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After 60 years together, United States, I'm ending our relationship. Though fondness remains, the passion has diminished 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

From your breathtaking national parks, soaring ancient trees and unique wildlife to the enchanting glow of fireflies between crop rows during warm nights and the vibrant autumn foliage, your natural splendor is extraordinary. Your capacity to ignite innovation appears limitless, as demonstrated by the motivational people I've encountered within your borders. Many of my most cherished memories revolve around flavors that permanently connect me to you – cinnamon spice, 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, that's how it would begin. I've been what's termed an "unintentional U.S. citizen" from delivery due to my father and ten generations preceding him, starting in 1636 including military participants in foundational conflicts, shared genetic material with a former president and generations of pioneers who traversed the country, beginning in northeastern states to Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois and Kansas.

I feel tremendous pride regarding my ancestral background and their contributions to America's narrative. My father experienced childhood during the Great Depression; his grandfather served with the military overseas in the global conflict; his widowed great-grandmother managed a farm with nine children; his great-uncle assisted rebuild San Francisco following the seismic disaster; 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 feeling intensifies given the perplexing and concerning political atmosphere that makes me doubt the meaning of national belonging. Experts have termed this "national belonging anxiety" – and I recognize the symptoms. Now I desire to create distance.

Logistical Factors and Economic Strain

I merely lived in the United States a brief period and haven't returned for eight years. I've maintained Australian nationality for almost forty years and no intention to live, work or study in the US again. Furthermore, I'm certain I'll never need emergency extraction – so there's no practical necessity for me to retain American nationality.

Furthermore, the obligation I face as a U.S. citizen to submit annual tax returns, although not residing nor working there or eligible for services, proves burdensome and anxiety-inducing. The United States ranks among only two nations worldwide – the other being Eritrea – that impose taxation according to nationality instead of location. And tax conformity is compulsory – it's documented in our passport backs.

Admittedly, a fiscal treaty operates between Australia and the U.S., intended to avoid double taxation, but preparation expenses range from substantial amounts yearly even for basic returns, and the process proves extremely demanding and convoluted to complete each January, as the American fiscal cycle begins.

Regulatory Issues and Ultimate Choice

Authorities have indicated that ultimately the U.S. government will enforce compliance and administer substantial fines against non-compliant citizens. These measures affect not only high-profile individuals but every U.S. citizen abroad need to meet requirements.

While taxation isn't the primary reason for my decision, the annual expense and stress of filing returns proves distressing 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. Alternatively, I could postpone resolution until my estate handles it posthumously. Neither alternative seems acceptable.

Possessing American travel documentation constitutes an opportunity many newcomers desperately seek to acquire. But it's a privilege that feels uncomfortable for me, 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 at the U.S. consulate in Sydney – where I recited the renunciation oath – supplied the ultimate impetus. I understand I'm choosing the proper direction for my situation and when the consular officer inquires about potential coercion, I truthfully answer no.

A fortnight later I obtained my official relinquishment document and my voided travel papers to retain as mementos. My identity will supposedly be published on a federal registry. I simply hope that subsequent travel authorization gets granted during potential return trips.