We're more free than we think we are

When I was young I lived on top of a mountain, on a dirt road. Truly remote.

I had an incredible sense of freedom.

I would strip down naked to jump into the old mine pit that had filled with water, long after my age had passed “socially acceptable” to do this. I had no idea.

I would run through the woods, with seemingly endless territory under my control.

I would trudge down, late at night, in the freezing cold snow, to look at the stars, so bright you’d think you could reach out and kiss them.

There was a lot of freedom. And I have a lot of nostalgia for that freedom.

But, what I don’t often think of is what I did to embrace the freedom.

We had an entire SEASON called mud season. And you can bet I came inside, covered, head to toe in mud. Happy, cold and… decidedly free.

Right after mud season was black fly season — which lasted most of the warmer months — when my brother and I would literally wear bee keepers head protection, just to go outside. I remember getting on our bikes and trying to outrun the swarm.

The mine that I swam in with glee? Full of leaches. When we’d get out and do a leach inspection, dousing any that got between our toes or under our arms with salt to melt them off. GROSS.

Much of the year, the mountain was covered in snow. Everyday I would suit up in my boots and hat and mittens to go out and enjoy the freedom.

Freedom had more tradeoffs than I remember.

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And so it makes sense that today, where I am arguably even more free than childhood, I find myself making arguments that my world is smaller than I want it to be.

Because of the pandemic.
Because of the weather.
Because of my responsibilities.

Yet, none of it makes me un-free.

It might make it harder. Or less convenient. Or more work. Or different.

Freedom doesn’t have to be easy. And when I embrace that, I realize that I’m more free than I think I am.

You are too.