Fireworks & Freedom: Living a Quiet Life in a Loud World

I’ve wanted to address something that I’ve felt conflicted about for a while now.

For the last 8 months, I’ve been quiet. Not because there wasn’t anything to share, but because there is, and I can’t help but feel like it would appear incredibly “tone deaf” and “out of touch” by sharing it.

Back in October, when I posted about our last day in the U.S., I was eager to share this new chapter, excited to film and document home renovations, explore local events, festivals, the overall landscape and lifestyle of being here in Europe.

Most of our days have been full of beauty, growth, and moments I’ve wanted so badly to put into words (and have, by the way, in 16 draft posts that might never see the light of day).

The forest walks, the slow mornings, the smell of sawdust, tilled dirt, and freshly hayed fields. The renovations that bring both chaos and clarity. I’ve wanted to invite you into it all… I even said I would. Such a big build up, and then, utter silence. Every time I opened my laptop or picked up my camera, I would stop myself.

“How can I be so bold and delusional to think that anyone would even care?” I’d think to myself.

“How could I post about fresh bread and morning fog when there is so much suffering in the world?”

“How could I share joy when people are being bombed, brutalized, dehumanized?”

From Gaza to Ukraine to Iran, hate and cruelty spilling through headlines, a U.S. government that feels more and more like a practical joke, except with real-world consequences.

Racism. Sexism. Fear. Grief. Rage. For fuck’s sake!

And honestly?

It all feels too loud, too heavy.

In comparison, my peace feels… inappropriate.

Selfish, even.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: peace isn’t selfish. It’s sacred. And it’s needed.

I don’t believe in ignoring the world’s pain or pretending everything is okay, but I do believe in offering shelter when and where we can. If someone finds even a sliver of calm in the photos I take or the stories I tell, then maybe I’ve helped in the smallest, most human way. And if not? Well, then maybe it’s okay if it’s just for my own sanity.

Perhaps showing what it means to live gently, to build something loving, is a form of resistance too.

Like many people in the world today, my husband and I constantly catch ourselves getting sucked into the endless doom scrolling on the internet, getting into heated conversations over the repetitive “can you believe this?” topics that come through every news outlet. It’s exhausting, it’s toxic.

So, where do I go when I need a break from these negative thoughts? I discover the joy, beauty, and humor of other people’s lives around the world. I watch gardening videos, read farming blogs, follow woodworkers on Instagram, or stumble on TikTok videos about the adorable chaos that occurs when you own a Labrador. These are my escapes. So if I find joy through the happiness of others, then maybe it’s not worth feeling guilty over sharing my own joy.

There’s more than 8 billion people on this planet, and it’s a privilege to be just one of those people who has the ability to share beauty and hope. Not because I’m unaware of the suffering, but because I am. Because we all need reminders of what’s still possible. That, even in a fractured world, joy can still exist.

Morning light still pours through the windows. Dogs still nuzzle your face when you wake up. Candles still burn low in the evening. Birds still sing when the sun rises.

And as I sit here in Germany tonight, on the eve of America’s big “Independence Day” celebration, I can’t help but notice the irony. A country proudly lighting up the sky with fireworks to honor freedom and independence, all while its government actively chips away at human rights, censors truths, and funds violence around the world. Nothing screams “land of the free” quite like cages at the border, billion-dollar bombs, and politicians arguing over whether women deserve bodily autonomy or if poor people should pay more than rich people in taxes. What a show. Someone pass the popcorn.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s no shame in patriotism. In fact, I think we should find reasons to celebrate at times like this. I just can’t wait for the day to feel pride over the part of me that is American, rather than embarrassment.

So, I’m here again. Not with perfect answers, but with an open mind. With stories about building a life that feels honest, rooted, and fiercely tender.

If you’re willing to listen, I’ll keep sharing.