BRIANNA WRIGHT: HERITAGE

Who Gets To Claim Americana?

Brianna Wright — Mon, 05 Oct 2026 13:00:00 GMT

Around the time I was five or six, I stood on the stairs of my grandparents’ tri-level home, where the cross-stitched design my mother had made of “The Pledge of Allegiance” as a gift for my grandfather—a retired social studies teacher—hung in the stairwell. I read and reread the words, memorizing each line and cadence, practicing until I was certain I knew it by heart. When I felt sure that I could recite each line, I trekked up the stairs, stopped in front of my grandfather’s recliner, placed my hand over my heart, and proudly declared:

“I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Darien Attridge | Unsplash

As a child, this verse seemed the perfect way to show my grandfather honor and respect for all his teachings. I loved nothing more than dragging one of the heavy textbooks from his office down the stairs and climbing up in his lap to listen to him speak about the Revolutionary War, George Washington, and the Continental Congress. Even at my young age, I understood the importance of the lessons he was sharing, the complicated and problematic history of the nation, and the hope and promise for a brighter and better future.

My grandfather was a life-long Democrat who was active in both local and national movements. He attended Democratic National Conventions as a delegate, he provided security for presidential candidates during campaign stops in his hometown, and he served as a leader in the local teacher’s union. The year he was president-elect, more than 1,200 school employees marched in protest because the school board was considering referring its negotiation battle with the union to the state’s Supreme Court. In the end, the school board decided against such a move and the following year when he became president of the union, they successfully negotiated contracts for better compensation for staff, including salary checks throughout the year.

Following his retirement from teaching, he ran for a seat on the Papio–Missouri River Natural Resources District (NRD). In my grandfather’s obituary, my uncle is quoted as saying that his service on the NRD seemed a natural extension of his interest in politics and the environment. For my grandfather, it was all connected: caring about a place meant working on it for the betterment of the community.

He was and remains a towering figure in my life. Nearly all of the last conversations with my mother before she died included one or both of us exclaiming how much we wished we could have another conversation with him, to hear his perspective on the trials and tribulations we’ve experienced in the late 20th and early 21st centuries since his passing in the late ‘90s.

So it’s conflicting that, as an adult, I find The Pledge of Allegiance incredibly weird; another bit of American propaganda. But I also understand something now that I couldn’t comprehend as a child. Reciting the pledge to my grandfather wasn’t what made him proud. He was proud because even at that young age, I was already showing an interest in the history and politics of a country he cared deeply about.

As a writer who adores written language, I often struggle with the idiom that “actions speak louder than words”. And yet, that’s the perfect statement to describe my grandfather. He wasn’t simply teaching in a classroom, sharing words that perhaps went unheard. He showed up for his community. He marched, he bargained for better pay for the people who worked beside him, he stood watch at campaign stops, and he served on a board that protected the land and water around him. His love of this country was always in action. He didn’t need to profess it in a pledge, or a song, or by draping himself in flag print.

Over the last decade, symbols like the pledge and the flag have been transformed into grotesque commodities and loyalty tests that claim patriotism. But the behavior and beliefs they are claiming are not patriotism. It’s nationalism, and at its worst, nativism.

Patriotism asks for civic engagement and a willingness to sacrifice for the common good of the community; it holds the country to its promises of a brighter tomorrow, which is what my grandfather did every time he walked into a classroom or marched in protest. It says: “I love my country and want to make it a better place for everyone.”

Nationalism is divisive, aggressive, and exclusionary. It is built on an “us vs. them” model, and it always, always needs someone standing outside the circle to blame. It says: “My country is superior to others, and we must put our interests above everyone else’s.”

Nativism, while closely related to nationalism, goes a step further down the dark path of xenophobia and racism. Whereas nationalists target rival foreign states, nativists target immigrants, minorities, and foreign cultures. It creates two classes of citizens, those who deserve, and those who do not. And they will vote against their own interests if it means the other group suffers. It says: “My group was here first, and immigrants threaten my identity and resources.”

None of this is new. Every generation has had its version of it, and every generation has had people who refused to go along. My grandfather taught the history of all of it, the horrific and the hope, and he never taught it with spotless heroes placed on pedestals. Washington was one of my grandfather’s favorite presidents. And although Washington held beliefs and values that were complicated and problematic, my grandfather never pretended otherwise. What he admired was the selflessness. Washington could have stayed in office as long as he wanted, and he chose to walk away, setting the precedent every president after him would be measured against. But before any of that was decided, he was unsure and afraid of getting it wrong. In January of 1790, he wrote this letter to English historian and early feminist Catharine Sawbridge Macaulay Graham:

