Freedom, On My Mind This Fourth of July

My home’s yard decorated by 208 Goat for The Fourth of July.

I’ve always felt a deep sense of patriotism. As the daughter of a veteran and the granddaughter of veterans on both sides, I was raised with deep respect for this country and the freedoms it represents. My family’s roots trace back to the American Revolution—we’ve literally been here since the beginning.

For a time, I was a political science major and thought I might go into politics—until I realized that being a successful politician often meant pandering to a party. And I wasn’t comfortable boxing my beliefs into one group’s perception of right and wrong. That realization shaped how I see civic responsibility: not as allegiance to a side, but as commitment to a set of values.

From a young age, I was taught that America wasn’t just a place—it was part of my heritage. And being a patriot means supporting this country not by ignoring its flaws, but by helping it grow. Because loving something means wanting it to be better.

I was also taught to tell the truth. And part of that truth is recognizing that while America has done extraordinary things, it has also made horrific mistakes—ones that caused real harm. There have been times when we were the bad guys in the story, even if we didn’t see it at the time. And we can still find ourselves on the wrong side of history if we aren’t paying attention. Being patriotic doesn’t mean denying that history. It means learning from it—so we don’t repeat it.

Lately, I’ve noticed that many of the words I grew up loving—freedom, liberty, patriot, faith, family, values—have been narrowed and politicized. Used to divide rather than unite. But those words don’t belong to one party or platform.

They belong to all of us.

Just like the American flag.

It doesn’t stand for a single party, a single religion, or one worldview. It’s not the banner of the loudest voices or the most organized groups. It’s a symbol meant to represent every person who calls this country home.

So this Fourth of July, I’m reclaiming those words. Because freedom isn’t just one thing—it’s layered, lived, and often contested.

Here’s what it means to me:

• Freedom means I can read any book I choose—and so can my children. No one else gets to decide what ideas we’re allowed to explore.
  

• Freedom means I can define my family however I see fit—and I want that same freedom extended to everyone, even if they choose differently.
  

• Freedom means I can make informed decisions about my own body, guided by trusted medical professionals—not politicians or religious institutions I don’t subscribe to.
  

• Freedom means having access to alternative medical options, including plant-based healing—without interference from systems more invested in profit than people.
  

• Freedom means I don’t have to follow or be governed by a religion I don’t believe in. I believe deeply in the separation of church and state. Religious doctrine should not dictate public law—especially when it limits the rights of those outside that belief.
  Refusing the rule of a religion is not persecution—it’s protection.
  True religious freedom includes the right to live free from someone else’s faith.
  

• Freedom means full autonomy over one’s private life—including relationships, identity, and the right for consenting adults to love and live as they choose.
  

• Freedom means people are treated as equals—regardless of gender.
  

• Freedom means the right to protest, to speak up, to challenge power without fear. Disagreement is not disloyalty. It’s democracy.
  

• Freedom means freedom of speech—even when it’s uncomfortable.
  And freedom of the press—even when it challenges the narrative we prefer.
  

• Freedom means due process. Because justice that isn’t fair isn’t justice at all.
  

• Freedom means I can vote in primaries—even as a moderate Independent. Representation shouldn’t be reserved for the far ends of the political spectrum.
  

• Freedom means government that is transparent and accountable.
  

• Freedom means public lands stay public—for everyone.
  

• Freedom means every person deserves to feel safe—regardless of zip code, income, or background.
  

• Freedom means I have the right to bear arms—done responsibly, with thoughtful regulation that protects us all
  

I see hope for this kind of freedom.

In younger generations. In neighbors who speak up. In conversations that used to feel impossible but are happening now.

We are capable of change—if we choose it.

Because freedom means liberty and justice for all.

Not just for the majority.
Not just for those in power.
Not just for those who fit the mold.

This is what freedom means to me.

Not just waving a flag once a year—but doing the harder work of protecting the rights of people who don’t look like me, live like me, or believe what I believe.

Because freedom isn’t something we inherit. It’s something we uphold.