FADING FREEDOM

I love movies.

I don’t watch nearly as many as I used to, not nearly as many as I’d like to, not any more. The realities of responsible adult life, complete with demanding job, hyperactive kids and distractingly gorgeous wife, have quite thoroughly seen to that. Add to that less stamina for the all-night binge watch and the ever faithful constant of unreliable power supply even if I somehow tried to.

But I still love movies.

I wouldn’t say I have a particular favourite genre, with my all-time top ten including adventure fantasy, sci-fi, thrillers, comedy and of course, romance. An eclectic mix, if I do say so myself. From the breathtaking grandeur of the Lord of the Rings trilogy to the heartwarming coming of age of Simon Birch, bowing to Aslan, soaring with Superman….. multiple viewings do  nothing to diminish my enthusiasm or blunt my emotions. Just hit me with that old familiar score and watch my eyes light up and face break out in the most geeky of grins as I prepare to insufferably recite favorite lines, laugh at now familiar jokes, whoop with joy at favorite scenes, the works.

Yes, my wife knows all this and she married me anyway. I’m lucky like that.

So, anyway, I recently stumbled on the Denzel movie, Hurricane, on tv and got caught up once again in Rubin Carters fight for freedom, suffering through all the hurt, betrayal and injustice to the rousing, emotional victory at the end in spite of incredible odds.

I was touched, seeing the look of unbelieving belief on his face as the judge pronounced the words that ended his 20 year search for justice, the daring to believe that the nightmare was finally over, the pause, the waiting to exhale, before finally releasing himself into the bliss of tearful gratitude. At that moment, the dream was now reality.

Freedom.

I identified with the emotion, as I have also at different times, most recently just a few short months ago, found myself in that very same spot, that place of emancipation. I welcomed that same flood of emotions, recalling every thought, every tear, every prayer of gratitude, the conviction that EVERYTHING was going to be different, better, from here on out.

But then I had another thought. How many times have the liberated walk, nay run, right back into the waiting arms of their captors?

People long for freedom, from poverty, from addiction, from handicap, from abuse, from illness, from failure, from stagnation… the list is virtually endless. But how consistent are we, having achieved that freedom, to avoid the same choices or circumstances that left us enslaved in the first place?

Sometimes it’s easy to forget the euphoria of the newly emancipated and take for granted the liberty enjoyed, to the point that a comfortable apathy develops and the unaware wander aimlessly back into the former snares, habits, abusers, circumstances etc that sweat, blood and tears were shed to escape from in the first place.

As the kids say these days, STAY WOKE