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USA250 Journal Project
Personal Chronicle: July 4, 2025 – July 5, 2026
A gift for reflection. A record of now. A story for what’s next.
1. Who am I?
“I’m a neighbor. A witness. A woman with a kettle on and questions underlined. I run a bookstore, write a column, and walk the same block I grew up on. I believe in stories that connect us, even when the headlines try to split us apart.”
2. How did I get here?
“I stayed. That’s the short version. I watched friends chase cities and chances, but I held the ground I came from. Books kept me here. So did the view from my balcony. I’ve watched the U.S. from a polite distance all my life—and I’ve learned that proximity doesn’t mean understanding, but it does demand attention.”
Date: July 10, 2025
Entry Title: Politeness Across Borders
I took my book and my thermos of tea to Stanley Park this week. Thought I’d read under the same maple I always do. Instead, I spent the afternoon talking to a family from Ohio.
Two children, sunburned and sweet. A mother who said “I’m sorry” at least three times for things she didn’t need to.
She apologized for the president. For “how we’ve been treating you all.” For something someone on TV said about Canada last month. I told her, kindly, “It’s alright.” But I couldn’t stop thinking about it later.
We Canadians are supposed to be the polite ones, aren’t we? That’s the joke. But every American I’ve met lately carries this strange, pre-loaded guilt. Like they’re walking around bracing for judgment.
I didn’t expect to feel protective. But I did. I saw the tired in their eyes. The hunger to be liked again.
We didn’t talk politics directly. We talked about the view. The sea wall. The way the air smells near the totem poles. It felt good.
I felt most like myself when I shared directions to a used bookstore on Main Street, told them to ask for Marie, and promised there’d be cold water and poetry if they needed it.
I think the story I’m starting to tell is that, for all our fractures, connection still finds a way. Even between countries, even between strangers, even when the world feels sharp.
Sometimes we just need a park bench, a little shade, and a chance to remember what we share.
