Freedom When?

What is it to be free?

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When did I first realize I wasn’t?

When I had to go to church every Sunday no matter what?

When I had to go to school when I was sick?

When I worked in an office and was so tired at 3 o’clock that all I wished for was to crawl under my desk and sleep?

When I couldn’t find anything in my closet to flatter my thighs?

When I didn’t listen to my intuition?

When? When? When?

Oh please – you privileged thing. Really?

Really.

Isn’t there a certain subtly to freedom when you seemingly have it all.

Why are we “free” westerners so freakin’ unhappy, unhealthy and unfulfilled?

Again I ask.

What is it to be free?

Today, while I was walking the dogs. A dude drove by, windows down, music blaring, straw shoved in his mouth drinking a supersized something.

That dude is free, I thought.

The woman, who waited on me behind the butcher counter, cropped hair, pierced tongue, badass, total self-confidence. That woman is free, I knew.

I want that.

Why don’t I feel like…them? Because, let’s be honest. I am pretty darned free in so many senses of the word.

What is it that I’ve found so constraining?

What is it that is stopping me from feeling (“feeling!”)(“being?”) free?

Convention?

Society?

Rules?

Decorum?

And so.

Freedom.

I’m just starting to understand.

It begins with me.

Freedom. To be. Me.

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