The establishment of our new Government seemed to be the last great experiment, for promoting human happiness, by reasonable compact, in civil Society. It was to be, in the first instance, in a considerable degree, a government of accomodation as well as a government of Laws. Much was to be done by prudence, much by conciliation, much by firmness. Few, who are not philosophical Spectators, can realise the difficult and delicate part which a man in my situation had to act. All see, and most admire, the glare which hovers round the external trappings of elevated Office. To me, there is nothing in it, beyond the lustre which may be reflected from its connection with a power of promoting human felicity. In our progress towards political happiness my station is new; and, if I may use the expression, I walk on untrodden ground. There is scarcely any action, whose motives may not be subject to a double interpretation. There is scarcely any part of my conduct wch may not hereafter be drawn into precedent. Under such a view of the duties inherent to my arduous office, I could not but feel a diffidence in myself on the one hand; and an anxiety for the Community that every new arrangement should be made in the best possible manner on the other. If after all my humble but faithful endeavours to advance the felicity of my Country & Mankind; I may endulge a hope that my labours have not been altogether without success, it will be the only real compensation I can receive in the closing Scenes of life.

In this letter, Washington describes not the triumph of victory to the highest office in the land, but his anxiety that his decisions serve the people of the country well. He knows his actions will be interpreted and misinterpreted, and he humbly asks to learn, as the curtain closes on his life, whether his labors were successful in advancing the happiness of the country he cared so deeply for. The glow of the office means nothing to him. The only compensation he hopes for is knowing the people were served.

The United States is and always has been an imperfect country, led by imperfect people, and it deserves a hard and critical examination. But the beauty of this great experiment was that it was always intended to be one of lofty ambition, and never a completed goal: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And it will require all of us working toward the promise of something better to move us forward.

My grandfather was one of those people. And when it all becomes too much, I curl up in the recliner, legs draped over the arm the way I used to sit with him, and I can imagine the weight of the textbook in my lap. I miss him, and I miss a version of this country that felt like it had people like him in it: people who are unafraid to learn the history, argue about the best path forward, and then come together to build a better tomorrow. Wishing I could ask him what he’d make of all this is like a compass, pointing at what I need, which is to belong to a country that still does that work.

I want to belong to this place without defending my right to it or explaining which version I mean.

These days the flag gets sold, waved, and worn, as proof of belonging, and a lot of people have been made to feel it isn’t theirs. But my grandfather never treated patriotism as something you display. He treated it as something you do, and that kind of patriotism can’t be commodified and it can’t be commandeered, because it was never a symbol to begin with. It’s work, and anyone willing to show up can do it.

And I believe that’s the real testament to my grandfather’s legacy. Because I believe in what the flag stands for: equal justice under law, the dignity of all people, and opportunity regardless of background. I believe in fighting for human rights, civil rights, reproductive freedom, worker protections, environmental preservation, and equality for all. That work is patriotism, and it deserves the symbols as much as anyone does.

When our American symbols meant for everyone are seized, the loudest voices want you to believe they’re gone. The flag, the Fourth, the pledge, the whole inheritance of the United States: they want us to believe those symbols belong to them now, and to them alone, and that the rest of us should walk away. And yet walking away is how they win.

Our Americana heritage isn’t something one group gets to own. It’s inherited, argued over, and stitched back together by the people who willing to do the work. I’d like to be remembered as one of the people who stitches. And someday, I’d like to be able to hang my mother’s cross-stitch in my own stairwell and have it mean only what that little girl inside me thought it meant. She knew the power in the words, and she believed them: with liberty and justice for all.

I still do.

For Your Continued Reading:

The Hill. Democrats: Don’t retreat from the flag, march with it. By Alex Wagner, Opinion Contributor. Jul 23, 2026.
Cosmopolitan. Why I’m Taking Back the Red, White, and Blue This Independence Day. By Aiyana Ishma. Jul 2, 2026.
The Michigan Daily. Reclaiming the American flag like a Midwesterner. By Naomi Rodriguez. Dec 4, 2024.
TIME. To heal America, rethink patriotism. By Dominic Erdozain. Jul 27, 2026.
National Archives. A Letter From George Washington to Catharine Sawbridge Macaulay Graham, 9 January 1790.

27 Things I Learned From My Grandmother

Brianna Wright — Mon, 14 Sep 2026 13:00:00 GMT

Although my maternal grandmother passed away when I was only seven, the time I spent with her is time I will treasure forever. I can still vividly recall packing my little red “Going to Grandma’s” suitcase to spend weeks in the summer at my grandparents, going to bingo with my grandma and my step-great grandmother, walking to the neighborhood park and spinning wildly on the merry-go-round, parroting her as she called for “Dad” (my grandpa) to take his insulin, and beaming as she and my aunt roared in laughter after I proclaimed them “Enormous” and “Humungous” words I absorbed from an episode of Sesame Street.

Even though she’s been gone a long time, and I’ve now lived more of my life without her than I did with her, she left a lot behind. I see her now in my own habits and mannerisms. I think of her each time I twist the wedding band that once rested on her finger. And I feel her with each beat of my own heart.

For her birthday, I’m reflecting on all the ways she shaped me as a kid, and how she still inspires me in the way I live now.

