It takes me a long time to feel comfortable somewhere. Heck, I’ve been on Earth for 29 years and I still don’t feel comfortable here. Sometimes it feels like I got the wrong manual. Everyone else seems to know what’s going on. Making themselves right at home. I feel like an outsider. Always have. Always will? That is the question.

I’ve tried my very best to look like I belong, like I know what I’m doing, but honestly, I feel like I’m wearing a human skin suit, and I just want to take the costume off and stop playing the part. What would it look like to stop playing the part?  

The fear is if I am who I really am in the world, it won’t be safe. And I won’t belong. Or be loved. Well, if I already feel that way, then why do I still hold back? What do I have to lose? All these questions I pose are open-ended and rhetorical. I don’t expect to get an answer, but I ask them to try to challenge my line of thought.

The line of thought has created a prison around me. One that I keep testing if I can break out of. But even when I step out, it feels safer to go back in. Why would someone want to stay in prison? I will answer this one. I guess because it is the known and the known is safe and comfortable. Outside of the prison is free, but it is unknown. And you can’t control that.

Any control is an illusion really, but the prison does a really good job of making it feel real. You get so used to the walls, you’ve memorized every corner, and even though you’ve dreamed everyday of being out of this prison, once you’re finally out, you start to long for the four walls you’ve grown so accustomed to. You start to look at it like a palace and want to go back to the place that you remember. That is the known. That is perceived safety.

If my body and nervous system are accustomed to the prison, then it will always want to go back to it. No matter how dangerous it might actually be. So how do I get accustomed to freedom? How do I create a new baseline for my body?

“Do you think a leaf that falls to the ground is afraid of death? Do you think a bird lives in fear of dying? It meets death when it comes, but it is not concerned about death; it is much too occupied with living, with catching insects, building a nest, singing a song, flying for the very joy of flying. Have you ever watched birds soaring high up in the air without a beat of their wings, being carried along by the wind? How endlessly they seem to enjoy themselves! They are not concerned about death. If death comes, it is all right, they are finished. There is no concern about what is going to happen; they are living from moment to moment, are they not? It is we human beings who are always concerned about death—because we are not living. That is the trouble: we are dying, we are not living.” – Krishnamurti, "All the Marvelous Earth"

An answer lies here. It is living in the present. If I am living in the past, then I am not really living. I’m remembering. It’s a secondhand account. My body is recreating the past to find safety. That’s really intelligent, actually. Our bodies are just trying to keep us alive, and they do so in so many ways every day. But if I am truly in the present, then there is nothing for my body to fear. I must let go of the past. It really is that simple. (I said simple, not easy). All the great philosophers, teachers, and wisdom keepers talk of the importance of the present, the now. There are tons of books on it. Everything is happening in the now. You hear it intellectually, but to really let it seep into your cells, understand, and embody it is something you must come to on your own, in your own time.

I’ve been coming to a head with this prison of mine. What would it truly mean to break free? I’ve been thinking it must be this huge dramatic shift where suddenly I’m not afraid anymore and everything is fine and dandy. But I think it’s an everyday choice. It’s in every action, every thought. To create a new program, you must rewrite it. And that is also the uncomfortable truth—it’s completely your responsibility. It’s a choice.

What's certain is that I want to live. I want to metaphorically (or literally) be so occupied with catching insects, building a nest, singing a song, and flying for the joy of flying! I want to be so concerned with living, just like the birds, that I am not concerned with death. Taking the leap and flying, trusting that I will be carried by the wind. Free.

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