There is something profoundly moving about watching thousands of international visitors descend on the United States for the 2026 FIFA World Cup. From the bustling fan zones in New York and Los Angeles to the sun-drenched stadiums in Atlanta and Dallas, you see it everywhere: wide-eyed wonder, genuine excitement, and heartfelt appreciation for a country many of us who live here have started taking for granted.
Foreign fans are posting viral videos of their first glimpses of the true Americana or the electric energy of a tailgate outside a big city match. They marvel at the sheer scale of it all—the open roads stretching across prairies, the diversity of landscapes that shift dramatically from desert to mountain to forest within a single day’s drive, the friendliness of strangers striking up conversations in line for coffee. One Brazilian visitor recently described driving through Texas as “stepping into a movie that never ends.” A Japanese supporter called the Pacific Northwest “more beautiful than anything in anime.” These reactions are not performative; they are raw, joyful rediscoveries of what America offers. Something that my parents and I also experienced when we moved to the States in’94.
And yet, among too many actual citizens, that sense of awe feels sorely missed. We would rather squawk about the racism and the homelessness that is so rampant across the media.
Moreover, I believe that the familiarity breeds, if not contempt, then at least complacency. We wake up to the same highways, the same grocery stores, the same news cycles filled with division, inflation worries, and political noise. Daily life—commutes, bills, scrolling through outrage—obscures the grandeur right outside our doors. The Grand Canyon becomes “that place we visited once as kids.” Yellowstone is reduced to a checkbox on a bucket list we never quite get around to (and a terrific show). Even iconic cityscapes lose their magic when you are just trying to make rent.
Media and cultural narratives often amplify the negatives: crumbling infrastructure stories, crime statistics in certain cities, human feces. or endless debates about drug use and overall decline. They focus on the big blue states and cities, not the lovely hospitality that these tourists are experiencing. While legitimate challenges exist and should be addressed honestly, they can crowd out the overwhelming reality that the United States remains one of the most geographically, culturally, and opportunity-rich nations on Earth.
Visitors do not carry that baggage. They arrive with fresh eyes, unburdened by partisan fatigue or local frustrations. A European tourist might contrast our vast national parks with crowded ones back home. A fan from a smaller country experiences American hospitality—the helpful directions from a random passerby, the massive portions that feel generous, the casual “how’s your day going?” from service workers—as refreshing rather than expected. They see possibility where we sometimes see problems.
From the red rocks of Sedona to the heights of the Smokies, America’s parks and wilderness areas are unmatched in variety and accessibility. World Cup visitors renting RVs or taking road trips are posting content that makes lifelong residents pause and think, “Wait, I live near that?”
Plus, the fusion of foods, music, sports, and innovation in cities like Houston, Seattle, or Philadelphia. Street festivals, food trucks serving every cuisine imaginable, live music spilling out of bars—the dynamism that feels routine until someone from abroad calls it “the most alive place I’ve ever been.”
You have to remember that this country offers the ability to drive for hours without crossing a border. The variety of lifestyles, from tech hubs to ranching communities. The underlying assumption that you can reinvent yourself here, which still draws ambitious people worldwide.
This is not blind patriotism. America has flaws—every country does. But we would rather celebrate the pride of being homosexuals or another kind of mental illness. The visitors’ excitement reminds us that those flaws do not erase the extraordinary.
The World Cup offers a perfect moment for reflection. As stadiums fill with international colors and anthems echo across the country, Americans should take the opportunity to play tourist in our own backyard. Plan a weekend trip to a nearby state park. Drive a scenic byway instead of the interstate. Strike up a conversation with someone who looks different from you at a local game. Learn the history of the landmarks they pass every day.
We do not need foreign validation to love our country, but their visible joy can serve as a mirror—showing us what we risk losing when cynicism takes over. Gratitude is a choice. Wonder is a habit worth rebuilding.
Next time you see a group of excited visitors snapping photos of the Statue of Liberty, the Rockies, or even a classic Midwest gas station, let it stir something in you. That awe is not gone; it is just been waiting for us to notice it again.
America is still here—vast, complicated, and breathtaking. Sometimes it takes the world coming to visit for us to remember why so many still dream of calling it home.
Let’s not miss it anymore.
What a BEAUTIFUL way to start our 250th birthday celebration! This is true pride and I am incredibly proud!
Kat’s Musings 