Even the simplest, everyday moments deserve to be beautiful.
Quality over quantity in everything — clothing, jewelry, housewares, etc.
Care for the things you own and you’ll have them all of your lifetime. Then they become heirlooms and exist a lifetime beyond you.
Store-bought is fine, but homemade is better.
Play music in the kitchen — classical, jazz, crooners, swing.
Buy a box of crayons, hard-boil some eggs, and decorate your breakfast.
Keep popsicles & fudgsicles in your freezer.
Over-indulge in fruit — Apples taste sweeter when salted. So does watermelon. Peaches taste better when preserved.
Grow your own food.
Support your local greenhouse, even when their prices annoy you.
Perfect a few recipes and make them your own.
A swipe of coral pink lipstick will instantly make you feel “pulled together”.
So will an at-home-manicure, short nails, always in timeless shades.
Take care of your skin.
Have a signature scent.
Fall asleep reading.
It’s not aggressive driving, it’s assertive.
Swearing means you speak fluent French.
It’s okay to have a love/hate relationship with your cat — especially when it takes your seat.
Spend time with the people who are important to you.
Invest in yourself — education, health, appearance, hobbies, skills. You are always worth it.
Have your own job and means of income —never be reliant on someone else to pay your bills.
Keep a feisty spirit and a mind of your own.
A little kindness can go a long, long way.
Recognize where your boundaries are.
Be a fighter, stand up for what you believe in.
Love your crow’s feet and your laugh lines. Keep laughing loudly, and laugh, often.

Happy Birthday, Grandma

A Heritage Revival

Brianna Wright — Sun, 13 Sep 2026 16:31:19 GMT

Looking back, the signs were always there. As a child, I was fascinated by both the old family homes and the stories shared within their walls. I would sit for hours listening intently to tales of who came before, or flipping through old photo albums, tracing my fingertips over the yellowed plastic film, wondering how those roots shaped who we were, and who I would become.

For a long time, I carried that curiosity quietly inside myself. When my path diverged in a wood, I took the practical one that had been paved by the expectations placed on all the women before me. As a coping mechanism, I built a wonderful inner world through my writing and my research, where I could escape whenever life got a little too loud. And though that little girl who was drawn to stories and spaces slipped into the shadows, I kept returning to her in fragments that took me far too long to recognize as a whole reflection. The family research, the writing, the way spaces and stories connected for me without even trying—it was her, all along.

That practical path, although paved with good intentions, meandered me off course in search of myself. By the time I had wandered back to the start, past all the boulevards of broken dreams, I realized that what I was searching for wasn’t ahead of me. It was behind me, buried in the roots I’d already spent years digging into. I just didn’t know yet that the calling had a name.

Source: Megan Brady | Getty Images

The “Heritage Revival” movement across culture, design, and fashion is often misunderstood as mere nostalgia: a a wistful or sentimental yearning for a return to or the return of some real or romanticized past period or some irrecoverable past condition or setting. Born as a direct counter-response to ultra-minimalist, fast-fashion, and hyper-modern aesthetics, it is frequently grouped alongside trends like “Quiet Luxury,” “Old Money Aesthetic,” and “Grandmillennial.” But Heritage Revival signals something much deeper than a wardrobe change or an interior design trend. It is a profound cultural craving for permanence, craftsmanship, and a tangible, tactile connection to history.

Psychology tells us that nostalgia is often triggered by a familiar smell, sound, or physical experience, serving as an emotional anchor during times of instability, loneliness, or loss. As with all profound emotional longings, it’s rarely about the surface-level thing we think we want: the dream house, the dream job, the dream partner, the dream milestone, or the dream version of ourselves. Instead, these feelings act as a compass pointing toward a fundamental need that’s not being met: the all search for belonging, a desire to be truly seen, the drive to find a higher purpose, and the craving of inner peace in a home we just can’t seem to locate.

As the world turns ever faster, as our days slip one into another, as doomscrolling a 24/7 newsfeed consumes the precious little time we once dedicated to our hobbies— filling our mind, our senses, our beliefs with feelings of inadequacy and fear—it’s easy to see why the past looks so inviting. how nostalgia can appear as the soothing, shushing, blanket of comforting motherly love we all crave.

And yet, Heritage Revival isn’t about going backward. It isn’t an invitation to live in the past, nor is it a blind romanticism of eras that had their own deep flaws.

Rather, it’s about learning from those who came before us to build something that fits the here and now. It’s about slowing down enough to notice that heirlooms aren’t the only objects handed down through generations. Heritage is built into the rhythms of our daily lives, the stories that we tell ourselves, and the traditions we keep year after year.

This is an exploration of that intersection: where the spaces we inhabit meet the rituals that keep us grounded. It is an exploration of design, history, and memory.

Ultimately, it’s about coming home to yourself.

If any of this resonates like the old family albums, the well-worn spaces, the wanting to live a little slower, welcome home, you’re in the right place.