What makes you free?

I live in a country that was founded on freedom, yet I feel I am a slave. I have all of the opportunities & choices in the world laid out before me. I have a proper education. & to be completely honest, I thought that was enough. I got my degree in German & International Studies & was convinced that was all I would need to travel the world. But as it turns out, that is not. Travel costs money & very few jobs actually sponsor travel. My job entitles me to work for the government & such. But, I have no interest in that sort of thing. I want freedom. I don’t want to be strapped down by a daily obligation to the law five days a week. I don’t want to sit at a desk or in any sort of office & consort with others who are content to live that lifestyle. I want to be free, I want to be me. Wild hearts weren’t meant to be broken & I’m ready to set mine free!

I know what controls me. It’s my obsession with money! The fact that I was born with a “silver suppository” up my ass & never had to work for anything I truly wanted. My life was handed to me on a platter as I grew up, I never wanted for anything & that was the worst thing my parents could have ever done for me because it didn’t teach me to fight for anything! They still support me as long as I “obey” their rules & pretend to be the person they want me to be. But I’m tired of the facade.  Tired of putting on an act just to please the hand that feeds me. I am so over feeling like someone’s property, I want the courage to fight for a life worth living, but I don’t know where to find it. I guess that’s why I am writing this post. If anyone reading this is truly following their dreams. If you have ever risked everything in order to be free to be the person you always wanted to be. To live the life you’ve always wanted, without being controlled by anyone or anything else. To live an exotic, exciting life others could only dream of… PLEASE reach out to me! Go to my contact page & tell me your story! I’d love to hear what you have to share! ❤

PS

I feel like a tiny, shriveled up, atrophied bundle of cells. I want to grow! But I can’t do that when I’m hovering under the shade of the hand that feeds me. I have to be willing to run out into the sun & trust that water will fall from the sky to nourish me. I need to rely less on being served & be willing to weather the elements. Flowers don’t grow inside. Nothing kept in captivity flourishes as it does in the wild

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