Freedom is my currency.
I’ve been saying this for years. Even as a kid, my favorite game to play was an imaginary one called “Runaway,” where I’d pack my suitcase and head off to some magical made up destination. In some ways, I feel like I’ve been on the run my whole life, despite having grown up in the same house until I turned eighteen.
Since 1998, I’ve moved fourteen times. One time, I literally moved across the street – for no real reason other than better appliances. There is a deep-seated restlessness that lives inside my bones. A wanderlust. A fear of feeling like my days will be mundane and predictable if I don’t keep switching it up. A belief that being rooted means giving up my freedom.
Recently, I was sharing these thoughts with a Psychoanalyst friend. “So you think freedom and being rooted are opposites of one another?” Without any thinking I eagerly said “yes, exactly!” But his next words threw my beliefs about this topic for a loop: “To be free, you must be rooted. Being rooted is your path to freedom.” That was a little bit of a mind fuck for me. They sounded like opposites and I’d have bet my life they were.
I’ve been pondering this concept of rootedness providing freedom. I think my friend may be onto something after all. If I can root myself in a place, then I don’t have to spend all my energy starting over all the time. Packing and unpacking, building new circles of friends, figuring out new cities. I can actually travel, instead of packing up all my belongings to explore a new place – talk about hauling around my baggage! I can expand my experiences and dig into my hobbies and talents and maybe birth a whole new career if I actually give myself the time and chance to flourish at something besides being a half-assed gypsy.
This is possibly the most profound realization I’ve ever experienced. Freedom will feel so much freer and weightless without dragging around all the trappings of my life. Now to embrace this new thinking on the brink of an upcoming and totally necessary move…