A nation of, by, and for builders
...if we can keep it
As I reflect on what Independence Day means to me, an emotionally fraught ticker tape of memories and associations passes through my mind.
Particularly this year, which marks the 30th anniversary of my life in the USA, I think back to my first days as an American: to my first sighting of Lady Liberty at age 7, as we flew into JFK from Odessa, Ukraine (by way of Moscow) and I proudly waved “hello” to her, proclaiming the one phrase I knew how to say in English at that time (“My name is Gena!”); to the swirly, rainbow-colored Mickey Mouse lollipop—the largest, fanciest piece of candy I’d ever seen up to that moment—which I prevailed upon my parents to buy for me at the airport, and which became the first in a seemingly endless torrent of unimaginable luxuries of the free world, even as my dad (an engineer by background) went to work as a pizza delivery guy so we could afford garage sale clothes. Everything seemed somehow b…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Psychology of Ambition to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.