Freedom: A Glorious Madness

The universe has been bringing me opportunities to think about freedom. Oddly, it started with me catching a piece of a Big Bang Theory re-run. Will Wheaton asks Sheldon Cooper, "You don't like me, do you, Sheldon?" Sheldon replies haughtily and proudly that he owns Ihatewillwheaton.com, .org, and .net, and asks Will, in an aggressive tone, "What do you think of that?" Will's reply is brilliant. He says, "I think I'm living rent-free, right here," as he taps Sheldon's forehead.

That reminder that I give rent-free space to everyone about whom I spend time brooding brought with it the sobering notion that I'm not free. As long as I maintain space in my head for unhappy thoughts about people who have attacked and tried to hurt me, who disrespected me, who violated me or my "stuff" (some of them, many years ago), I am not free. When I let my life be taken over by thoughts and feelings about how I've been wronged, hurt, used, or disregarded, I'm chained for life to the job of "Building Super" in my History Hotel. I'm stuck in a no-pay lifetime commitment, maintaining property for every person I think has wronged or hurt me. They wander the halls of my mind in their pajamas, stepping on the popcorn they've dropped. I trail along behind them with my vacuum, grumbling and sucking up their mess.


Then the other night, in the historic novel I'm reading about the period just as the U.S. Civil War was ending, I read this: "...he wondered if this wasn't all a kind of madness, this idea of being free, of being governed by your own wits and wants, of saying to hell with...people. A glorious madness" (Leonard Pitts, Jr., Freeman). This pithily succinct definition of freedom, "being governed by your own wits and wants" grabbed me by the emotional shirtfront. Even more powerful was the notion of saying to hell with people.

Oh, not in a mean, miserly, dismissive way; not intending to define people as unimportant. More like, "to hell with what they think of me." You see, my 7 Childhood Treasures were mined during the last half of the '50s, when the cultural frame was largely about the importance of outward appearances, rather than internal truth. My family dynamic strongly reinforced that cultural frame, deeply ingraining in me the belief that others' opinions of me define me absolutely. All my life, I have doubted my own understanding of who I am, in the face of others' stories about me.

No more.

I have accepted, as a life quest, the attainment of my freedom from the grip of this lie. I embrace, with ever-growing strength, the wisdom of governing my life by my own "wits and wants" and, more importantly, by my own values. To all of the people in my life--family, friends, other loved ones, colleagues, acquaintances--I love you, truly and deeply...and I need to quit caring about your judgements of me.

To achieve this "glorious madness" of freedom, I need to release my belief that you can tell me anything about who I am. You can only tell me about who you are. Even when you think you are telling me about me, you are telling me about you.  If I hear from you a loving compliment (a.k.a., positive judgement) such as, "You are kind and generous," then I know that you are kind and generous. If I hear from you a negative judgement such as, "You are intimidating and mean," then I know that you are intimidating and mean. It really is as simple as that. Every word you say is a drop of the distillate that remained after the Truth of Who I Am ran through all your filters.

I might, in those moments, appear to be someone who is also either kind and generous or intimidating and mean. And I'm the only one living inside my skin who knows how I'm really feeling in that moment. I'm the one who knows what I'm thinking, intending, and wanting in that moment. You can describe for me the behavior you see and the impact I'm having on you, but you can't really know what I want, think, or feel. You can only guess...or project your own.... Or you can ask me what I feel, think, or want, and believe what I tell you, in the absence of any concrete evidence to the contrary.

Got evidence (i.e., my observed behavior)? Care to share that, rather than a judgement about what it means? Great. Bring it. Let's talk.

This glorious madness--the idea of freedom from others beliefs about me--is a deep layer of the lessons from the Childhood Treasure of Independence. This Treasure is the work of the toddler you once were, who may have learned that what s/he felt, thought, and wanted were valued and validated by those around her. Or, like me, s/he may have learned that feelings, thoughts, and desires that differed from those of the People in Charge (a.k.a. grown ups) were wrong, mistaken, or lacking.

Here's a somewhat odd example to bring some clarity to the lessons of  Independence. I have a cat. He's probably part Siamese and he has a "complaining" kind of voice:  more of a "waaaaaaah" than a "meow." When he comes in the door talking to me in a series of what could sound like complaints, I could make a judgement that he is a complaining cat and respond, in kind, with a negative comment like, "Oh, quit your bitching!" Or I could choose to believe that he is saying some version of "Thank you for letting me in" and say "You're welcome!"

This simple example is useful because it's not charged with the emotional impact of a human relationship. And I can't ever really know, for sure, how my cat feels, because he can't tell me in a language I speak. But I've seen plenty of evidence in his behavior that he loves me, feels connected to this home, and considers it the safe place he returns to at the end of a day. Therefore, I judge his "complaints" to be a greeting of sorts and respond in kind, "Glad you're back, dude!"

So, let me ask you: have you ever been a part of this dynamic? You have plenty of evidence--have seen in my behavior, over and over--that I'm a warm, loving, generous, kind woman, but you decide to believe someone else's story that I've been cruel and vicious. (And "you" "my" and "I" are just stand-ins for any of us in any of these roles.) How often have you experienced this lack of connection between the reality you know about a person and the story you're hearing from someone else about that person? Maybe it's not always obvious that the speaker is projecting him/herself onto another. What makes you decide to believe a story that differs from your own experience? What makes you reject it and stick with your perception?

Similarly, if someone in your life is telling you that you are

XYZ--some judgement that labels you--you can compare it to an honest self-assessment of your feelings, intentions, and beliefs, and to your actual behavior. You can remind yourself of the truth of who you are and know that a judgement far outside that reality is not really about you, but about the speaker. Yes, it's always good to examine your behavior and be honest about how it affects others. If the way you're behaving doesn't convey how you really feel or think, doesn't express your true intentions, then some change may be in order. But focus on your behavior, not on the story someone else has written about it.

Enjoy the glorious madness of freedom from others' interpretations of who you are and you'll find all those rent-free lodgers moving out!