Am I patriotic?

That depends on who’s asking—and what they think that word means.

I spent years in the military. Long enough to understand that patriotism isn’t always loud. It isn’t always wrapped in flags or shouted over fireworks. I never felt drawn to the pageantry. No chest-thumping. No slogans. No need to convince anyone I loved my country.

I was raised differently.

In my house, you did what needed to be done. No prompt. No circumstance. No applause required. If something was broken, you fixed it. If someone needed help, you showed up. If there was a job to do, you did it—well—and you moved on.

That was the code.

So when I joined the military, I never stopped to define it as patriotism. I was just doing the gig. Filling a role. Carrying my weight. Taking care of the people to my left and right. The flag wasn’t abstract to me—it was stitched on my shoulder, faded by sun and sweat. It didn’t need explanation. It needed discipline.

Some people equate patriotism with performance. The waving. The volume. The rhetoric. I don’t begrudge them that. Everyone expresses love differently. But I’ve always been suspicious of love that needs an audience.

To me, patriotism—if I claim the word at all—is quiet accountability.

It’s paying attention.
It’s voting.
It’s questioning when necessary.
It’s defending the country’s ideals, not pretending they’re already perfect.

It’s believing the nation is worth serving—and worth improving.

There’s a difference between loving something blindly and loving it enough to demand it be better.

I never thought much about defining patriotism because I was busy practicing my version of it. Not the romanticized version. Not the marketing campaign. The work. The long hours. The hard calls. The responsibility. The understanding that service isn’t glamorous most days. It’s repetitive. It’s exhausting. It’s human.

Maybe that’s why I never felt comfortable calling myself patriotic. The word felt ceremonial. My experience felt practical.

But maybe patriotism isn’t a feeling.

Maybe it’s behavior.

If that’s true, then I suppose I’ve been patriotic all along—just without the soundtrack.