45 A Love Letter
A letter from Miami.
I love your country.
Yours is a place where ideas are currency and creativity is something celebrated and freely traded. Where I come from the only assets truly acknowledged must be held in the hand; they must be tangible – wheat, wool, coal, iron ore. Ideas are loose. Who’d buy an idea? But in your country people are curious and ask of me - What’s next? What have you created now? What would you like to make? How can we help you?
Here I am met with politeness and courtesy and respectful calm. Your people are generous of spirit and return a smile with a smile. This is a place of kindness and it feels deliberately, purposefully so.
America, I am so very sorry your people feel forced to apologise for their current circumstances; for what has to happen without their collective consent. I regret the sense of loss and uncertainty. I am sorry your people are embarrassed and fearful for all that is at stake.
I am reminded of the saying – This too will pass. And it will. This – whatever this will be, whatever it is – will one day be no more and America can be as she was – by her own definition.
You have been generous and open, you have helped me nurture my dreams. This is a place where I arrive with ideas in a bag and I spread them out and I say, this is who I am and this is what I do and this is who I wish to be and you do not laugh, you believe in me and have from day one and for this America, I am grateful.
And I am so very sorry.