A few weeks ago, I made the long trip with my team across the United States to our nation’s capital, Washington DC. Walking out of Ronald Reagan National Airport, I was met with sticky humidity, masses of people, gross city smells, and immense dread for the week ahead. 

We traveled around the next couple of days, sightseeing and meeting state officers from around the country. One of our trips was as a large group, over 300 state officers, to Arlington National Cemetery. Tired steps echoed to the metro, heat and humidity on our skin, brains full of information from the sessions of our conference, not ready to take in more. As we began our travel around the cemetery on the train cars, we quickly slowed to a stop and our voices went silent. Looking out upon the headstones, I noticed a small group of people, dressed in black, wiping away the tears streaming down their faces. At Arlington, when a funeral is in progress, the tours come to a stop, and people are asked to remain silent out of respect for those mourning the recent loss of their loved ones. My heart sank and my eyes welled with tears. Just days before, I had been at a funeral of my own back home. Suddenly, I could feel their hurt, the pain in their hearts, and my mind was wiped clean of all previous thoughts. Again, I scanned the headstones around me, but this time, they looked different. They weren’t just stones with names engraved on them anymore. They were people. The bravest of people with a heart dedicated to the service of their country. The strongest, most courageous, most admirable of people. People with a family who at one point grieved their loss, just as I did. There was valiance, hurt, but also a story carried with each name.

I took a step back and remembered what these individuals experienced. Fear, pain, destruction, and death. Not a hint of complaint about the conditions they endured all for our freedom, yet here I was complaining about a bit of humidity and tiredness. Who am I to complain when I have freedom and safety every second of every day? Food at every corner, water all around, clothes on my back, a roof over my head, things basically handed to me everywhere I go. I felt ashamed of myself. At that point, my mind changed from selfishness to gratitude. 

How many times throughout the day do we complain about our circumstances and the situations around us? Research says that the average person complains approximately 30 times a day. What right do we have to complain? When we think about our day, are our first thoughts negative or positive? When we start a conversation, do we complain about our situation or discuss the joys in our lives? How differently would our days look if we focused on the positives instead of the negatives?

As I reflect back on our trip to DC, I feel nothing but gratitude, and regret that I didn’t find joy in the moments earlier; the beautiful architecture and detail of the buildings and statues, the courage and bravery of our soldiers who served and died for our freedom, the poise of the marines at the barracks as they paid tribute to the soldiers who have fallen, the joy and impressive leadership of the state officers around the nation who were elected to serve their members. I am in awe of the things I’ve seen, the opportunities I’ve had, and the teammates next to me who continue to support and encourage me through every situation. I am grateful.

Oregon FFA, I challenge us all to be a little more grateful. Learn to take a step back and enjoy the simple moments in life. Soak in the time we have with our loved ones. Find joy in difficult times. Turn our negativity into positivity. Let’s fill our hearts with gratitude.

With my whole heart,

Julie Amos

2024-2025 State Reporter