The Stories That Kept Our Soul Intact

As an American growing up in other countries, I felt like a celebrity of sorts. Everyone wanted to be American or claim they were friends with one. We were popular. Idolized, even. I understood why. 

Not only had we landed men on the moon, everything was better in America. It was that shining city on a hill where the Statue of Liberty stood. It glittered hope, offering the world a safe place of refuge. It promised life will be better for you here.

Our reputation was not without good cause. We ended the war. We rebuilt Europe and Japan. Across the globe we spread our “exceptionalism” through trade and novelties and government funded programs such as U.S. Aid, the Alliance for Progress, the Voice of America, and the Peace Corps. 

But perhaps most impactful were the heartwarming stories we told about ourselves through America’s brilliant entertainment industry. Wherever one lived on this planet, the dramas and comedies we exported lifted all spirits while spotlighting our goodness, beliefs, dreams, and struggles. 

We were relatable. Inspiring. Magical. And driven with purpose.

Among the long legacy of stories we told were When Harry Met Sally, The American President, A Few Good Men, The Princess Bride.

But that was last century, and that America lives in memoriam. What seems to have seeped into our consciousness more recently is much darker, and the world knows this. They fear us. They pray their loved ones won’t travel to America. 

So here we are, acclimated to our ugliness. We shrug and say there’s nothing we can do about it, as if it’s just another invasive weed growing in the front yard, or festering mold in the bathroom. 

Some say, no matter what, we’re still great. But murder as a solution to a bump in the road is now as routine as taking one’s dog for a walk. 

So, no, we’re not great if coldhearted slayings and mass shootings define us. Greatness requires reckoning with that malaise as a priority instead of blowing up fishing vessels beyond our borders and pardoning criminals within.

I’ve never known anything  powerful enough to silence me. But last week’s murder of Rob Reiner and Michele Singer has thrown me into a brain desert. I don’t think I’m alone in this. 

What strikes me is that Nick Reiner is a poster child for the darkened soul this nation has become: purposeless, self-absorbed, greedy, entitled, insatiable, reckless. 

The bygone era of yesteryear surely gave us stories that helped keep our soul intact. They emphasized right from wrong. They illuminated the plight for justice over injustice. They honored truth over falsehood. They also made us heroic in the eyes of the world. And that was a very good place to be in.