Lucky Enough

A Note: I first wrote this piece on July 29, 2010. Sixteen years later, I still feel much the same. With the celebration of America's 250th birthday, I've been thinking about what America means to me. The answer isn't political—it's hopeful.

America is possibility. It's believing that where you begin doesn't have to determine where you end up. It's welcoming beautiful stories from different places and recognizing that our differences don't diminish us—they enrich us. I believe one of the greatest things about this country is the people who make it home.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, Miss America, and the first female President of the United States. (Not necessarily in that order.)

I really thought I could be all of those things. (Let's be honest—I still do.) If I dreamed big, worked hard, and made the right choices, it could happen.

You see, I was lucky enough to be born in a country where anything is possible. I was lucky enough to be born to a woman who made me believe anything was possible.

I grew up. I became a professional cheerleader (not for the Cowboys), participated in a pageant (not Miss America), obtained my degree, worked hard, fell in love, and had children. And although I'm not currently running for president (I'm just too busy right now to take on the responsibility of running a country), I still believe a woman will be president in my lifetime.

I have been lucky indeed.

Unfortunately, not everyone shares the same fortune. Mothers carry their babies across scorching deserts. Fathers and sons say goodbye, knowing they may never see one another again as they embark on treacherous journeys in search of something better—a better life, a little more hope, a little more luck.

I was an undocumented immigrant once. Really.

In between cheerleading, pageants, and deciding when to run for president, I scurried off to live in Mexico. No visa. No green card. Just a cute outfit, my summer savings, and lots of luggage.

My first apartment was home to flying cockroaches the size of cars. My second (and last) living arrangement was a tiny closet-like room with a mattress on the floor.

I loved it.

Why? Because the people were some of the kindest and most genuine I had ever known. They would have given me the shirt off their backs and their last piece of bread. They lived simply—and they were happy.

When I decided to leave, it was with great mixed emotions. I wanted to see my family, but I would miss the family and life I had grown to love. I cried the whole way home.

The entire time I was there, I was never made to feel unwelcome—even when I worked in their industry or struggled with their language. Instead, I watched American tourists behave poorly and become frustrated when their waiter couldn't speak English.

Now, years later, I find myself watching my fellow Americans struggle to see one another's humanity. It's hard to even breathe with all the hate floating through the air.

I understand immigration is complicated. I understand laws matter and that solutions are necessary. But I also understand that behind every headline is a person—a mother, a father, a son, a daughter—hoping for something better.

I can't blame anyone for wanting a better life for themselves or their children. Most of us are here because someone, somewhere, hoped for the very same thing.

I'm a dreamer. A romantic. An optimist. I truly want this planet to be a kinder place. I believe that, together, we are capable of extraordinary things if we can learn to extend a little more grace and a little less judgment.

I'm not smart enough to know all of the answers. But I do know that hate has never solved much of anything.

Whether you are Republican, Democrat, Independent, a believer, a non-believer, or a believer in the Jolly Green Giant—we have to come together and figure out what is best for this great country and for humankind.

May we all bless America.

“Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.”

- Maya Angelou

xo, Mindy

Where We Return