What does it mean to be free?

It’s the Fourth of July, and I’m curious about freedom.
What does it mean to you?

Merriam-Webster defines freedom as:

The quality or state of being free, such as:
A: the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action
B: liberation from slavery or restraint or from the power of another: independence
C: the quality or state of being exempt or released usually from something onerous

I’ve said for many years that freedom is a core value of mine—but what that actually means to me has evolved.

A few years ago, it meant doing what I wanted when I wanted.
It meant having a job that offered financial freedom so I could travel and buy whatever I wanted.
It meant being single so I could mingle with whoever I wanted.

(This may make me sound much cooler than I actually was…)

I started to be seen as someone who was always doing exciting things—or at least, that’s what was reflected back to me by friends and acquaintances who’d say, “Where are you now? I just assume you’re somewhere I want to be while I’m home with my kids! Lol.”

Part of me was flattered.
I started integrating that feedback into a new identity:
Independent woman who travels and gives no fucks.

But uh… nah.

As someone who had spent years feeling deeply lost, with no real purpose or sense of value, I liked the idea of being seen as someone who had it together.
Someone who was accomplishing things.

But part of that life was still just… an idea.
It was me chasing something—searching for an answer to my never-ending internal monologue:
What’s my purpose? What’s my value? What am I even doing here?

So when the persona of successful business traveler also left me feeling flat and aimless, it was a reckoning.

Oh.
This still isn’t it?

That moment opened the door to deeper questions and led me into exploring other ways of being.

And in that exploration, my external life drastically changed.

The thing is: successful independent traveler was socially acceptable.
Letting go of that identity came with a lot of fear.
Fear of exile.
Fear that my new beliefs and spiritual practices would be misunderstood or rejected.
Fear that I’d be left behind—sad, alone, whomp whomp.

I’m speaking lightly, but the fear of going against the grain and breaking the mold was actually… terrifying.

Which brings me back to freedom—and my evolving relationship to it.

I think real freedom began for me when I finally acknowledged what wasn’t working.
Where I was lying to myself.
Where I was performing or shape-shifting to be accepted.
When I stopped ignoring how afraid I felt and started asking: why?

That began the process of untangling.
Of removing the rose-colored glasses.
Of examining the beliefs I’d inherited but never actually chose.

Viktor Frankl once said:

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”

That quote feels true to me now.

Freedom is an inside job. And it lives in choice.

When we wake up and take ownership of our lives.
When we participate in our choices.

And whether those choices feed the world we want to live in…or not.

Talk the talk when you walk the walk.
A note to self, mostly. 😉

Thats all for now.

Off to the beach!

Happy Fourth of July! Stay Safe.