That I exist at all is a minor miracle. My parents were German Jewish refugees. My mom, Ruth, arrived in New York Harbor on a boat called the Gerolstein. My father's boat was the Albert Ballin. Many refugees - including relatives of mine - did not make it to these shores. I grew up knowing what a gift this country is. I grew up in love with this land.

I also grew up knowing that I would throw my whole heart, body, mind and spirit into the fray to uphold the promise of America. 

These times seem custom-designed to make me feel afraid - for friends, family members, neighbors… The best way I know to shift out of fear and into a new paradigm is to put myself in motion. As a newly certified yoga instructor, I have come to deeply appreciate the power of breath and body. As a religious professional, I have come to deeply appreciate the power of compassion and faith. As a spiritual pilgrim (I have undertaken a pilgrimage as part of my spiritual practice), I believe in the power of “walking the talk.” I want to put these values into motion, moving at human speed across our beautiful country and connecting with the land and the people we meet along the way. I know that transformation arises when we put love into action, and that is why I walk.

In the late 1980s, sometime after college and before life, my wife and I biked across the US, on a youthful adventure.  We never expected to discover such a country of hospitality, care, easy connection, and empathy.  Seattle to DC on two wheels completely changed my sense of my country, and of myself. I became a more optimistic person, a believer that possibilities were as wide open as the great blue sky over seemingly endless Montana.  

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Liberty Walks, for me, is about re-connection with that journey, and that country.  I still believe that in small towns, rural hamlets, suburbs and big cities across the US, in what are now called red and blue spaces, the basic decency and humanity of everyday life hasn’t changed.  We may have different news and stare at different scrolling-screen-streams, but deep down we want our families to be safe and happy and healthy, and we want to live near neighbors who will help us out as we will help them in times of unsafely, unhappiness and sickness.  We don’t as a people want to be divided. We still can come together if we take the time to slow down, talk face to face, listen, learn and take a walk together.  

As a Union Electrician for two decades, Tanya learned that through genuine conversations and collaboration, we can light up not just our surroundings but also our understanding of one another.   Tanya is currently working towards getting her Master's in clinical mental health counseling.Why I’m Cheering: I believe in the power of pilgrimage and acts of faith to change the dialogue of our nation: to soften the lines that divide us so we can focus on the real problems at hand in this time.  We need more people putting their bodies in motion as an embodiment of their vow to create a beautiful world for all beings.  

I was first drawn to Liberty Walks by the simple yet powerful idea of unity through walking. I’ve always valued conversations with people from all walks of life, and I’ve learned, through a previous pilgrimage, that a long day on foot followed by a shared meal often leads to deep connection and understanding across differences.
 

What began as a role focused on website design has grown into something much more. I’m now creating an independent documentary about the walk, and I’m incredibly excited to see where this journey leads.

I’m looking for the echoes of America.
In the cracks in the pavement. In the grass leaning toward the road. In the silence between storms.
The kind of silence you have to be still enough to notice.

I served in the Air Force as a vehicle operator—moving people & supplies through tension & terrain. Since then, I’ve spent years on the road. Not touring. Not sightseeing. Just moving through places with my ears open. Listening for the textures most people pass by. The kind of listening that requires time. Attention. Surrender.

In all that time, I was always headed somewhere—for someone. Now, for the first time, I’m moving without a waiting destination. Not arriving for someone else, but joining people already in motion.

Liberty Walks isn’t a protest. It’s not a platform. It’s a long, soft practice of presence. 2,800 miles of slowing down on purpose. Of being willing to walk without demanding an answer.

I’ll be driving the Liberty Runner—carrying gear, setting up camp, creating spaces for music, for film, for rest, for whatever shows up that day. I know how to hold weight. I know how to make room.

I’m not here to fix the country.
I’m here to listen to what’s left of it.
& to help carry that forward, mile by mile.

Why I’m Driving:Because I know how to carry things. Not just boxes or miles—but mood, fragility, quiet. The stuff people feel but don’t always say. The things that show up in the rain, or in the hum between small towns.

I’ve spent years learning how to move through space with care. Learning how to be in a place long enough to hear what it’s saying. Learning how to disappear just enough for others to feel seen. This time, I’m not walking ahead. I’m not following behind. I’m beside. With. In step.

I’m driving because something in me still believes that the road—slowed down & paid attention to—can be healing.
Because I want to serve the space between places.
Because I’m tired of noise, but not tired of people.

Because this walk makes room for the kind of hope that doesn't shout.
Because this is the first time I’ve moved without losing myself in the destination.
Because I finally get to bring everything I’ve carried into something that might matter.

Because I’m ready.
& I’m not alone.