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My American story started when…
My American story started when I was 44 . I moved across the country from Maine to Arkansas ten months ago. I sold pretty much everything and gave up my long time teaching job. I have no family or friends here, or even close by. In some ways, it’s been oddly freeing. In others, it’s been extremely lonely. Nothing of what I’ve always known really exists here. I speak English but somehow not the language of this place. I think I finally understand the depth of what immigrants give up to come to America. I feel like this experiment has made me more American. And, in no small way, more human.