The Burden of Freedom

I’m taking a pause. I want to communicate, but there’s no one home to hear my voice. So I shop, wash the car, make plans for next weekend, and vow to make it to the beach tomorrow for an hour or two to even out my tan. All of it is designed to take up space, to act as a placeholder, until I find a bit of something that really holds my interest. That little bit has been so difficult to find. And I feel like I’ve looked, done my best to meet fate half way: I’m moldable, bendable, and willing. But the little bit never presents itself. I don’t know tunnel vision and am distracted by the periphery: love, travel, music, books, cooking and baking. But nothing ever takes center stage and so I get angry at love for disappointing me, for not taking care of me like it’s supposed to. All I need is love? I married what I thought was love just to have it show itself later and still I sit here wondering what it is that’s supposed to inspire me. I try to fill the void with grooming: haircuts, self-tanner, wax, acid peels, and tweezers as if beauty is an accomplishment. I’m still vacant and trying to meet my little bit halfway. The Navy was an attempt at a distraction so I could purge myself of the rut I was in, refocus, and find what I wanted elsewhere. I told myself that I wanted a trade, wanted to know how to do something other than write a paper or play an instrument. I missed my blue-collar upbringing and wanted it back. I wanted people who weren’t pretending like I was. And here I am: I have a trade, I have a husband, and I have no clue.

I was intellectually spoiled as a child and let to believe that I should not just enjoy my work but need it. You can do anything. They would tell me Find what you love. I later learned they didn’t believe it, but it was too late, I was already convinced. With few limitations I can do anything. But what? I have a friend who calls it the burden of freedom. Maybe someone else more famous calls it that too, I don’t really know, but Anita introduced me to the concept when her Irish passport came in the mail. She could leave, live and work abroad. There was nothing to stop her and that freedom was overwhelming. When she explained the idea it instantly rang true. I’ll see Anita next weekend. Maybe she’ll be able to tell me how she made peace with her freedom. The easiest way is to always ignore it. But tonight I can’t and so I’m stuck here in this stew. Maybe tomorrow at the beach or next weekend with friends I’ll get my first glimpse of my little bit. Or maybe I’ll try to forget about it.