It’s funny that’s become clear only now. Freedom has always been one of my core values, even my most important one.
How do I define freedom?
What does it mean to me to be free?
I’ve been obsessively thinking of these questions. And it’s like… The closer I get to the answers, the farther they get.
How can I touch something that only seems to be slipping through my fingers?
How can it be mine if it’s untouchable?
I imagined myself in all sorts of scenarios. Drawing. But I know if I only draw, I get bored or overwhelmed, although I do love it. Traveling. But it gets tiring and scary at times. Joining classes? Maybe, it depends. Wait, I could be a writer, right? If I become a writer, I could do whatever I like all the time. That must be the meaning of freedom, right?
I think I got it all wrong. I think freedom is my ability to do something I love.
Freedom isn’t suposed to be infinite, but I’m supposed to find infinity within the moment.
Maybe freedom isn’t doing what you want ALL THE TIME. Maybe that’s why unemployment feels like a cage.Maybe it’s about approaching pockets of space with infinite love.
I could feel completely free in a moment of a blue brush stroke than in a lifetime of doing what I want all the time.
Maybe freedom is meaning. Don’t you feel limitless when you know your why?
