The Utter Elusiveness of Feeling Completely Free
The joy of being untethered from reality
As long as I put other peoples' needs first, I don't have to worry about mine.
And now that I'm wandering the streets of a ridiculously photogenic Portuguese village, 2500 km away from home, completely free of other people's needs, I have no idea what to do with mine.
Or, to quote Joker in The Dark Knight:
"I'm like a dog chasing cars; I wouldn't know what to do if I caught one, you know, I just do…things."
I wanted to be free. I wanted time for myself. An empty calendar and no expectations. And now that I have it, I have no idea what to do with it — besides guarding my freedom like a mama grizzly bear protects her cubs.
My phone is on silent, and I have turned off all my app notifications. Every time I get a text from someone asking if I am enjoying my holiday, I feel like I'm getting pulled back to reality. So I mute, block and ignore.
It feels a bit like betrayal because my family and friends are amazing, and I love them dearly — but I don't want to hear from them. They're all home, where reality lives. And I am in paradise, where freedom lives. Maybe it's due to my shortcomings, but I can't combine those two worlds.
If I want to be here, I can't have any contact with there.
There are no words to describe how good it feels to be here. Typing text messages about how much I'm enjoying Portugal feels dirty. It is like talking about what you wished for when you saw a falling star — it must be a secret for it to come true.
And even though I am a writer and I know a whole lot of words, I can't successfully describe what I felt when I was walking down a busy road during sunset and let out a gasp when I suddenly saw the nearly-full moon against the pink sky, playing peekaboo between the leaves of a palm tree.
I am so used to being busy, worried, stressed, and unhappy that this sudden influx of all types of happiness hormones made me giddy.
Like a fool, I stood in the street, smiling at the moon. All my neurons happily firing in unison, making my whole body vibrate with good sensations. At that moment, I felt completely free.
I felt like the luckiest person in the world, completely free of everything and excited about living on this magical planet. And I was this close to bursting out in song and destroying everybody's eardrums with my rendition of George Michael's smash hit Freedom! ‘90.
All we have to see Is that I don’t belong to you And you don’t belong to me (Yeah, Yeah!) Freedom!
Because that is what I felt. Not belonging to anyone or anything — not even to the earth, because I am pretty sure I was floating a couple of millimeters above it.
Sometimes words need to stay far, far, far away from experiences. Experiencing freedom is too elusive to be tied down by something as earthly as words.
Because it is hard to define freedom. The dictionary gives two meanings:
- The state of not being imprisoned or enslaved.
If we only look at this meaning, many of us are 100% free. It is a fact. But is it also a feeling? Did the moon's beauty make me feel completely free because she reminded me I am neither imprisoned nor enslaved?
Of course not. When you have the privilege of never having been imprisoned or enslaved, this type of factual freedom is a given. And you hardly ever stop and think about how lucky you are for literally being free.
2. The power or right to act, speak or think as one wants.
Now it gets tricky. This is the definition that always causes unnecessarily cruel Twitter discussions. I live in a free country. A democracy, even though it is run by horrible people — who are as incompetent as they are mean.
But! Those awful people were voted in during free and fair elections. And despite the conspiracy theorists loudly shouting that they are being silenced, we have the power and right to act, speak, and think as we want.
Of course, there are laws I have to consider, but they're pretty straightforward. Still, I don't feel the freedom to act or speak as I want for multiple reasons.
- No man is an island.
- I suffer from nice girl syndrome.
- We live in a hellscape capitalistic society.
- Common sense.
Yes, I am free to paint a big L on my forehead, run through the street naked and sing Hakuna Matata, but why would I want to do that?
What I want is to be left the fuck alone. Earth is a freaking fantastic planet, and I've only seen a small fraction of it. I want to meet people from different cultures, taste new foods, smell amazing scents, pet animals I only know from the encyclopedia, and see what "life" means all over the globe. I want to write and study and not think about mortgages, taxes, and the global cost of living crisis.
And I definitely don't want to go to an office building and listen to my co-workers' rant about why blackface is a-okay.
