Do you feel free?

The first time I experienced real freedom I was seventeen years old and moving to Boston to go to school. The first time out on my own with no one to answer to but me. To me, that was freedom. Of course, I learned less than two years later that I couldn't have been more mistaken because I screwed up and ended up back at the ultimate prison that we affectionately call "Mom's House."

Moving back home was a defining moment for me. It was then that I realized that no one is ever completely, 100% free. We are all under someone else's control and even if we enjoy a certain measure of independence there is still someone that we have to answer to. If not, than you run the risk of living your life like an out of control 17-year old.

Real freedom involves the ability to make the right choices. The ability to decide to do the right thing despite the fact that the wrong thing looks much more enticing. For example, I hate my job. I'm grateful for it. I thank God everyday for giving me a place to work that enables me to provide for my children. Nevertheless, I hate my job. Some would think that real freedom means that I shouldn't have to be bound by a job that I hate. I used to feel that way too.

Eight years ago I worked for a fat, bald controlling little man that I'll call Troll. Troll was cool in the beginning but somehow or another he lost sight of the fact that I was an adult and quite capable of prioritizing the workload that I had. I resented his hovering and decided that I didn't have to take it anymore. At lunch time, I packed up my desk and left. At the time I was married and my son was seven and my daughter was three. My paycheck was a necessity not a luxury. That was on a Wednesday afternoon. By Friday I had another job. I was making a lot less money and my family suffered financially for a while -- part of me believes that it was all worth it; but the older, wiser part of me would never put myself or those that count on me through something like that again. I was free to make the choice that I did but there were consequences to be paid and I wasn't equipped to deal with those consequences.

So I choose to get up at 6:00 a.m. every morning and go to this well paying job that I hate so I can keep my house and my kids in tennis shoes. It's not unbearable but it ain't freedom either.

As I approach this weekend, the second anniversary of my relationship with my beloved I think a lot about freedom. Early in our relationship he noticed I was a little inhibited and he whispered in my ear, "Be free." One of the many reasons that I fell in love with him. One more reason that he is not aware of. Those two words, "be free" unlocked something in me that I didnt even know was there. Hidden because my first husband told me that sexually aggressive women were unattractive. Too bad for him.

This weekend is a milestone. We plan to celebrate. We plan to be free.