During the progression of my life, when I get down to it, deep in the nitty-gritty, while screaming inside, ‘what is it you want!’ The answer at the bottom of the well is always freedom. That’s it. That’s what I want. Money, time, and travel are all symbols of it for me, and chasing after these things has kept me scrambling for decades.
Of course, there are other important pursuits that motivate me too; creativity, health, learning, worldly beauty. But none of them get to the heart of my existential quest for the feeling of freedom. In fact, my other pursuits may be the gift of having achieved freedom. It turns out the big ticket items on the list of what humans quest for are elusive, and the meaning is unique to each seeker. By all accounts, I live a life of freedom. I work remotely. I’ve rarely worked 40 hours a week at a desk. I have few obligations, social, or financial. I live simply, and life clicks on. I can see this. I know this. And yet, often I don’t feel it. It’s like I’m looking out at it from an entrapment I can’t name. Like the watery world of a fishbowl. The last time I noticed this I was able to pull back and acknowledge this phenomenon more than ever before. Intellectually I can do the math of my lifestyle and see it adds up to plenty of freedom in the physical sense. Then why do I still feel like I need to release myself from the compressed, dull, cramped place inside?
Thankfully, it’s just these kinds of personal inquiries that I live for and at this late date, I know a deep question like this beckons some kind of breakthrough, big or small. When I strip it down, instead of talking myself out of it with admonishments like; ‘ What do you have to complain about?’, or ‘Why are you so closed off?’- I can look inward to find a thick barrier inside. It’s a coolness that bleeds into grumpiness and agitation sometimes. In the past, it fully paralyzed me, and I now know it’s a nervous system response that plays out as a “functional freeze“. I’ve worked through much of the pure terror in me that I lived with for so many years, and perhaps this is the first time my system was intact enough for me to see it, and begin to understand it, rather than just wallow in its grip.
I spent a few days vacillating between feeling the great ennui and then watching and questioning it. In the spirit of American optimism, it can easily be reduced to wanting to, or expecting to “be happy“. Ideally, we are all trying to be happy, but that ends up feeling oversimplified and trivial in the face of a self-created prison. May be the relentless expectation of that happiness erects the prison, brick by brick. The self-judgment for failing to be happy. ‘There are wars, famine, homelessness, for god sake. What do I have to complain about?’ What am I imprisoned by that keeps me from the freedom and by extension, happiness that I know is possible? I look out at the garrish brushstrokes of orange and magenta across the canyon, while the poetic thumbnail of a crescent moon descends from the inky blue of evening. I still feel apart from it. In my head, organizing myself, and then enjoying how a glass of rosé relaxes the prison guards and allows me to thaw.
In my prison, there are strict schedules and timelines. There are chores and niceities to be completed before I am allowed to work on things important to me. There is the expectation to finally proved to everyone (who, I ask?!), that all this dillydallying has simply been a process on the way to great things. It’s what brilliance requires. I’m not saying I’m brilliant, it’s just how my ego justifies how I will ever sufficiently explain what I’ve been doing all these years. I simply have to laugh, writing this out. It’s so ridiculous! Which brings me to another point, a lament really. How did I get so serious? In my vision of feeling freedom, I am not a serious person. Sure, I can get things done and be focused, but I’m not serious as a way of being. As I dug into this with a deeper honesty I was forced to admit the level of seriousness that surrounded me—because I’m not! It’s not my natural personality. But when one is in prison, it feels like a serious matter. There’s a relenting cycle of balancing overwhelm and subsequent low energy, with accomplishing something that will satisfy the warden. When I’m in flow, my life makes sense. The gratitude I feel for the details of my life are immeasurable. My plans and dreams make sense and are obtainable. I feel like an adult. I feel someone is watching in the shadows, but my buoyancy floats me above it for a while.
This question of what it is to feel free, and by extension, happy is really at the center of personhood. Nearly all of us buy into some version of life “out there“ as being what we want. We see beautiful things, and unencumbered heart, wonderful projects and creations. All symbols that we fulfilled the requirements we believe are necessary to be allowed to have what we want, and feel good. We can finally prove we did it! No one will suspect how worried we are about being enough, or doing it, right, or being accepted. We have proof of who we are!
In me, this is what is being asked to be looked at. This backward trajectory. ‘ if I just…, once that is done…, if I just have…’. I have most of what I could ever ask for, and I am still finding myself pinned into a gray corner with all the gumption and vision of a wet dishtowel at times. It happens far less, yet still surprises me. This time, rather than a judgment, or sentence, I was able to observe it. Stand apart from it. In truth, there was a bigger part of me, saying, ‘Is this still you? Do you still want to be in the story? Do you still not know better? Do you still believe these lies?’ it is a gentle voice. It doesn’t push. It’s a loving presence, wondering if we are still signing up for the storyline. It’s like the mental – ego dynamic is in one hand and freedom is in the other. I get to choose when I remember to. I imagine I will forget again, and go get back on my cot, handing over my keys, so the guard will lock me in for a few days. But, understanding that my freedom is something I give myself is a revelation. It is not a wistful daydream.
I can see and feel the truth, even if it’s the contrast of giving it up at times that illustrates it. Going forward I will now practice choosing. When I feel things tighten up, I can step back and see if it’s real. Is there a real expectation of me here, or am I holding myself back? Am I hiding in the “protection“ of my prison, so that I am not vulnerable? Lots of questions. Lots of answers.
