Freedom

My family at Acadia National Park. This was part of my education on freedom. I didn't realize it then. I just remember my mom worrying that the guy we asked to take our picture would run off with the camera.

America turns 250 tomorrow.

For most of my career, from the Army through the FBI, freedom was something I defended and protected: the Constitution, national security, the rights we're guaranteed on paper. Important work. But it wasn't the whole story.

I learned the rest while wedged in the middle seat of the station wagon, between my brother and sister.

My family took summer road trips across America. My parents believed in the journey, not just the destination, so we stopped at every monument and roadside attraction to read the plaques. Four Corners to Thunder Hole at Acadia. My first stir fry of snow peas and water chestnuts in San Francisco's Chinatown. The damp blackness of Mammoth Cave. A roller coaster in Ohio, a water park in Colorado, a beach in Florida. Distant relatives in Appalachia, an uncle at his university in Iowa, an aunt serving tables in Missouri. By the time I graduated high school, I'd seen 42 states and fallen in love with how different all of it was.

That's why a middle-class middle child from middle America went to West Point.

At West Point and beyond, I met people as diverse as the country I'd traveled as a kid, all driven by something both personal and larger than themselves. We learned to protect freedom.

But you only see certain things clearly once you step away.

Freedom isn't just something you defend. It's something you build, in the choices you make, the life you're growing toward, and whether the person next to you gets to build theirs too.

The diversity I fell in love with from that middle seat - a teacher in Michigan building a different life than a tech worker in Idaho, someone who cherishes quiet mornings living differently than someone who thrives in chaos - only works if freedom belongs to everyone. How you live yours and how you make room for theirs.

For me, freedom means having the health, vitality, and relationships to live the life I’ve worked for. It also means caring that the person next to me gets to live their version, even when it looks nothing like mine.

Three steps to practice freedom this week:

1. Name what your freedom is for. Not what you're free from, but what you're free toward. Write one sentence and keep it somewhere you'll see it.

2. Block time for one step toward it. It doesn't have to be big. Put it on the calendar before next Friday.

3. Ask someone you care about what they’re working toward. Then listen and notice how they light up when they talk about it.

   
   

Two hundred fifty years later, freedom is still the work. Not just defending it but building it. Well, as long as your brother doesn't cross over the line while you're jammed in the middle seat of the station wagon. Then you can just defend.

Build the life you're working for.

— Sarah

P.S. This week on the Future Walk Podcast, I talked with Joe Byerly about what life looks like after 20 years in uniform, including a new take on freedom. The Freedom to Reflect | Guest Episode with Joe Byerly - YouTube