The Land of Heart: A Love Letter to Nebraska
When I moved with my family to the Midwest almost exactly three years ago, I knew I would be embracing Nebraska's "The Good Life" and "Midwest Nice." But what has slowly taken root — sneaking up on me in the quiet morning hours of bursting sunrises, watching birds of all kinds soaring, diving, skip-stepping; in the how-can-we-help-you and actually mean it; in the fireworks showdowns, the volleyball slams, the snow-covered land of corn (and soy!); and above all in the show-stopping, mouth-dropping sunsets that really are better here than anywhere else in the world — is that this home of mine is the Heartland. The Heart Land.
The place where blood, sweat, and tears are poured into the Earth. Where the mind, soul, and heart are engaged to do better, be better — for others, for community, for your family, for your neighbors (all your neighbors). There is mostly giving with only a little taking. There is great care given to understanding why we are here and believing in a higher power that might just be an answer to that infinite question.
What does it mean to have heart in the land? To have heart — care, love, compassion, and empathy — tended intentionally through the soil of a place? It means beautiful things can grow and thrive. It means taking care of neighbors, family, friends, and strangers. It means lifting up the things that actually matter, finding the shared ground beneath us, and working from that place to face the Land of Harder Things — the economic struggles, the inequities, the hardships that don't disappear just because the sunsets are beautiful. That soil needs tending too.
When you come to Nebraska, everywhere you look, you see a sea of red. That might be a nod to the pervasive Husker Nation — or even to fans of those playing on the other weekend day three hours south in Kansas City. But when I see a sea of red, I see heart: mapping and pumping, a flow of something fundamental to the Heartland. It's impossible not to call this place Home. These last three years have been a good life, and we have experienced Midwest Nice — but what I have loved most is that my beating heart is recognized here not as an outsider, a new addition, a transplant, or an other. It is recognized as one of its own, pouring red into the rich soil just as other Nebraskans have done and will continue to do to make the Heartland — our Heartland — operate as one.
It's what gives me the greatest hope. That here in the Midwest, in the Heartland, change can be embraced to include all hearts. Not just the hearts that have been here longest, or the hearts with more power and control — but every heart that calls this land home. The Land of Heart is massive. It should have room enough to expand who it welcomes, who it cares for, and who it provides for. Consider this my love letter — to Nebraska, to the Heartland, and to the belief that the Land of Heart has room enough for all of us.