When I was 16, I left my small German hometown for a high school year in the United States. It was the opportunity of a lifetime—and it delivered. I fell head over heels for American culture: the people, the energy, the way life seemed to hum with possibility. Everywhere I went, from crowded city streets to sleepy suburbs, I was met with kindness. People didn’t just tolerate me—a kid still figuring out where he belonged—they embraced me.

One moment still burns bright in my memory. In a classroom, our teacher asked, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” A girl raised her hand and said she’d become a model. A boy grinned and announced he’d make it big with his band. I was floored. In Germany, dreams like that stayed locked away, muffled by the fear of failure and the weight of practicality. But here? Americans had the audacity to say it out loud. It hit me: maybe that’s why the U.S. gave us Silicon Valley, Hollywood, and so many of modernity’s giants. That boldness wasn’t just youthful bravado—it was woven into the culture.

Then there was the pride. Growing up in Germany, national pride was a quiet, complicated thing, shadowed by history. But in the U.S., I met people who loved their country with a fervor I’d never seen. Flags flew everywhere, and folks spoke of America with a passion that was equal parts inspiring and jarring. It was a revelation for a teenage me.

That year left its mark. It’s why I’m writing this newsletter in English, reaching readers far beyond Germany’s borders. Without that experience, my world—and my audience—would be so much smaller. The impressions I gathered still shape how I think, nudging me to dream a little bigger, to take risks I might’ve once dodged.

I’ve been back to the U.S. twice since that glorious year, but it’s been over five years since my last trip—since 2018. And here’s the honest truth: I’m not sure I want to go back. It’s like hesitating to reread a book you adore, afraid it won’t hold up. My love for the U.S. has grown more romantic with time, polished by nostalgia into something almost too perfect. What if I went back now and the reality—messy, complex, different—overwrote those golden memories I hold so dear?

It’s irrational, I know. Part of me wonders if anything could live up to the pedestal I’ve built. But another part whispers that memories are meant to be refreshed, perspectives reshaped. Maybe it’s time to take the risk, to step back into the unknown and see what new stories awaits.