning with King George than in supporting the local owners fighting a revolution that would not benefit them. The voices once silenced are walking into center stage now, and the country is better for hearing them. Kudos to the organizers for that!

I still take pride in being American, even though the list of things I am proud of within the country is shrinking by the day. I will keep going to the events, writing my congress members, voting in local elections. I will be kind to my neighbors and politely tell them I am not interested in talking about politics, religion, or sports for that matter. But I love their dog. Their lawn looks great. I thank them for the homemade apple butter every season and return the container with reindeer chow at Christmas.

I love the imperfect history. I am appalled at how ignorant we have been, how greedy we have been, and how many wrong decisions we have made and keep making. I also celebrate the small wins, push us to be better tomorrow, and am moved by the brave choices of the generations who got us this far in spite of ourselves.

I am not brave enough to push for a revolution. I am brave enough to call us on our bullshit. I will research my heritage with love for it and shame for my family's personal history while refusing to perpetuate the problems of the past. That is a coherent place to stand, and it is where this series is written from. The essays that follow are field reports. The Enemy. The Patriot. The Human Capital of America.

So, I achieved the American Dream. I left the small town, got the education, built the career, bought the house, opened the 529. By every measure my grandparents would recognize, I made it. By the measures I am starting to question, I'm not so sure what "making it" was supposed to mean.

I am American. Pull up a chair. Let's talk.