The Art of Resistance

A 4th of July Reflection on Staying Awake, Engaged, and Human

I live in a red state.

And what that means—at least right now—is that every day, I wake up and call my representatives in Congress.

It didn’t start this way. Six months ago, it was a call here, a call there. Once a week, maybe. But now? It’s daily. Because the world feels like it’s on fire.

A few months back, I wrote a piece here where I said something like, “Every day we wake up to some new kind of hell.” Turns out—I had no idea just how true that would become.

Today? I’m disgusted. Appalled. Grieving. And honestly? Bone-tired.

This is familiar. Achingly so. The same constant barrage, the same drumbeat of needing to rise up, speak up, push back. There’s that deep ache, that wondering if we’ll ever stop hurting. Hating. Killing. I'm wondering if we’ll ever learn.

And so here I am again, sitting with a question I keep circling back to:
How do I stay awake and engaged without burning out?

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Art, for me, has always been where I return to myself, where I process. Where I slow down. Where I remember that joy exists, that beauty exists, that I exist—beyond the noise, the grief, the chaos.

But I’m seeing something more clearly right now. My art isn’t just what I make with my hands. It’s how I live, how I choose to move through this world.

When I say I want my life to feel like art, I don’t mean it in some romantic, aesthetic sense.

I mean: I want to feel at ease in my skin. Relaxed. Awake. Open. Connected. Able to see clearly, speak honestly, and act with purpose.

When I’m in that space—when I’m that version of myself—life flows. It feels generative. It feeds something, not just for me, but for the people around me. It creates something larger. More beautiful. More human. More possible.

That’s what I mean when I say I want my life to feel like art.

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But let’s be clear, this isn’t just about protecting our joy anymore.
It’s about protecting our humanity.

Because when you look around at what’s happening—the cruelty, the disregard for life, the stripping of rights, the dismantling of truth—it’s very clear: this isn’t politics as usual.

And no, silence isn’t neutral.

I can’t be one of those people who says, “I just want to focus on everyday things” as if this isn’t part of our everyday lives now.

But I also can’t live only in the realm of anger, grief, and despair. None of us can. We are not meant to survive there.

And maybe that’s the real revolution now:
Refusing to let them strip us of our humanity.
Refusing to collapse.
Refusing to forget how to live, how to love, how to create, how to connect.

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So what does that actually look like for me, this life as art?

It looks like calling Congress, even when I hate it. It’s dropping off food, showing up at fundraisers, tending my garden, marching when I need to, and singing when I can.

It’s making things. Weird, beautiful, magical things. It’s offering creative shelter—spaces where women can discover their own artful lives, their own grounded power. And it’s sitting in real conversations with real people.

But most importantly, it’s choosing—every day—to believe that creating a beautiful, meaningful life and fighting for humanity are not opposites. They are the same damn thing. This is what I’m learning: how to live in a way that feels like a true response to this moment. A life that flows. A life that creates. A life that generates something more—more possibility, more connection, more care.

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So yes, it’s the 4th of July this week. Independence Day. And here I am, wondering what freedom even means right now. I wonder how I can stay present to both the beauty and the heartbreak of this moment. I wonder how I walk the line between action and exhaustion, resistance and restoration.

I don’t have a tidy answer. But maybe that’s the point. I’ll keep looking for where the river flows, where community happens, where beauty lives, and where love gathers. Because that’s the world I’m fighting for. And that’s the world I want my life to help create.

✨ If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. How are you navigating this balance of grief, joy, and action? Hit reply or share in the comments. Let’s be in this conversation together.