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After six decades together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. Though fondness remains, the romantic connection has faded and the time has come to go our separate ways. This departure is voluntary, though it brings sadness, because you possess countless wonderful qualities.

Natural Beauty and Creative Spirit

Beginning with your magnificent protected lands, towering redwood forests and unique wildlife to the magical illumination of lightning bugs between crop rows during warm nights and the brilliant fall colors, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your capacity to ignite innovation appears limitless, as evidenced through the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Numerous precious recollections center on tastes that permanently connect me to you – aromatic cinnamon, pumpkin pie, fruit preserves. However, United States, you've become increasingly difficult to understand.

Ancestral History and Changing Connection

If I were composing a separation letter to America, those would be the opening words. I've been what's termed an "unintentional U.S. citizen" since birth due to my father and centuries of ancestors before him, starting in 1636 and featuring revolutionary and civil war soldiers, DNA connections to past leadership plus multiple eras of settlers who journeyed across the nation, beginning in northeastern states toward central and western regions.

I feel tremendous pride in my family's history and their role in the national story. My dad grew up through economic hardship; his ancestor fought with the military overseas in the global conflict; his single-parent ancestor operated a farm with nine children; his relative helped reconstruct the city after the 1906 earthquake; while another ancestor ran as a state senator.

Yet despite this quintessentially American heritage, I find myself no longer feeling connected with the country. This is particularly true considering the confusing and alarming governmental climate that makes me doubt what American identity represents. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I believe I experience it. Now I desire to create distance.

Practical Considerations and Financial Burden

I merely lived within America a brief period and haven't returned for eight years. I've held Australian citizenship for most of my life and have no plans to reside, employment or education within America subsequently. Furthermore, I'm certain I'll never need emergency extraction – so there's no practical necessity for me to retain American nationality.

Additionally, the requirement I face as a U.S. citizen to submit annual tax returns, although not residing nor working there or eligible for services, becomes onerous and stressful. America stands with merely two countries globally – including Eritrea – that implement levies according to nationality instead of location. And financial compliance is mandatory – it's printed within travel documents.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates connecting both nations, designed to prevent duplicate payments, but preparation expenses range from substantial amounts yearly for straightforward declarations, and the procedure represents highly challenging and complex to undertake every new year, when the U.S. tax period commences.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

Authorities have indicated that eventually American officials will mandate conformity and impose significant penalties against non-compliant citizens. This enforcement doesn't target high-profile individuals but every U.S. citizen abroad must fulfill obligations.

While taxation isn't the primary reason for my renunciation, the annual expense and stress associated with documentation becomes troubling and fundamental economics indicates it represents poor investment. However, ignoring American fiscal duties could result in travel involves additional apprehension about potential denial at immigration due to irregular status. Or, I might defer settlement until my estate handles it posthumously. Neither alternative seems acceptable.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes an opportunity many newcomers desperately seek to acquire. Yet this advantage that creates discomfort personally, so I'm taking action, despite the $2,350 cost to complete the process.

The intimidating official portrait featuring the former president, scowling toward visitors within the diplomatic facility – where I recited the renunciation oath – supplied the ultimate impetus. I recognize I'm selecting the correct path for my circumstances and when the consular officer inquires regarding external pressure, I truthfully answer no.

Two weeks afterward I received my certificate of renunciation and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My name will reportedly appear on a federal registry. I simply hope that subsequent travel authorization gets granted during potential return trips.