Independence Day: Being British On July 4th

Thank God for the United States of America.

Rather oddly, people always assume that Independence Day is difficult for me. A day of mourning, throughout which I hide in a darkened room and drown my sorrows in mortified silence.

“You’re British! Happy Independence Day!” they’ll often say — sometimes in jest, sometimes in a bizarre attempt at an insult, as if I should be personally offended that the country I voluntarily moved to gained independence hundreds of years ago from the long-dead ruler of a now-unrecognizable nation.

In reality, for me, Independence Day is about as far from offensive as possible.

Again, I choose to live here. As a result — in the same way that converts to a religion are often more enthusiastic and/or devout than those who happen to have been born into the same religion — my continued presence in the United States of America is based on this continuously-justified choice, built not only on the personal fact that this country has offered me opportunities I would have struggled to find elsewhere, but the historical fact that the United States remains beautifully unique in its fundamental meaning.