Skip to main content

The Meaning Of Freedom

The air was crisp, for California anyway, as I skulked along Coronado Island. My target was Starbucks, but, as always, the beach enraptured me. The water was a soft cerulean in the setting sun, rising and falling tides beckoning me invitingly, even in the surprisingly frigid temperatures. I changed course, guided by no reason in particular, and began a leisurely stroll down the waterfront of the Hotel Del Coronado. If you ever think youve made enough money, take a walk down the back of the Hotel Del. The average room was $550 a night, with the cheapest beachfront houses renting for $5300 for 2 nights. Patronized almost entirely by an interesting mix of affluent white couples with spoiled children in tow, and equally prosperous foriegn families of indeterminate ethnicity, the establishment inspired greatness in the ambitious and shame in the downtrodden. As I moved candidly with deliberate steps, I felt a bout of introspection coming on. I wanted to be rich enough one day to stay at this hotel specifically without the price intimidating me. I wanted the purchase of anything to be considered with as much attention as when to draw my next breath. I wanted success, I wanted an exorbitant amount of money, and I wanted freedom. That last thought froze me suddenly and harshly. As I beheld the Strand stretching out through the water, connecting Coronado and Imperial Beach while providing a shockingly unforgettable view, I posed an inquiry to myself that I doubt Ill ever answer completely; What is freedom to me?

Bahrain was a hell of a country. Beggars with bruised, torn skin festering from infection intermingled with Sheikhs and businessmen, their thick suits hilariously incongruous to the sweltering heat that seemingly blanketed the entire country. Everywhere we went we occupied a sauna. At the very least, I would stay lean while devouring delicacies I fatally desired underway like Fatburger and Pizza Hut. I sat with friends at Costa Coffee, a little slice of heaven in the midst of a barren desert. On deployment you lived for moments like these, rare instances of complete cessation from Navy life. I loved to take advantage completely, devouring new posts from my favorite blogs. On one in particular, www.boldanddetermined.com, Victor Pride, author and proprietor of the site, spoke of the freedom he felt when his bank account swelled with money. He waxed fondly and directly of how it empowered him to be in shape, live a minimalist lifestyle, and have a large amount of cash on standby. To quote a great movie, The Gambler, it was "fuck you money". It also gave me a basis for my own definition of freedom and happiness in general. Having enough money on in savings and investments to never have to worry about affordingamenities or work a job I hate. Combined with a minimalist lifestyle and good health, autonomy is virtually guaranteed.

My first few weeks in San Diego were my fantasies realized. After 8.5 months adrift, traversing the world while simultaneously protecting it, my duty had been fulfilled, for the time being at least. My parents stayed for a week, granting me the solace of home at my new duty station. Eventually my Dad and I drove my car down, and my freedom was guaranteed. After 3.5 years of life as a pedestrian, having my horse back was a godsend. The 2k sunk into her didn't hurt either. More time well spent with family followed, and, as always, I was once again alone with the Navy. Duty beckoned, and I stood it half-heartedly, still inebriated by the love Id sorely missed for nearly a year. Off the next morning for 3 glorious days, I sped off base in search of distraction and diversion from my ebbing malaise. On the whirlwind highways of Southern California, which still are nothing compared to the Bay, I found another piece of the puzzle regarding what freedom meant to me. I had no idea where I was headed, still don't, never will completely. But as long as I can be light on my feet, heavy in resources, and never tied down, Im happy. Whiskey and women dont hurt either.

Popular posts from this blog

Across The Seas

 I like watching you sleep/ She said, as I jostled and kneed/ My way on the mattress, stopping to think/ If you watch me, when do you actually fall into deep/ Rest yourself, it must be awful to be/ Kept up by my snoring, talking to me/ Not realizing that I've gone off the brink/ Of wakefulness and darkness until I'm startled and swing/ My arms up and cause you to spring/ Onto my chest laughing, harder than we've/ Ever done before, but you settle in and softly you sing/ I don't mind, because I love to listen to your heart as it beats/ The tears begin to pool and I cough and release/ Them in the present, because what once caused me to think/ I'd found Heaven on Earth is now a harsh memory/ But I bear it still, because though it carves and it cleaves/ And I lay there trembling, starting to bleed/ I know then I was alive for that part of the scene/ My recollection is sharp as the green/ Blades of grass in the lawn of our dreams/ In front of the house where we'd deco

A Drunkard's Lament

              Alcohol/ Is a battle fought/ With madness wrought/ From the sadness caught/ Between a man that calms/ His hands and thoughts/ With poison that wraps its claws/ Around his watch/ Makes time pass and stop/ Whenever he slams a shot/ I have forgot-/ -ten the chasms walked/ Barefoot and half distraught/ When I've drowned in bot-/ -tles of the brownest rot-/ -gut liquor, that the damned can flaunt/ Prancing, dropped/ By the rancid vom-/ -it that crams and falls/ From the mouth of all/ The manic lost/ Ones that choose to pad their traum-/ -as with Jack and vod-/ -ka, Schnapps and all-/ -the traps of karma/ Let's get plastered, crawl the/ Line, disasters wobbling/ Pants are starting/ To tear, we're panting, heart is/ Racing, death a tragic pardon/ From the crimes of a master wrong one/ The fortune amassed is startling/ Fan your pockets/ For the change that's always last for varmints/ Alas, unvarnished/ Regrets are magic, popping/ Up wherever you're lashed and

Rosary

Rosary The time has come for honesty/ I admit I suck at boxing these/ Fighters, they're lunging, robbing me/ Of a dream that kept me up and walking free/ When my life wasn't mine, I'd thrust and pocket these/ Experiences, my trust was not the thing/ Reciprocated but my love was stalking me/ All around the world, but the lottery/ Came and went and I was stuck with all the beat/ Tickets, so I burned them and the rush it halted weak-/ Minded busted fallen dreams/ I clutched my balls and screamed/ I'm not done, don't walk on me/ As the exposure seeped/ In my bones as sleep/ Came over me/ It became my rosary/ I was quoting reams/ Of poetry/ When on the lowest brink/ I chose to keep/ Fighting and swinging, yet closure seemed/ So far away, but I rode the steep/ Waves of my internal roving needs/ The crones and leech-/   -es began to notice me/ So I'd throw a weak/ Punch and found a skull/ In my hand to hold/ Powerful/ Strength that wasn't there before, I was astoun