More Than a Monument

My parents came to this country as children. My father arrived by boat from Cyprus when he was nine years old. My mother came from Germany. When I close my eyes, I can picture my dad stepping off that ship and eventually running through the streets of Chelsea, Manhattan, delivering groceries for the neighborhood market, playing with his brother, sisters and cousins. His family was building a new life in a new city that must have felt both exciting and overwhelming. My niece is the same age as my dad when he first came here and I can only imagine what he saw and how he felt. My dad has great stories about his childhood.

Those stories are part of my story.

Today I live in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Almost every day Jagger and I walk to the waterfront where we can see the Statue of Liberty standing in the harbor.

There was a season of my life when I wasn't sure where I was headed. I'd look across the water and see her holding the torch high above her head. She became more than a monument. She became a reminder. When I look at her, I don't see perfection. I see possibility.

Keep going.

Keep walking toward the light.

People leave everything they know for the possibility of a different life. They cross oceans, learn new languages, adapt to unfamiliar cultures, and begin again. My parents did that. Millions of others have too. Their stories are filled with struggle, yes—but also hope, courage, laughter, and the simple act of caring for family.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have been born in New York City. For me, the Statue of Liberty represents freedom.

The freedom to begin again.

The freedom to question.

The freedom to change.

The freedom to become.

And I know that freedom is not experienced equally.

I know that for many people, this moment carries uncertainty, fear, and questions about what freedom really means. Those realities deserve to be seen, too.

So when I write about freedom, I'm not writing about a finished promise. I'm writing about a responsibility. A torch is not only something we admire. It is something we carry.

Life asks us to hold it all.

The beautiful and the difficult.

The certainty and the unknown.

The celebration and the reflection.

Speaking of celebration, I love the WORLD CUP! Wow, this is what we needed. People from all over the world are cheering, celebrating the wins and coming together. Morocco is doing so well! I love this energy. It reminds me that the world is both enormous and deeply connected. Beneath our differences, so many of us are searching for the same things: love, purpose, belonging, and a chance to live freely.

If you're celebrating this weekend, I hope you find a moment of gratitude—for the people who came before you, for the opportunities you've been given, and for the ways that life has provided a torch for you to see.

Every time I look across New York Harbor, I no longer see a monument. I see a reminder.

Keep going.

Keep walking toward the light.

And whenever you can, carry a little of that light for someone else.