The American Dream for 3,299 krónur

I was biking around, learning the routes and getting my bearings in a place where I’m also learning the language, the customs, and how people live. Then there it was: a burger place selling the American Dream.

Across an ocean, trying to understand another culture, and America had put itself on the menu.

You have to laugh.

The realization behind that laugh had been following me since January 2025, after two months in Australia.

I’m a well-traveled American. Like plenty of Americans, I’m drawn to life beyond the United States for all kinds of reasons: adventure, curiosity, an epic journey. Sometimes, frankly, for the lore.

Australia had enough similarities to feel familiar. That made the differences more surprising. You recognize enough to think you understand the place, and then something reminds you that familiarity only gets you so far.

The similarities were there. The differences were louder.

And over and over, I became aware of it: I was the outsider. The American.

No matter how educated I get, how far I travel, or how many languages I learn, I will always be an American.

Apparently, there is no number of passport stamps that unlocks a different origin story.

That realization can sting when you care about understanding a place. You’re putting in the effort. You want to participate. You’re learning how things work. And you may still be the person who sees something differently because you grew up somewhere else.

But I’m beginning to see some power in that.

During my travels, I’ve heard plenty about America’s faults. I understand why. We have real problems, and being proud of where I come from doesn’t require editing them out of the story. Our history matters. So do our choices now and what we do next.

I can love where I come from and still expect better of it.

I can also want to live somewhere else without treating my entire background as something to get rid of. Learning another country’s language and customs doesn’t require a divorce from my own.

Which brings me back to Iceland. And the hamburger.

While all of this was coming together in my head, I was listening to Brooks & Dunn on repeat.

Of course I was.

An American in Iceland, looking at the American Dream, contemplating being American, with American country music providing the soundtrack.

Very subtle, Brandon.

There’s something wonderfully ridiculous about that moment. Here I am, working to understand a different culture, and something from home is playing right along with the experience. It belongs there because I brought it. Because I like it.

I don’t need to defend the playlist.

Or pretend that learning Icelandic means I’ve suddenly lost my taste for country music.

And I don’t think you need to travel to understand this. A new job, a new city, a new group of people can bring up the same question: how much of myself do I have to change to belong?

We talk so much about fitting in that we can forget to ask what we bring.

Being an outsider can be uncomfortable. It can also make you pay attention. You ask questions about things other people take for granted. Then you go home and start questioning things you once took for granted yourself.

You get another angle on the world. If you’re willing to listen, you can do something with it.

That’s the part I want to keep.

I want to learn how other people live and let it change me. I also want to bring my own history, curiosity, humor, and perspective into the places I go. There’s value in that combination, even when it makes me a little hard to categorize.

Maybe that’s where we find our superpowers: by paying attention to the particular mix that makes us who we are, and having the nerve to use it.

Marching to your own drum gets a lot easier when you stop waiting for everyone else to approve the rhythm.

Mine apparently has a country twang.

I’m proud to be American. I’m excited to keep learning Icelandic. I want to understand more of the world, and I’m making peace with the fact that, in many places, I’ll always be the American experiencing it.

That gives me a place to start. It leaves plenty of room for who I can become.

There’s room in my American Dream for Iceland.

And apparently, there’s room in Iceland for the American Dream.

3,299 krónur, to be exact.