A July 4 Invitation: Take Your Seat

A Creative Declaration of Belonging

Hi Friends,

Today, as fireworks light up the sky and the word freedom is printed on tank tops and flags, I find myself asking:

What does it mean to freely take up space, not as a performance, but as a practice?

In meditation and yoga, taking a seat might begin with a cushion — but it doesn’t end there. It’s about presence. About returning to your breath, your body, your story. A way of proclaiming, to yourself first: I’m here. I belong. This is mine to claim.

When I asked a recent Narrative Healing circle what it means to take your seat in the world, here’s what came forward:

– Feeling worthy of a voice
– Claiming space without apology
– Voting, at the polls, with your wallet, your attention
– Rooting in belonging

Taking your seat isn’t passive, uptight, or still. As long as we’re alive, we’re in motion — the breath moves, the blood flows, the world spins on. Taking a seat is more about finding a full presence, no matter what is happening. It can be a refuge within the motion. Not rigid or statuesque — but steady, vital, alive, and fortifying.

Today’s holiday began as a declaration of independence — the planting of a flag to mark freedom from British rule. But over the years, its meaning has shifted. For many of us, it’s no longer just a question of what we own. It’s become a deeper inquiry into where we belong.

What if the flag isn’t something we raise over land, but something we carry quietly within? You — your body, your breath, your truth — are the flag.

Your seat doesn’t have to look a certain way. You don’t have to be still to be grounded.
You don’t have to be silent to be centered. Your seat might be a walk, a dance, a protest, or a breath in the middle of grief.

There are so many models of what “presence” should look like — most of them weren’t made with all of us in mind. You don’t need to squeeze yourself into those shapes. And for those of us whose bodies don’t always cooperate — whose health, history, or identity places us at the edges — taking a seat may not look like anything visible from the outside. It may be choosing to stay in your body through pain. A flicker of will in a moment of exhaustion. Simply naming: I exist. I’m still here.

Some seats are private. Some are hard-won. Some are invisible. All are real and interconnected.

Taking your seat today can be a quiet resistance or tenderness. It can be choosing to belong to yourself first.

So ask yourself gently: What is the truest expression of my seat?

Maybe it’s a whisper from bed. A prayer under your breath.
Naming what you need. Showing up to the page, even when you’re not sure what you’ll say.

Take your seat — exactly as it is.
Let it be small, quiet, wild, raw, unseen, or in neon lights.

Because how you sit matters.
And how you show up — especially now — is the real fireworks.

With care,
Lisa