Becoming American

Freedom, Citizenship, and the Complexity of Home

"I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free."
– From Lee Greenwood’s patriotic anthem “God Bless the U.S.A.” (1984)

This lyric, so often quoted around July 4th, hits differently when you’ve spent your life navigating what “freedom” really means – especially as someone raised in a country that also values freedom, but defines and expresses it in profoundly different ways.

In early 2025 – after living in the U.S. for nearly 30 years – I finally submitted my application for U.S. citizenship.

It’s a peculiar time in history to make that kind of choice. A time of tension, division, and decline. And still, I am consciously choosing. Partly, because I have the freedom to do so.

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Entering America (Again)

Coming back through U.S. customs this June after my 50th birthday odyssey abroad – Greece, then Norway – was jarring. Not because of the lines or the agents, but because of what was in the news:

• National Guard deployments in California marked a dramatic domestic use of military force.

• A $45 million military parade that just happened to coincide with Donald Trump’s birthday – the largest peacetime display of military force in U.S. history. All while cutting 80,000 Veterans Affairs jobs.

• “No Kings” protests across the country on June 14th, the day of the parade and the President’s birthday.

• The growing normalization of authoritarian rhetoric and nationalist spectacle.

This wasn’t just a spectacle – it was a statement. Experts see this as part of a broader authoritarian playbook – one that normalizes the blurring of military and civilian life.

The juxtaposition, fresh from the relatively quiet streets and egalitarian culture of Norway, was disorienting. It felt like watching a country drift toward something unrecognizable. Something that, historically, we’ve promised ourselves we would never become.

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Norway: My First Home, My First Freedom

I didn’t flee war, poverty, or persecution. I left Norway in my early 20s for adventure, following in my Dad’s footsteps, fueled by my own curiosity – and I stayed for love. I came here because I could.

Norway is a peaceful constitutional monarchy built on values of cooperation, mutual respect, and the public good. Yes, we do have a king, who is widely regarded as a “moral authority” rather than a political one. Norway's monarchy has limited power and is quite a contrast to the U.S. president who wields vastly more real power and symbolic military presence.

Growing up in Norway, we had a strong welfare state, public healthcare, and access to world-class education – all free. We had allemannsretten, the right to roam: public access to nature, no matter who owns the land. And no waterfronts walled off by private ownership.

I grew up watching Gro Harlem Brundtland lead our country as the first female Prime Minister, renowned for her leadership in health, environmental protection, and gender equity. I never once thought I couldn’t do or be something because I was a girl.

These were quiet freedoms – foundational, assumed – woven into the fabric of daily life. In many ways, they were invisible to me until I left.

Privilege is Contextual

We weren’t wealthy. In Norway, I was a kid in a big, chaotic family where money was tight, and everyone worked young. I got my first summer job at 11. If I wanted anything beyond the basics, I earned it.

But in hindsight, I was deeply privileged. Just by being born where and to whom I was, I had things that many natural-born Americans don’t:

• I had stable housing.

• I had unconditional love.

• I had unlimited access to nature.

• I had high-quality, free education.

• I had an assumed sense of belonging.

I didn’t know these were privileges until I lived in the U.S. long enough to see how unequally such things are distributed here.

As Gro Harlem Brundtland once said:

“Economies are stalling. Ecosystems are under siege. Inequality – within and between countries – is soaring. These afflictions are clearly rooted in political short-sightedness, where narrow interests triumph over common interests, common responsibilities and common sense."

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Why Now?

For many years, I didn’t apply for U.S. citizenship even though I could. Norway didn’t allow dual citizenship – and giving up my Norwegian identity wasn’t on the table.

That changed in 2020, when Norway quietly shifted to allow de facto dual citizenship. The U.S. has always permitted it. As a green card holder, a “legal alien” who had met the requirements, I was eligible to obtain U.S. Citizenship and now could do so without losing my status as a Norwegian. And yet, I still didn’t apply. Life was busy, the process daunting.

But 2025 felt different. With growing anti-immigrant sentiment, new restrictions, and increasing stories of green card holders being denied reentry or renewal, I felt urgency. Not fear exactly – but a need to secure my place in the home I’ve built here.

Since April 17, my online application has the following status:

“Case Is Being Actively Reviewed By USCIS.”

And so, I wait – with time to reflect.

(Since initially drafting this essay, I received notice my citizenship interview is scheduled this August  in Helena, Montana, and suddenly the journey ahead is vivid, no longer theoretical.)

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What Does It Mean to Be “American”?

This country has been my home longer than Norway. But that word – American – is complex.

Am I American because I pay taxes here? If I own property here? If I vote (which I’ve never been able to do as a non-citizen permanent resident)?

Am I American because I’ve built a business here, struggled, healed, and rebuilt here?

Or is it something else – a belief, a hope, a commitment?

America has always been a paradox:

• A country founded on freedom, built through genocide and slavery.

• A beacon of opportunity, riddled with inequality.

• A place that makes room for reinvention, and often punishes those who dare to dream and be “different.”

I’ve spent nearly 30 years watching this modern empire evolve – and, in some ways, unravel.

I’ve seen grace, generosity, innovation, and strength. I’ve also seen cruelty, complacency, and fear.

And yet, I’m still here. Still choosing to belong. Still building a life – and still finding home.

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Independence Day: What Are We Celebrating?

So here we are: July 4th.

A holiday meant to celebrate independence, liberty, and the founding of a nation.
But maybe this year, it’s worth asking:

• Who gets to be free?

• What are we truly independent from?

• What kind of nation are we building now?

For me, this year is not just about fireworks and hot dogs. It’s about reckoning. About choosing. About belonging, with eyes wide open.

I’m Norwegian. I’m American (official status still TBD). I’m human.

And I’m choosing both identities. I’m choosing to claim the fullness of my experience – to keep showing up, speaking up, and staying rooted in curiosity, even when the ground feels shaky.

Because home isn’t just where you’re from. It’s where you’re becoming.

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Reflections – Your Turn

• What does freedom mean to you today?

• Where are you choosing to belong, even when it’s complicated?

• What privileges have you only recognized in hindsight?

• In this country of mythic freedom, do we recognize when spectacle becomes statement?