Freedom

An ordinary evening with extraordinary light and an open heart.

Truly free.

That’s the feeling this photo evokes for me.

It carries me back to childhood summers in Queens, NY—the rhythm of sneakers hitting the pavement, the pride in perfectly timed Double Dutch with my friends, sunflower seeds tucked into the corner of my cheek as I waited on the stoop for the ice cream truck’s familiar tune. I remember writing down every lyric to old-school hip-hop and R&B songs in my worn-out notebook, rewinding songs on my boombox until I got them just right. I remember my father walking into the kitchen wearing his striped gardening gloves, proudly carrying tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers he’d grown—already thinking about how he’d turn them into our favorite meals.

Back then, freedom was everywhere.

It lived in the joy of learning a new dance.
In whispered prom plans with my best friend.
In high school Spirit Week step routines perfected with persistence and pride.

Later, it showed up in early adulthood milestones—my first job at a foster care agency, my first car (which was stolen two months later—but that’s another story), summer nights in the city, long conversations under open skies, and that indescribable feeling that anything was possible.

But as the years passed, freedom felt harder to reach.
It still visited—like when my husband and I planned our destination wedding in Jamaica, or when we packed up to start over in a new state.
But this time, it arrived layered with responsibility, hesitation, and the kind of quiet mental overload that adulthood often brings.

And so, I’ve come to understand something:

Freedom doesn’t just happen anymore. It must be chosen.

As we grow, we collect things—old stories, inherited beliefs, invisible rules we didn’t write but still follow. Some of them settle in without us noticing. Others we carry with full awareness, even when they no longer serve us.

Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re no longer free.
Other times, we know—but it feels too overwhelming or impossible to change.

But yet I still wonder: What is freedom?

For me, it looks like wonder, play, and truth.
It feels like exploring a new place with my camera, totally present.
It’s styling outfits with my daughter on a quiet Sunday.
It’s pausing to watch the sunset in shades no paint could ever capture.

Freedom is in the choices I make just for me—not for approval, not for performance, but for alignment.
It’s in the no I say with clarity. In the yes I offer with joy.

We weren’t meant to live programmed, conditioned versions of ourselves.
But so many of us do—because somewhere along the way, we learned that being accepted was more important than being unapologetically ourselves.

But at what cost?

Eventually, we forget who we are beneath the mask.
And that’s not living—that’s hiding.

So many of us remain searching to discover: Where can we find freedom?

I once listened to a man serving a life sentence describe the moment he forgave himself. He spoke of finding peace in a place designed to strip it away. He found freedom behind bars. That story resonated deeply within me—because it confirmed what I’d already started to believe:

Freedom is not about what surrounds us. It’s about what we cultivate within.

Not in a job. Not in a place. Not in another person.
It lives inside us.
And it begins with truth—our truth.

If you're ready to explore what freedom looks and feels like for you, these prompts can gently guide your reflection:

1. What are three moments when I truly felt free?
   Describe them in detail. How did it feel in your body, your emotions, your spirit?

2. How do I define freedom in the different areas of my life?
   Consider relationships, work, creativity, self-expression. Where is there openness? Where do I feel restricted?

3. Who encourages my freedom—and who dims it?

4. Why is freedom important to me?
   Dig deep. Is this rooted in your truth—or shaped by others’ expectations?

5. What’s one small way I can practice freedom today?
   A choice, a boundary, a joyful moment—something that honors your whole self.

It’s not always easy. But it is always possible.

We may not always feel free. But with mindfulness, intention, and a little courage—we can find our way back to it. Through art practices, creativity, and self-expression we begin to feel, notice, and question the things we do and say everyday that are not in alignment with who we are today — or perhaps have never been.

This is what came alive in me from this photograph. My whole body remembered a feeling — and gave me permission to choose freedom.

This is the magic of photography: when we allow ourselves to feel more than we see.