I'm an immigrant, a legal immigrant to the United States. I only

“I’m an immigrant, a legal immigrant to the United States. I only became a citizen five years ago. Every day, for seven months, I pinched myself as I was walking in and out of the West Wing, so it’s only in America, right? Only in America.” Thus spoke Sebastian Gorka, and in his words resounds not only gratitude but awe — the awe of a man who has glimpsed the promise of a nation born from dreams. His reflection is not a boast, but a hymn of thanksgiving to the land that welcomes the immigrant, not as a stranger, but as a builder of its destiny. It is the song of one who knows the value of belonging because he once stood outside the gates and yearned to enter.

When Gorka speaks of being a legal immigrant, he invokes an ancient covenant — the pact between the newcomer and the nation, between those who seek and those who grant. It is the law that transforms wandering into homecoming, uncertainty into identity. His journey from foreigner to citizen mirrors the timeless pilgrimage of countless souls who left the old world behind to find freedom in the new. To walk through the West Wing of the White House — the beating heart of American power — and to remember that once he was not even a citizen, is to live a paradox of humility and triumph. That is why he says, with wonder, “Only in America.”

This phrase, simple and radiant, carries the weight of centuries. It is the whisper of the Irishman who fled famine, the Italian who crossed the ocean, the refugee who fled tyranny — each one carrying hope as their only passport. In every age, they arrived at the shores of the United States, and in that arrival found not perfection, but possibility. For America, at its best, is not a place of privilege inherited, but of opportunity earned. Gorka’s words echo this sacred promise — that birth is not destiny, and that the dreamer may rise as high as his courage allows.

Consider the tale of Madeleine Albright, born in Czechoslovakia, who came to America as a refugee and rose to become the first woman Secretary of State. Like Gorka, she once walked foreign streets with uncertain steps, only to one day stand at the very center of power. Their journeys are woven from the same cloth — the belief that citizenship is not merely a legal status, but a sacred responsibility, one that must be cherished with gratitude and lived with honor. Both remind us that the measure of a nation’s greatness is not the height of its walls, but the openness of its gates to those who would build, serve, and love it.

The act of “pinching oneself,” as Gorka describes, is more than a gesture of disbelief — it is a ritual of humility. It is the soul’s way of saying, “I do not take this for granted.” In a world where entitlement often dulls the senses, the immigrant heart remains awake. Every sunrise is a gift; every right, a miracle. To those born into freedom, liberty can seem invisible — like air. But to those who have breathed the dust of oppression, it is the most precious element of all.

And yet, within this quote lies a deeper call — not only to gratitude, but to stewardship. For those who come legally, who follow the path of law and patience, bear witness to the power of order and perseverance. They remind us that freedom is not found in shortcuts, but in sacrifice. To cherish the law that welcomed them is to preserve the foundation of the nation they now call home. Thus, Gorka’s statement honors both the immigrant and the institution — the dreamer who seeks and the system that protects.

The lesson, then, is this: Do not forget the miracle of belonging. Whether you are native-born or newly arrived, remember that your place in the world is a trust, not a given. Give thanks for what others died to secure. Walk humbly in the halls of privilege, knowing that every freedom you enjoy was once the prayer of another. Be proud of your nation, but prouder still of your gratitude — for gratitude is the seed of greatness.

So, O listener, take these words to heart. Let Gorka’s wonder become your own. Look upon your life, your home, your freedom — and whisper, “Only in America,” or whatever land of promise you call your own. For the truest patriotism is not loud but reverent, not boastful but grateful. And the highest honor we can give to the nations that raised us — by birth or by choice — is to live as citizens worthy of their promise.