I went to a movie with my brother the other night (X-Men 3 at the dollar theater for all you detail people) and afterwards we stopped by a gas station.  As my brother pumped the gas (I have a sweet brother), I sat in the car with the door half open because this is Georgia, and this is summer.  The wierd flourescent lights were flickering the way only gas station flourescent lights at night can do, and music was drifting over from a nearby restaurant where a part-time musician who couldn't yet get a better gig tried to entertain dinner customers sitting out on the patio.  A guy with a beer belly and good ol' boy truck was on one side of us and a young woman who already had three kids and a small car was on the other.  I was thinking about how I wanted so badly to go to grad school, and I was going to have to wait another year to do it. 

And it hit me:  This is the American Dream. 

All those battles, all those declarations, public & personal, all those wars from before 1776 to tomorrow & beyond.  All the legislation & governments, from town to state to country.  All so that I could have the freedom to sit in my car on the way home from a movie, secure in my possibilities.  To know that even though I'm nowhere near where I want to be in life, I do have the chance to try for it.  The freedom to go about my daily life in a place where part-time musicians with dreams can sing for patrons who will go home to their families and dream about what their kids will be when they grow up.  The thought that I take this gift of possiblity for granted seems a massive understatement (underthought?). 

It's amazing what goes through your head when you're sitting, waiting, at a gas station on a hot summer's night.