My Declaration of Independence

Every Fourth of July I've celebrated has felt a little different.

Some years it was all about neighborhood barbecues, fireworks, potato salad, and staying up too late watching the sky light up. Some years it was about gratitude for living in this country. Some years, it was mostly just another summer day with family.

This year feels different. I love this country every bit as much as I always have. I also know a lot more than I did twenty or thirty years ago, and I'm asking different questions because of it. 

Like many of you, I've found myself carrying around a heaviness for some time. It's difficult to describe, but my closest friends know exactly what I mean because they're feeling it too, in their own ways.

Wherever we look these days...driving down the street, turning on the television, scrolling social media, sitting down with friends...there seems to be another conversation about what's happening in our country.

Some conversations leave me informed. Many leave me discouraged.

I've spent sixty-eight Fourth of Julys in this country. I remember many of them explicitly.  Feeling excited and hopeful.  Some of them have felt uncertain, and this is certainly one of them.

Women's rights matter deeply to me.

Human dignity matters deeply to me.

The way we care for children, older adults, and people who are struggling says something about the heart of a nation. I hope those things always matter because they feel like part of the heart and soul of who we are. 

And then there's something else that's been weighing on me.

The way we've started talking to each other. Or maybe I should say...the way we've stopped talking to each other.  I've noticed fewer conversations. Fewer people looking each other in the eye. Fewer phone calls than there used to be. Maybe that's just my experience, but it makes me miss the way we used to connect more easily. 

And somewhere along the way, disagreement became permission for disrespect. Social media has amplified it in ways I never imagined I'd see in my lifetime. It shocks me.

I still believe most people are good. That's the lovely part. When I'm walking along the Missouri River, some people still smile. When I stop at a grocery store, someone might hold the door open. When I strike up a conversation, people sometimes join in.

Then I open my phone, and sometimes it feels like I've stepped into another world entirely. It's confusing, and it's discouraging. And if I'm not careful, I can start believing that world is the real one.

That's where I had to stop myself.

Because I realized I was slowly giving away something no one had actually taken from me.

My agency.

No matter what's happening around me, I still get to decide what kind of woman I'm going to be. I still choose whether I speak with kindness or contempt. I still choose whether I spend another hour feeding my discouragement or take Lou for a walk by the river. I get to choose whether I notice the new leaf opening on one of my plants. I choose whether I call someone who's been on my mind. And I can still choose whether I create something beautiful or simply consume another day of bad news.

Those choices may seem small.  I don't think they are.

I think they're the beginning of every healthy family, every healthy friendship, every healthy community, and ultimately every healthy nation.

This week I realized I needed my own Declaration of Independence, and not from Great Britain, but from some of the habits that have been stealing my peace.

I declare my independence from the belief that outrage is the only way to stay informed.

I declare my independence from anonymous cruelty.

I declare my independence from allowing algorithms to tell me who people are or who is important to me. 

I declare my independence from believing my small acts of kindness don't matter.

I declare my independence from hopelessness.

Somewhere along the way I realized I had started carrying the weight of the world instead of simply living in it. That's too heavy for one woman. So these days I'm trying something different. I pay attention to what I think is important. I speak up when it matters. I vote. I write. I love my people well. I grow flowers. I smile at strangers. I refuse to become another angry voice adding to the chaos.

So this Fourth of July, I'm celebrating the freedoms I have.

I'm grateful that I can write these words and I can continue using my voice in ways that reflect my values. I'm grateful that I'm also paying attention to the freedoms that feel more fragile than they once did. I am grateful I can gather with the people I love to celebrate our country and each other.

I don't know exactly what our country will look like a year from now. None of us do. What I do know is what kind of woman I want to be while we're finding out.

I want to be the woman who still believes children deserve to be protected, older adults deserve to be respected, and every human being deserves dignity.

Who still walks the river.

Who still checks on her friends.

Who still chooses curiosity.

Who still listens.

Who still hopes.

Who still loves.

Because love has never been passive. Love shows up. Love speaks up. Love serves. Love protects. Love keeps believing that ordinary people can change the energy around them, one conversation, one decision, one act of kindness at a time.

Maybe that's where freedom has always begun. With ordinary people intentionally deciding what kind of humans they will be.

I don't know whether any of this changes the country. I do know it changes me. And if enough of us keep choosing kindness, curiosity, courage, and love, maybe that's how countries change too.

One person at a time

That's the Declaration of Independence I'm signing this year.

And I hope you'll write one of your own.

Love is ALL there is.

Diana