Freedom without running away

“You belong among the wildflowers. You belong in a boat out at sea. Sail away … Far away from trouble and worry. You belong somewhere you feel free.”
— Tom Petty, “Wildflowers”

I’ve had this Tom Petty song on repeat today as I settle back into home after a few weeks abroad. The words resonated again, and again, each time the chorus replayed, like waves rolling in from the Atlantic Ocean onto a tidal beach, the earth rising to meet their powerful undercurrent, dispersing their roaring energy, spreading it, until it mellows and mixes with air into foamy bubbles, eventually smoothing off so that the last of the wilderness can spread itself out into the land as far as possible, covering the sand carpet with the most delicate layer of clear, soft water, until then, it disappears. Between each surf, only when you step and feel your foot sink deeper and see an indent in the sand, is there any proof the water was even there. The beach is utterly transformed by each wave, but without any external interference, visually unchanged. Freedom, wildflowers, sailing away in a boat out at sea… I don’t look different, but yes, if you pressed me enough, you’d find me more impressionable than this morning. My emotions closer to the surface.

The last three days settling back into home has felt like a “Land Ho” transition. The shedding that happens on re-entry from, not just sailing, but from any soulful and ‘wild’ experience as I’ve had on my bike and then with the loving nucleus of my family.

The tanned skin on my shoulders and the hardened calluses on my hands have started to peel away as my body realises it doesn’t need the thick protection anymore. It’s softening, for the softer easier ‘real’ life. Easier it may be on a practical sense. But internally, if a life in the wild is an “escape from trouble and worry” then life in society is problematic and fearful. It’s easier on the outside. But, emotionally? On the inside? It’s hard. My pores are clogging up from the polluted city air, my shoulders hunched from the weight of tomorrow’s responsibilities, my heart folding back in on itself feeling the inescapable ache that one suffers when grieving a loss. Inside and out, I’m changing.

Why does the wilderness quiet us? How can we bring the wild into our home, so we can feel that sense of belonging without the wildflowers, the sea, the lover, the boat? How can we feel free all the time? Can we?

At sea problems are immediate. And physical. Like: is the anchor holding? Or: is that cloud windy? Is everyone safe? Am I cold? Should I eat?

At home, we’re safe. And we worry. Am I doing enough? Did I say the wrong thing? What will happen next week, next month, next year? What is life for? Am I doing it right?

The difference here is clearly not the lack of trouble and worry at sea. There is plenty. But at sea, or in the wild, our worry has somewhere to go. And we can do something about it. But what can you do about “am I enough?” You can put a layer on if you are cold. But you can’t prepare for every single disappointment about tomorrow. Maybe the intensity of life doesn’t reduce our problems but just creates so many tangible ones that it distracts from those that are more elusive. It shrinks our world into the moment we are in right now. Just as staring into the eyes of the love of your life can do. It can feel like “nothing else matters”. And that, is bliss.

The shedding from one reality to the other is simultaneously a smothering. The simplicity and singularity of life onboard flakes away like the foam, and any remaining bliss of life in the arms of a lover or of life intoxicated by the beauty of nature is drenched, like the sand on the beach, by wave after wave of ‘real-life’.

I was brought up to see choice as freedom. The more options we have, the more free we are. That is true. But to feel free is another matter.

At sea, we don’t have much choice. The world turns and it gets dark when it wants. The tide, the weather, the wind, (sometimes the crew too) - are all going to do what they please and it’s absolutely outside our control. Life almost imposes itself on you, and there is a freedom in surrendering to it. On land, there is an opposite feeling - like we should have everything ‘under control’. Possibilities are endless. You can be there, or here, then, or now, we can work, travel, leave, stay - it’s overwhelming. All the choice can make it harder to feel content with the reality we are actually in.

To feel free, is to not care about any other reality than the one right in front of you. Freedom is not about being able to go anywhere and have unlimited choice. To lift the trouble and worry, try not wanting to be anywhere else.

“Nobody sees a flower - really - it is so small it takes time - we haven’t time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.”
— Georgia o Keefe

On my birthday a few weeks ago, the clouds parted just at the moment I walked through a field of blue and pink and white and yellow wildflowers. I picked a daisy and looked deeply into its yellow centre. Wilderness and love pull you into the moment. So does beauty.

The sense of belonging, as Petty sings, among wildflowers or at sea or with someone you love, are specific circumstances like I had with that daisy where several focusing forces collide. Beauty, intensity, love … when they all come at once it can feel like a divine synchronicity. They hold you in the moment. A moment that is so wonderful, and feels so much like home, you want for nothing. Time slows down. It sharpens your attention. It is impossible to doubt that a bright future lies ahead or hope for anything other than what is already happening.

Maybe that is what a sunrise is, a sunset, a newborn animal in spring, a patch of cornflowers flowing in the breeze, the gentle in and out of waves on the shore – sources of optimism. Reasons to go on. The world saying to you – to us – “you belong”. Slowing us down enough to feel its imprint.

And, I think bringing the wild home and finding a sense of belonging here despite the shedding isn’t about recreating what I just had inside my four walls. It’s about trying to pay attention without the sea or the flowers or the lover forcing me to. Like that wave that rolls in, spreads out, and seeps down into the sand - the point is not to always keep rolling, but to spread out, soften the surface, and wait. So, this week I’m going to try and just live fully in the skin of the reality that I’m inhabiting right now. Rather than imagining or longing for all the other places or people or realities I could have.

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