America Was Built to Reach Outward

We often romanticize the image of settlers moving westward, pushing into the unknown, driven by a belief in something larger than themselves. But what made that movement more than just ambition was the idea that we could build something better together. That spirit of taking risks by reaching outward built this country. And it’s that same spirit we’re in danger of losing.

We’re not being defeated. We’re walking away from what made us strong. History has shown us again and again that fear shrinks a nation’s strength, and isolation drains its resilience.

The United Kingdom once commanded a global empire. Its reach extended across continents, its ideas and industries shaped the modern world. But as the 20th century wore on, and particularly in the decades after World War II, Britain turned inward. It clung to nostalgia and retreated into a smaller vision of itself. The empire faded. The confidence that once propelled it faltered. More recently, the Brexit movement capitalized on fear, of immigrants, of globalism, of losing identity, and led to a rupture that has left the country economically diminished and politically adrift.

I worry that the United States is now in a similar spiral.

It’s not that we’re losing power because someone else is taking it. It’s because we’re giving it up voluntarily. When we retreat from one another and from the world, when we choose division over connection, when we build walls instead of bridges, we don’t get safer. We get smaller. More brittle. Easier to break.

And it's happening not just in Washington or on cable news, but in our neighborhoods.

I’ve seen it creeping in quietly, even in places I love and serve. You hear it in the way people talk about “those people”, whether they’re from another country, another city, or just the other side of town. You see it in the instinct to close the door, to turn off the porch light, to avoid the tough conversations that might draw us closer but risk discomfort. Fear dressed up as caution. Isolation disguised as independence.

It’s a dangerous seduction, because it offers the illusion of control. But it’s a lie.

Real security doesn’t come from withdrawing. It comes from investing in our people, in our communities, and in a shared future. It comes from knowing your neighbors well enough to trust them, from building public spaces where kids of all backgrounds can play side by side, from walking the same sidewalks and caring about the same schools.

After World War II, the United States helped build the global trade system from the ground up because we understood that a peaceful, prosperous world wasn’t just good for others; it was good for us. We didn’t just participate in that system. We dominated it. We built the institutions, wrote the rules, and shaped the markets. And we have benefited more than any other nation.

Trade helped create the American middle class. It gave our farmers new markets, our manufacturers new scale, our innovators new reach. Yes, there were costs. Communities were hit hard, especially when our domestic policies failed to invest in transition and training. But the answer to that isn’t fear. The answer is responsibility.

Yet now, we talk about trade like it’s a threat. We talk about immigrants like they’re enemies. We act like cooperation is weakness and nationalism is strength. That’s not leadership. That’s fear in a suit and tie.

Fear doesn’t just weaken our institutions. It drives away our future.

The brightest minds won’t stay in a country that turns away from progress. The wealthy will move their money to places where opportunity and openness still exist. And what’s left behind is the hollowing out of the American heart. Working families, young people trying to make a life, older generations trying to pass something on. They are the ones who suffer the long-term cost of our retreat.

When we walk in the world with fear, we lose what makes us strong.

But when we walk in the world with confidence, knowing that we are not always right, but that we strive to be fair, to be free, and to be just, we build something far more powerful. We make a world in which our principles don’t just serve us, they inspire others. A world in which American leadership means lifting people up, not shutting them out.

I’ve worked as a ranch hand in Montana and Wyoming. I’ve lived in Russia during a time of economic collapse. I’ve spent time with fire crews and EMTs where trust has to be earned fast and held tight. And across those very different places, I kept running into the same truth, strong communities are built on interdependence, not isolation.

The most resilient people I have met, whether in a dusty stretch of the American West or a crumbling apartment block in Volgograd, weren’t the ones hoarding resources or walling themselves off. They were the ones who showed up for each other, who believed that if we were going to make it, we’d have to make it together.

That’s what we need more of now. Not more suspicion, not more tribalism, not more fear-mongering. But more courage to reconnect.

Because what made America great wasn’t that we were always right or always strong. It was that we were willing to keep trying, together.

We were built to reach outward. That spirit was never just about land or resources. It was about belief. Belief that we could build something better, that tomorrow could be more just than today, and that our principles could carry farther than our borders. We crossed rivers, mountains, and oceans not just to settle, but to connect, to lead, and to imagine.

We believed in a common good. We built parks and libraries and schools for people we didn’t know. We passed laws to protect workers we’d never meet. We welcomed immigrants not just because it was morally right, but because it made us stronger.

I still believe we can be that kind of country. But we have to choose it and recommit to it.

So when you hear politicians or pundits pushing fear, shrinking our circle of concern, asking us to turn our backs on our neighbors or close ourselves off from the world, ask what kind of country that leads to.

And then ask what kind of country we want to be.

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About Andrew Flynn

Andrew is a Mt. Lebanon commissioner, public finance and policy expert, volunteer firefighter, and community advocate committed to building safer, more resilient, and better-connected neighborhoods. Through public service and hands-on experience, Andrew works every day to make a positive impact in our community.

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