I am free to quit my mediocre job, but then I'd have to find a new one. And even though I have a very particular set of skills — skills I have acquired over a very long career —and it should be relatively easy for me to find another job, I'd rather pull out my toenails than have a job interview.
"Why do you want to work here? What do you bring to the table?"
"First of all, I don't want to work. But I also don't want to be homeless and hungry. However, I am a marketing and branding genius — and very humble and modest— so if you give me money to pay my bills and travel now and then, I'll tell you how to truly connect to your customer base. But I'll do it reluctantly."
But let's keep it real. Even though I feel confined by living in a patriarchal, capitalistic society, I have a lot of freedom — which apparently can only be fully experienced when the moon plays peekaboo with some palm leaves.
The moon is waning, and I am no longer vibrating with freedom.
After a week in Portugal, denying reality exists is getting increasingly more challenging. One of my friends worries about me because I haven't responded to her messages.
It makes me feel awful. When someone expresses worry about me, I know they mean well, but I always find it a bit condescending. I'm 40 years old. I'm grown. I've been around the block several times. I've got me. And just because I am not responding to your texts doesn't mean I've been murdered.
But I also feel bad for leaving her in the dark when I could have easily sent her a quick text to let her know I was alive and kicking.
And I can't explain why, but the more the feeling of freedom slips away, the less I want to "waste" time sending messages home. I don't want to check in with anyone; I don't want to update anyone; I want to exist here without being constantly reminded about reality.
Restless and aimless, I wander the narrow streets lined with white houses and climb up a cliff. The view of the ocean is spectacular.
"Well, come on," I say to the dopamine-carrying neurons in my brain, "do something. Fire. Make me giddy again."
It doesn't happen. Rationally, I can see that I am in a ridiculously pretty area — straight out of a fairytale. My eyes register the beauty, but my neurons give me nothing in return.
Very confusing.
I walk around until sunset and take the same route as the week before. The waning moon is still stunning and still playing hide and seek with palm leaves. But alas, no serotonin for me. Not even when I put on my headset and play the same song as when I was floating above the earth.
I am the same person, in the same spot, looking at the same moon, listening to the same song. I have retraced my steps, but the overwhelming sense of freedom is gone. Even worse — I feel hurried and worried. Trapped again by society, expectations, and my own ruminations.
So apparently, freedom isn't about seeing the moon playing peekaboo with a palm tree.
On the plane back home, I can't help but cry a little. Yet, I am happy to go back. I feel well-rested and energetic, and I look forward to seeing my friends and family again. But at the same time, I don't want to leave Portugal.
Even though the giddy vibrating freedom disappeared, I managed to find a relaxing state of contentment. No longer being gobsmacked by beauty and freedom but quietly appreciating the luxury of an empty calendar and a gorgeous village begging to get explored.
This is me at my best. No plans, no goals, no deadlines, no routines. Uncharted territories. I loved walking around, taking random turns, and being surprised by where my feet would take me.
And like a toddler being told they can't have more sweets, I get angry because I want MORE, and I want it NOW. I don't want to go back to normal. I don't want work to dictate my schedule. I don't want to deal with daily dilly-dallies.
I focus on feeling gratitude. Because I definitely am grateful for these two adventure-filled weeks. But at the same time, I feel sad. Is this what life is? If you're lucky, you get a couple of weeks a year to have a taste of freedom, but the rest of the time, you must run and hustle to keep up with an increasingly shittier society.
As soon as you have felt the overwhelming sense of freedom of living life on your own terms, reality becomes too bleak to endure.
I try to comfort myself by lying that permanent freedom must become boring at one point. Freedom feels more intense right after you have tossed away your shackles.
So here I am, back in all my routines. Voluntarily putting my shackles back on, living life the way it is supposed to be lived. Work, pay taxes, and be a good daughter, sister, friend, and partner. I don't talk about my silly fantasies of wanting to live outside society and travel the world.
But every evening before I go to bed, I look for the moon. With my forehead pressed against my cold window, I whisper at her.
"One day. You, me, and the palm tree. We will be untethered from reality, happy and free, and it will be glorious. Watch me."
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