I have a love-hate relationship with the 4th of July.
On the one hand, I am so, so grateful to have the freedoms that we have in our country.
And I am equally grateful for those who have fought to protect those freedoms for us.
(Okay, and I admit: I’m super grateful for Lin-Manuel Miranda bringing “Hamilton” into the world because now I have a new favorite thing to watch on this holiday besides “Independence Day.” And also, because…“Hamilton.”)
On the other hand, though…this has never been my favorite holiday. I feel like I say this every year, but I’ve always felt like this day seems similar to New Year’s Eve in that some people treat it as a reason to drink too much or set off fireworks…or generally just act a tad bit less mature than they otherwise might. (And yes, as a matter of fact, my dad was a fire chief when I was growing up, so I might be a little overly safety-conscious.)
I feel like I might be lightening up a little bit as I get older, though. I have more appreciation now for people just wanting to have some F-U-N…because that is something that I absolutely want to create more of in my life. So I get it. And feel like I could learn a lesson or two from all you fun-types.
And yet, this holiday still holds a more personal place in my heart. For me, this holiday has always been more about personal freedom.
Most years, it has felt like I’ve used Independence Day as my own personal version of New Year…a day to declare my own independence from whatever I felt like was weighing me down. Usually in the form of triggers or patterns that I wanted to release to step more fully into the Christy I want to be. The Christy I am at heart but perhaps wanted to let go of some habits or an old version of me in order to allow the real me to shine through even more.
And of course, in the past few years, Independence Day has become even more important to me as I gained my personal freedom after letting go of my 25-year marriage.
The first 4th of July I experienced post-divorce, I celebrated by going back to back to my old cul-de-sac, where my ex-husband still lives. I spent 10 years in that neighborhood and if I am being completely honest, I miss that neighborhood and all my amazing neighbors every single day. Every time I take my kids to or from their dad’s house, I feel a little (or a really, really big) twinge at not living there anymore. But it was my choice to not keep the house and I don’t regret it…I simply didn’t want to manage the 1/3-acre lot and all that goes along with a 25-year-old house. Not to mention the memories created in that home that I still question.
Then last year, I’m pretty sure I invited myself to my best friend’s family gathering. I was living in a horrible limbo after the guy I was seeing said he wanted some space, “but definitely did not want to let me go” a week after he told me he loved me. So I was licking my wounds during a pandemic holiday, and my bestie took pity on me and let me invite myself to her sister’s house instead of worrying about me being on my own. (She’s really, really good at worrying. She’s absolutely my Worrier-in-Chief. Whether I want anyone to worry about me or not.)
This year, I am fully feral after more than a year in lockdown and found myself without plans for today. Which left me feeling a little…I’m not sure what. Sad? Lonely?
Even while I’m grateful I am not in a 25-year marriage that left me feeling lonely while partnered with someone.
And I’m so grateful that I am not questioning myself in the “whatevership” of a year ago — (his description of our relationship…exactly one week after his over-the-top proclamation of love) — that was always more about him than it ever was about us.
And grateful to have all the freedom I’ve ever wanted. To be alone.
Ish.
Because here’s the tricky thing about these holidays…
They feel like they should be shared with friends and family. At least to me.
But this year, I am faced with a few barriers, personally.
First, I think we’re all just a little out of practice with gatherings. Some of us might be interested in gathering. But some of us might have become even more introverted than we ever have been before, and are struggling with having zero interest in gathering with even the loveliest souls of friends and family that we adore.
Second, even though I have incredibly loving friends and family who wouldn’t even blink if I invited myself over — to my old cul-de-sac, to my parents’ house, to all of my married friends’ houses — I don’t relish inviting myself places. Sometimes I don’t give a shit and will absolutely ask if I can come over…but other times, it just doesn’t feel like the thing I want to do — again.
So, when I celebrate Independence Day alone, how do I do it?
· I have a mindful moment of gratitude for my older teenager as I wake her up and realize I only have 55 more days with her before she heads off to San Diego for college.
· I show her my love by making her a smoothie before she goes to work.
· I take some time for self-care and self-love in the form of a delicious cup of coffee and lying in bed much longer than I can ever normally allow myself to as a single mom.
· I have a lovely chat with one of my favorite people to talk to.
· I figure out how to make this day special for me and only me. (Okay, and my girl if she’s around…even though she has a few different parties she’s debating between…)
· I gas up my car, run through the car wash, and drive to downtown Denver to pick up the lobster rolls and whoopie pies that will make this day feel like the special celebration it deserves to be, while listening to the “Hamilton” soundtrack the whole way.
· I pick up a bottle of my favorite champagne.
· I come home and pick up around the house (one of my favorite things to do) while watching golf, which soothes my soul.
· I pour a drink and listen to the thunder while I write a thing.
That’s it. Nothing fancy. Pretty basic. And it works for me.
I have always loved alone time. And I’ve always needed more alone time than anyone I know. But it hits different on a national holiday when all the messages you are hammered with from society and the media are giant, happy gatherings filled with loved ones. Not quiet days with just you, your feelings, and maybe your favorite firstborn (if you’re lucky enough to win out over parties and people way cooler than her mom).
But I will still take it.
Because my freedom is more precious than the Instagram-worthy photos of picnics with friends. Even the ones I drool over on the beach.
And I will always raise a glass to freedom.
Freedom for one, please.