Fear of Freedom Versus Freedom from Fear
#1 ~ Intro to the Inquiry
Friends,
I’ve been working for a couple of months on an extended essay on this topic. The more I think about it, the longer it grows, so I thought I’d publish some digestible pieces as I finish them. More soon!
As things heat up in advance of the next presidential election and the warming summer nights creep closer to the 4th of July, I’ve been thinking a lot about freedom. I know you are too. It’s what everyone claims to be fighting for, but with so much fear and hate spewing around, I wonder if it is even possible. David Sedaris sums up my hopes for the future of the United States of America in less than ten words:
“The goal is to be less like the Taliban, not more.”
I recently watched the 1969 landmark counterculture classic film Easy Rider for the first time. As a brief refresher, Wyatt, aka "Captain America (Peter Fonda), and Billy (Dennis Hopper) are freewheeling motorcyclists that travel across the Southwest to get to New Orleans in time for Mardi Gras, using the fortune they made smuggling cocaine over the Mexican border. After being thrown in a rural jail for “parading without a permit,” they meet George Hanson, a gentle, washed-up alcoholic ACLU lawyer (Jack Nicholson) living in the small Southern town who springs them out and decides to travel with them.
Brilliant storytelling and oh-so-many juxtapositions and cruel ironies explore the conflict between conservatism and progressive ideals in small-town America, “the role of the self-proclaimed rebel in a conformist society,” and the tragedy of victims (Wyatt, Billy, George) who ‘sell out’ just as well as their persecutors.”
On the topic of freedom, consider this conversation between George and Billy around a campfire when they can’t get a hotel room in a Southern town:
George: You know, this used to be a helluva good country. I can't understand what's gone wrong with it.
Billy: Huh. Man, everybody got chicken, that's what happened, man. Hey, we can't even get into like, uh, second-rate hotel, I mean, a second-rate motel. You dig? They think we're gonna cut their throat or something, man. They're scared, man.
George: Oh, they're not scared of you. They're scared of what you represent to 'em.
Billy: Hey, man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody needs a haircut.
George: Oh no. What you represent to them is freedom.
Billy: What the hell's wrong with freedom, man? That's what it's all about.
George: Oh yeah, that's right, that's what it's all about, all right. But talkin' about it and bein' it - that's two different things. I mean, it's real hard to be free when you are bought and sold in the marketplace. 'Course, don't ever tell anybody that they're not free 'cause then they're gonna get real busy killin' and maimin' to prove to you that they are. Oh yeah, they're gonna talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you about individual freedom, but they see a free individual, it's gonna scare 'em.
Billy: Mmmm, well, that don't make 'em runnin' scared.
George: No, it makes 'em dangerous.
And here we are. A half a-freaking century later, these words still ring true. Have we really not evolved? What is holding us back?
4th of July, 2022
My head is spinning (literally) as I watch the third night of fireworks from my back deck in a small town in Idaho shooting off in every direction. Relieved of summer without extreme fire danger, everyone is shooting off their own. I hug my almost-20-year-old as she runs off to another party after a day of parades and making mango salsa.
“Enjoy the rest of this great day,” I say.
“THIS IS NOT INDEPENDENCE DAY!” she rebuts. “We are having our rights taken away.”
An Enneagram 4, she’s a glass-half-full, hyper-focused, righteous person. A fighter. Woke. Her hair tucked back in a teal bandana patterned with bluebirds, and a Pride button on the strap of her overall shorts, she adds, “This is our fight, my generation’s.”
While I embrace the peaceful principles of the Tao, she’s all fire. I’m too old to be angry and sometimes too tired to keep fighting. But with my words, I’ll keep covertly resisting, and that’s what inspired this poem.
Independence Day
My thoughts shoot sparks like the fireworks around me while I hug and hold my almost 20-year old who is off to a 4th of July party after a family BBQ where we played spike ball and corn hole and ate mango salsa with just enough jalapeño to spice our time spent watching the dogs dance through an alfalfa field that leads to the vertical granite and the saddle where the mountain guide facilitates a love for adventure and where ancient peoples found their meaning and my mother’s ashes were scattered in the wind. In her fury, my daughter questions Independence Day while I sit alone, enjoying the finally-cool breeze, and I think that for tonight, this is good enough for me.
