Not Everything Is Broken
It’s not all rage and rejection. This is a love letter to the people, the bourbon, the Halloween madness, and the weird, beautiful country that shaped me.
We talk a lot about what’s broken in America — and rightly so. I’ve written about it, raged about it, and spent the last few years building an exit strategy around it.
But here’s the truth: I’m not leaving because I hate this place.
I’m leaving because I love it and I know I need something else.
And before we go, I want to say out loud what rarely gets said in these conversations — I’ll miss America. A lot.
The People (No, Really)
Not the abstract, red-white-and-blue mythologized “American people.”
I mean the actual people. The ones who mow their neighbor’s lawn without being asked. The ones who bring casseroles after surgery. The ones who barely know you but will stop to help when your car breaks down in the rain.
My neighbor is from the Midwest — the kind of guy who sees an unmowed lawn next door and just…does it. Because that’s what you do.
That spirit is everywhere, if you’re paying attention. Americans may be politically divided, socially chaotic, and terminally online — but in real life? One-on-one? They show up.
Yes, we’ve got the anti-maskers and the “mah freedoms” crowd. And yes, many of them are absolute jackasses on the internet. But even those people — even the ones yelling about Bill Gates and 5G — will still drive you to the ER if you need it. They’ll check in on their neighbors during a power outage. There’s something paradoxical and deeply human in that. And I’ll miss it.
The Audacity of It All
America is big in every sense — land, ego, ideas, chaos.
This is a country where someone can make a fortune selling nothing but cereal marshmallows. Where high school marching bands shut down entire towns on Friday nights. Where there are billboards that say “Jesus is my vaccine” next to ones for personal injury lawyers dressed as superheroes.
It’s exhausting. But it’s also kind of magnificent.
Americans believe they can do anything — even when they clearly can’t.
And there’s something undeniably charming about that level of delusion.
I’ll miss the hustle. The hope. The absolute refusal to be ordinary.
No one reinvents themselves like Americans do. No one dreams louder.
It’s beautiful and ridiculous and sometimes deeply frustrating — but I’ll carry that DNA with me, wherever we go.
The Food (If You Can Call It That)
Let’s be honest: American cuisine is a glorious mess.
A chaotic gumbo of regional obsessions, immigrant influences, fairground crimes, and childhood nostalgia.
I will miss:
Cheddar cheese on apple pie. Yes, it’s real. Yes, it works.
Gumbo in Louisiana and barbecue that sparks actual fistfights in Texas vs. Carolina vs. Kansas City.
The purity of a fish taco from a shack with one health code violation and a line down the block.
Lobster rolls in Maine, split butter vs. mayo camps like it’s a civil war.
Clam chowder. Both kinds. I said what I said.
And the strange national treasure that is…the 7-layer dip.
There is no logic. There is no unified culinary theory. And yet, it works. It’s delicious. It’s unhinged. It’s ours.
I’ll miss American food culture, which is really just a mashup of pride, improvisation, and a willingness to put peanut butter on literally anything.
School Dances, Pageants, and That Whole Suburban Fever Dream
Prom.
Homecoming.
Those weird Sadie Hawkins dances where the girls ask the boys.
Beauty pageants for five-year-olds in tiaras and enough hairspray to ruin the ozone layer.
It’s all completely messed up — and it’s also peak Americana.
I don’t miss the pressure of it. I don’t miss the class politics embedded in it. But I do miss how seriously people take it. The effort. The ritual. The entire culture around rites of passage — even when they’re absurd.
There’s something weirdly beautiful in the way Americans mark time with sequins and awkwardness.
The Sports Obsession (Even Though I Don’t Share It)
I’m not a sports guy.
But there’s something lovable about how much Americans are.
I’ve met people who’ve never been to the opera, couldn’t name a single Broadway show, and haven’t read a novel since high school — but they know every stat of every player on every team for the last three decades. And they light up when they talk about it.
It’s not just entertainment — it’s communion. Identity. Ritual.
And watching people love something with that kind of joyful devotion?
It’s hard not to admire it. I’ll miss that too.
The Land Itself
You could spend your entire life driving across America and still not see all of it.
This country is massive — not just in size, but in texture. Every state feels like its own country, with its own weird dialect, comfort food, speed limits, and gas station culture. And yet, somehow, it’s all stitched together by Waffle House, Walgreens, and weather apps screaming about tornadoes.
I’ll miss the scale. The vastness. The strange beauty of driving twelve hours in any direction and still being “home.”
The Booze (Let’s Not Lie to Ourselves)
I’m going to miss bourbon. I love bourbon. It’s my favorite libation — warm, complex, American to the core.
And while I know I’ll be surrounded by grappa and Italian amari, there’s something sacred about a glass of bourbon at the end of a long day. It tastes like storytelling and smoke. Like campfires and consequence.
And listen… I think California wine is better than Italian wine.
There. I said it.
I won’t say it out loud once I’m living in Italy, of course. I’d like to keep my friendships. But I’ll say it here, now, with full conviction. California makes extraordinary wine. And I’ll miss easy access to the good stuff.
The Holidays — Especially Halloween
Fourth of July parades. Fireworks. Sparklers that burn your fingers while you pretend it’s fine.
But Halloween… Halloween is it.
That is the most purely American holiday — weird, joyful, creative chaos. The costumes, the lawn inflatables, the fake cobwebs. The over-the-top commitment to themed parties and haunted houses in mall parking lots.
I hate Hershey’s chocolate. I do. It tastes like wax and childhood lies.
But I love the people’s dedication to Halloween — the full-send approach to dressing up, decorating, and terrorizing each other with rubber spiders. I’ll miss that madness. Deeply.
Leaving with Love
I’m not erasing America from my identity. I couldn’t if I tried.
I’m bringing it with me — the weirdness, the kindness, the grief, the gratitude. I’m bringing the neighbors who showed up, the jokes that got me through the darkest days, the wide-open roads that taught me what freedom felt like.
I’m still leaving. The systems are broken. The stakes are too high. The fear is too normal. And the version of America I’d want my kids to grow up in isn’t here anymore — or maybe never was.
But I’m not leaving with hatred.
I’m leaving with love — heavy, complicated, honest love.
And I hope wherever we land, I’ll still carry the best parts of this place with me.
What Will You Miss?
If you’ve ever thought about leaving — or have left — I’d love to know:
What will you miss? What won’t you?
What do you still love, even as you walk away?
Hit reply or leave a comment. I read every single one.
Planning Your Own Exit?
I’ve put together guides, checklists, and stories from the road at caesartheday.com. Whether you’re moving in a year or still just dreaming, you’ll find tools to help you start — and a little sanity for the journey.
You don’t have to leave out of rage.
You can leave with your whole heart.