When my plane touched down at Dulles International Airport in January 2022, part of me worried that I might be making a terrible mistake.

I had wanted to move to the United States for as long as I could remember. As a child, I obsessed over pillars of American popular culture such as cartoons and comic books; I dedicated as many school projects as I could to the country’s fascinating history and geography; and I often slept on a pillow adorned with the Stars and Stripes. As an adolescent, my passion became more intellectual, and I began to study the constitutional principles and political tradition of the land to which I always felt I belonged. But as I prepared for my dream to become reality, I began to question if my lifelong goal had been motivated more by juvenile fantasy than sensible ambition.

After all, I had only taken two week-long vacations in the United States before, and both visits had been to New York City. (A remarkable place for someone raised in suburban England to observe, of course, but hardly an accurate representation of typical American life.) I had never lived abroad, and putting down roots in a foreign place threatened to be an arduous undertaking. Building a new life would require finding a place to live; dealing with bank accounts, credit cards, and phone plans; and navigating immigration bureaucracy. The excitement of my transatlantic voyage was sporadically pierced by doubt. What if America wasn’t what I had always imagined? What if I wasn’t fulfilled by the job I had accepted? What if I didn’t belong?

My flight landed on a Friday evening. By the following Monday, my fears had disappeared. Throughout that whirlwind of a first weekend, reality asserted itself: America was everything I had ever hoped for.

As I met a parade of new faces and forged new friendships, I was struck by the warmth, generosity, and humor of everyone with whom I interacted. On my first visit to a restaurant, I was floored not only by the size of the portions and the friendliness of the staff, but by the very concept of a free refill. And as I set about exploring our nation’s capital, the sheer scale of its towering monuments and the beauty of its design left me in permanent astonishment.

In the weeks, months, and years that have passed since then, my love for this magnificent country has only continued to grow. Every day, I awake feeling blessed to play a role in the American experiment; to enjoy more than a day or two of sunshine each month; to reside in a place so staggeringly varied that Las Vegas, Kentucky, Miami, and New Hampshire alike can all be reached in a few brief hours; and to inhabit a culture of ordered liberty so free from arbitrary barriers that no opportunity is out of reach.

If the essence of Thanksgiving is gratitude, then I am grateful to everyone who has made this country into what it is today. I am grateful to all of those who make my already wonderful life here infinitely richer. And I am grateful to National Review for letting me live out my American dream within its pages. In the grand scheme of things, my American adventure has only just begun.

I can’t wait to see what comes next.