On Freedom

A few years ago, I was in Norway, sharing a small cabin with two friends, mosquitoes, and a communal bathroom.

By some definitions, there wasn't much freedom.

And yet I felt strangely free.

It made me wonder what I actually mean when I use that word.

For much of my life, freedom had something to do with keeping doors open.

Knowing I could leave.
Change my mind.
Choose something else.

An open door felt like freedom.

But what if needing the door to remain open is its own kind of trap?

If I need to know that I can leave in order to feel free, am I actually free?

I started to notice how easily the desire for freedom could be driven by the fear of being confined.

Maybe freedom has less to do with how many choices are available to me and more to do with where my choices come from.

There was discomfort in Norway. There were things I couldn't control.

There was also the unknown.

And I was beginning to notice that uncertainty wasn't only something to escape.

There was something alive there, too.

Maybe freedom isn't the absence of limits, discomfort, or uncertainty.

Maybe it is finding enough space inside myself to meet what is here without immediately needing to escape it.

To choose from that place.

I don't know if that's freedom.

But these days, I'm less interested in keeping every door open.

I'm more curious about why I need it open in the first place.