The Space Between Traditions
It’s 11:35 PM on the Fourth of July. The fireworks are going off outside my window, but instead of watching them from the dock or the back porch like I usually do, I’m lying in bed, writing this.
Some things don’t go as planned, I guess. Let me fill you in.
The Fourth of July is my all-time favorite holiday. It’s loud and sunny and chaotic in the best way. My entire family, eight kids, plus grand babies, and friends, all gather at the lake house. It’s usually 80+ degrees, the pool is up and running, we play yard games and swim in the lake, someone’s always grilling, the yard is cleaned up, the grass is green. It feels like home in the truest sense. And it’s been this way, every year, for as long as I can remember.
But this year looked a little different.
This year, I set up the decorations alone. There weren’t enough people around to play pickleball. Not enough adequate to figure out Spike ball. Other than my mom I really didn’t have anyone to talk to or hangout with, and I guess this year just felt a little… empty.
Which sucks. Because this is my favorite holiday.
My little sister AKA, my best friend, is off camping. My older brother decided to opt out this year and catch up on some house projects. My older sister couldn’t make it because of work. And while I love my younger siblings so much, there’s just enough of an age gap that they’re off doing their own thing, even though we’re still technically together.
This was also my first year with the dogs on the lake, once the fireworks started, they freaked out enough to destroy three pillows while I was gone. So as much as I tried to stay out and watch the fireworks, I knew it was better to be here with them. I’ve seen these fireworks every year of my life. It’s okay to miss them just this once. Right?
While we were having our burgers, which all fit on one grill because there were so few of us, I couldn’t help but wonder:
Is this the beginning of a new normal?
Are holidays going to keep changing like this as we all grow up and build our own lives?
Was I taking for granted all the summers where we were all just… here? Was there a last time we’d all celebrate the 4th together? Had that day already passed?
And beyond that…
One day, we’ll all likely have our own families. Our own houses. Our own Fourth of July traditions. Who knows where we’ll be, scattered across states? Will we still find our way back here, to the lake, to each other? Or will those shared summers slowly turn into stories we tell our kids about how magical it used to be?
That thought makes me ache a little.
Because even if next year does go back to “normal,” it won’t stay that way forever.
Life moves. People move. We all keep evolving.
And maybe the hardest part of growing up is realizing that the moments you thought were infinite… were actually just really, really beautiful chapters.
Don’t get me wrong, I still had a good day. But it just wasn’t as grand. It didn’t feel like ours in the way it always has.
Maybe that’s the lesson in all this.
Maybe this slower Fourth was meant for me.
To help me appreciate the big, messy, noisy holidays of the past.
To remind me not to take for granted the ones still to come.
Because you never know when it’ll be the last time you do something.
You never really know when things change, until they do.
Tonight, the fireworks are still going off.
And maybe, after today, I’m reminded it’s okay for things to shift.
It’s okay to grieve the change and still be grateful for what is.
Maybe this wasn’t the Fourth I expected.
But maybe it was exactly the one I needed.
This year reminded me that sometimes, the quiet years are the ones that teach us the most. Not because everything is perfect or exciting, but because they invite us to look closer, to reflect, to be still, to appreciate.
It’s easy to cherish the big moments: the full house, the laughter, the chaos of yard games and water balloons. But the slower ones? The quieter ones? Those teach you to create meaning, not just receive it.
Maybe next year will go back to normal.
But this year gave me the gift of awareness.
Of knowing just how sweet “normal” really is.
Of remembering that traditions are made richer not just by the moments we celebrate, but by the space in between them.
And maybe the most important reminder of all:
Just because something feels different doesn’t mean it’s broken.
Sometimes, it’s just life… stretching us a little.
Softly asking us to grow.
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