Ten years ago, I embarked on a year-long exchange to study abroad in France. When I left the United States, I also left my desire to be associated with America. Political shame, American exceptionalism, and my hope to be identified as a global citizen fueled me.
Ten years later, I still wrestle with similar feelings. As I wrote these reflections from what has become an annual trip to Japan for the past three summers, I realize the distance from “home” gives me perspective.
During my travels, I meet new people, learn about new cultures, and compare experiences with other people from all over the world. In France, I shared a kitchen with young adults from France, China, Canada, Indonesia, Ecuador, Côte d’Ivoire, and more. Over shared meals, passing the aux to listen to and dance to various music, and deep conversations about similarities and differences from home, I began to recognize privileges and freedoms I had that others sought.
As I wandered the streets of Japan, I had an almost unfathomable sense of safety—wishing that my children could live like the little girl who walks around the city by herself. I have a fondness for the well-kept beauty of the land. I witness the traditional alongside the futuristic. I see a different quality of life.
Every time I return from abroad to the U.S., I experience a challenging reverse culture shock—a feeling of disorientation and a lack of connection with my community. The disillusionment, distrust, and disinterest seem to be heightened. The political and social rhetoric I return to breeds cynicism, and it takes intentional reorientation to feel like I belong.
At the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, I hoped my return would be less jarring. For nearly two years, this momentous occasion has been at the forefront of my mind. Not because I was excited about it, but rather out of concern. If you had asked me in 2025 what I imagined would be happening at the 250th, I envisioned further division…the kind that sparks violence. Although this has been the case in multiple situations across the country, I prayed it wouldn’t be at a devastating scale. What I know has softened my perspective is my involvement with Made By Us’ National Youth250 Bureau.
Youth250 provided community and space to grapple with the complexities of celebrations and commemorations. It exposed me to diverse ideas and ways that people and institutions are meeting this moment. It gave me training and insights into the challenges and opportunities museums and cultural institutions are facing. It allowed me to explore my family history, my career path and the ways my work experiences have shaped my ability to be civically engaged. It amplified youth voices by supporting our creativity through the Writing Club and more, leading me to publish pieces I would have never imagined. It gave us the audacity to imagine amid chaos. It empowered me to step into my own leadership, to remember that my participation is one of the most democratic ways to serve this country and our world.
Youth250 gave me hope and responsibility.
And we are only at the beginning. The decades ahead will host various 250th commemorations: the Constitution in 2037, the Bill of Rights in 2041. Youth250 was more than fizzling fireworks, branded ads, and merch; it was a reminder of how much work we still have to do and an invitation to keep shaping a future that is still up for design. May the seeds planted by Youth250 continue to be watered. I’ll be paying attention to the stories of impact that continue to flourish from creating inclusive institutions that bring youth to the table as active co-creators and not passive inheritors. I hope you will join me—not only in bearing witness, but in helping bring more of us along to realize a nation that works for ALL.
Caroline Klibanoff is Executive Director of Made By Us, the organization behind Civic Season; an Eisenhower USA Fellow and a Senior Fellow at New America.
