I have lived long enough in two countries to know that no place stays frozen in time.

I was fourteen when I left England. Old enough to remember the cadence of it. The quiet politeness. The way neighbors acknowledged one another, even if only with a nod. When I visit now, it feels different. Faster. Sharper around the edges.

America was the country that shaped my adulthood. I married here. Raised my daughter here. Built a life here. And for a long time, it felt steady.

Not perfect. But steady.

I remember strangers smiling in the grocery aisle. Drivers lifting a hand from the steering wheel in passing. Neighbors who disagreed about politics but still borrowed sugar and returned it with a laugh and a “thank you, love.”

We had differences. But we also had a shared understanding that the person across from us still had value.

Lately, that feels thinner.

Conversations feel guarded. Opinions feel dangerous. Disagreement feels personal. Somewhere along the way, it seems we began equating disagreement with dismissal — as though if someone does not share our view, they must lack intelligence, compassion, or character.

I don’t believe that’s true.

I was raised in a faith that taught me every person bears the image of God. Others may not use that language, but many were raised with similar foundations — respect your elders, be kind, treat people as you wish to be treated. The source may differ, but the principle was the same.

Now I sometimes wonder if we’ve forgotten how to sit across from one another without our guard up.

Perhaps every generation says this. Perhaps this is simply what change feels like when you are no longer twenty.

But I miss the wave from passing drivers.
I miss assuming goodwill.
I miss believing that disagreement did not automatically mean division.

I still love this country. I chose it. That matters to me.

But loving something does not mean pretending it hasn’t changed.

Maybe the better question is not “What happened to us?”
Maybe it’s “How do we remember who we are?”

Perhaps we begin small.
A smile. A wave. A conversation without accusation.

It’s not naïve to believe those things matter.

It might be the only place to start.

– Kate