Bizarre, but I have been laughing out loud for no reason other than sheer freedom and joy.
Sounds cheesy, maybe a little old fashioned, but joy is the word.
A person can write wherever he chooses. I am not bound to a place.
A person can write no matter who loves him. I am not bound to a person.
A person need not write to find creative expression. I am not bound to a pen.
In my quest for freedom — not for license, but for true freedom — I have discovered that I have been my own jailer. I chose my chains and wrapped them around myself.
I sought comfort and safety, and erected bars around myself to keep out anything that interfered with those two gods. I wanted never to be hurt again, and so avoided rejection and conflict by telling myself lies.
If the truth were going to set me free, I had first to acknowledge that it is true, and then allow it to do its work.
But truth-telling — and truth-allowing — requires humility, patience, love, and even a sense of humor. If I have nothing to prove, no chip on my shoulder, no axe to grind, the truth has elbow room: it can roll up its sleeves and do its job.
Amazing how much room joy has, too, once I decided what I really and truly want; once I knew what matters most.
One certainty: there’s no use wasting time beating against what I cannot change. My efforts, thoughts, hopes, and creativity are better spent in doing those things that are within my scope to change and to accomplish.
In Hamlet, Polonius said to Laertes, “To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man,” to which I add this saying by martyred missionary Jim Elliott: “He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”
I know who I am. I have nothing to prove. I am free. The world lies yonder, waiting for me.