On Freedom (Part 1)

Paulo Coelho, in “The Zahir”, writes about a "successful" man. The man was a writer, had money, many houses, a wife, etc. One day his wife disappeared. His friends tried to cheer him up and told him to enjoy his freedom, to delight, to be glad that now he was a "free" man. He had the freedom to be with whoever he wanted and with as many women as he wanted—without any sort of commitment. So he tried to be a free man, a bachelor, to act like he was happy in his solitude. One day, alone, he realized: who wants this freedom? Who so desires this freedom to be alone? This freedom to be miserably alone? He realized at that point that "freedom is not the absence of commitment. Freedom is the capacity to choose, and commit ourselves to what we choose".

People who think they know me will at times discuss ME with myself and tell me how lucky I am that I am single, that I’m “free”. Who the hell wants to be “free”?! If human beings wanted freedom, then religion, friendship, or love would have no place in this world—and what a lonely hell that would be!
Other people tell me that it’s a great decision I’ve made to remain single. They think I chose this? The only reason I would “choose” this is because I believe that it’s better to be alone than to be in bad company, and that it’s better to be miserable on my own than to indiscriminately be with someone and end up making them miserable also. I don’t choose to be alone, it’s just that sometimes for people like me, for whatever reason, there is no other option. I didn’t choose to be single because of my career or my religion or my anything of the sort. I’d give up any and most of those things to have a companion. Seriously! People always tell me not to sell myself short or that I can “do better than that”. Well, if that were true, then I wouldn’t be in this predicament would I? If I could do better, why haven’t I? Why would I choose less than the best?

But my anger isn’t directed at the world or God or whatever could potentially be held responsible for my solitude. I take responsibility for where I am, and I direct my energy to trying to figure out why I am where I am. My anger, in fact, is directed at the people who would rather make judgement of me, assume things about me (e.g. that I’m too career-focused to want to be with someone), than ask me how I feel. It’s those people that irritate me. It’s those people that I can’t call friends—and I’d rather be alone than in their company.

(I wrote this rant some weeks ago while some judgemental people were getting under my skin. Part 2 is way better, I promise.)