Guilty Freedom

Catch 22 - "A hidden difficulty or means of entrapment"

When I had the means, I didn't have the time. Now that I have the time, I don't have the means. And it sucks.

I love animals having grown up with dogs, cats, fish and birds. But besides the dogs, my favorite was Pancho the parrot. He was already part of the family before I was born. And as much as I loved him, seeing him made me sad. He should be free. (Don't get me started on the zoo and circus animals) Free to fly high above the trees and stretch his wings. Instead he was in a cage. Singing 'happy birthday', eating tacos, jello and 7up on special occasions. And many would argue at the illogical diet but that's what he loved. And if he had to give up his freedom shouldn't he get what he loved?

He did get rare opportunities at freedom since my mom clipped his wings short enough so he couldn't fly. But he had a mean beak. And hated my mom but loved me. So he would follow me and climb onto chairs to sit near me as I held my breath watching that beak. But he looked happy; had a way of making little content guttural sounds. He was still 'caged' in a sense but he was free of his cage. And I wondered at this sense of freedom.

Freedom. Something easily taken for granted. Provokes wars. Inspires change. A catalyst. And perhaps a state of mind personalized to each individual?


Take me, although immensely grateful for what I have, I feel caged. A year into marriage #1, I felt caged. I was making good money but shared my car with a hubby who worked nights. Once I got home from work, I was stuck. And my whole career life I had the money to do things but hardly the time. Even the snippets of vacation were spent with files in the backseat. Two years into marriage #2 and I feel caged. I have the time but not the money. And I remember reading somewhere that you will be presented with lessons in life. And if you don't learn your lesson the first time, it will return until you get it right.

So what's my lesson here. My sense of freedom? Or my convoluted relationship with money. Does money buy freedom? Or coming to terms with the associated guilt of feeling caged when anyone would gladly trade places with me.

And after catching myself crying like the 42 year old baby that I am yesterday, I am finally disgusted with myself. So I looked at my checkbook and it seems I have enough gas money. Pancho didn't have to go far to regain his sense of freedom. And my wings only feel clipped.

So I'm running away.