When I had the fortune of being welcomed into this world, America had only recently celebrated her Bicentennial.

Now, in what still feels like the blink of an eye, I get to watch her turn 250.

When you stop to think about it, 250 years isn't very long.

Most mornings, I find myself looking west toward the White Tank Mountains. They've been there far longer than our country has. Two hundred and fifty years ago, they looked much the same as they do today. They have quietly watched generations come and go, stories begin and end, and a nation slowly write its own.

Standing beneath them has a way of putting time into perspective.

My own chapter is incredibly small.

I've only been here for a fraction of America's story. If I'm fortunate, maybe I'll witness another few decades. Maybe, if Father Time is especially generous, I'll even be around to see her celebrate 300 years.

What a privilege that would be.

Like every family, every neighborhood, and every person, America isn't without her imperfections. Loving something has never required pretending it's flawless.

What matters is what we choose to contribute while we're here.

I've spent much of my life building with my hands. Along the way, I've also been given the freedom to build multiple businesses, write my thoughts each week, create films, chase impossible ideas, and slowly become more of the person I hoped I could be.

For that, I'm grateful.

I know there are many beautiful places in this world, and many people fortunate enough to call them home. Mine just happens to be here.

Here beneath these mountains.

Here in this desert.

Here in America.

As she celebrates her 250th birthday, I simply want to say thank you—for the opportunities, for the freedoms, for the people I've met, and for the life I've been fortunate enough to build.

Happy Independence Day.