The Paradox of Freedom: A Sisyphean Perspective
Babies are so adorable. From their tiny little appendages to their soft, silky skin, their adorable laughs and their sonorous voices whenever they want to complain. They are very fascinating creatures. I have been observing babies a little more recently (maybe it’s nature telling me I should get my own. LOL). A significant thing that strikes me when observing babies is their intelligence, and it always leaves me wondering how their brains work.
I have noticed when observing these tiny creatures, especially toddlers, how they act when set down in a public place. Like biologically engineered devices, these tiny things take off in a sprint, running in any-which-way to an unknown, uncharted, and undisclosed destination that they probably have mapped out in their heads. As a homing beacon beckons them to the unknown, they always take off in a mad dash, leaving their caretakers scurrying after them. And every time I observe this phenomenon, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Who imprisoned you that you are performing a jailbreak?”
A significant lesson to be gleaned from observing these humans at their most elementary form is that we all desire freedom. We all seek to be free of the physical and figurative shackles that life clamps down on us from birth. We strive to explore an unknown world with unknown possibilities to make sense of our existence and to make meaning of our reality.
Growing up as an ‘omo get-inside’ in the suburbs of Lagos, I also longed to be free. From my parents. From their many rules and seemingly harsh punishments. From nosy aunties and watchful uncles. From prying neighbours and concerned onlookers. I sought freedom. Like the little babies, I often see scurrying about in parks and in church. I sought to live life on my own terms without being accountable to anyone. Or at least, that was what freedom meant to my teenage mind.
I have evolved a little since then, and based on the parameters I defined as freedom back then, I am free. I should be free. But I have come to realise that freedom is an illusion. A state of mind. It seems like I keep shifting the goalpost to what freedom actually means to me. I am finally away from my over-protective parents, nosy aunties, watchful uncles, prying neighbours and concerned onlookers, but it does not feel like freedom. I am at liberty to live on my own terms, without being accountable to anyone, finally. I can go where I very well please at any time and do whatever I desire, but I find that the meaning of freedom has evolved for me. Now I seek a certain level of financial emancipation, with enough time to practice self-care, reach out to friends and even live and enjoy life a little.
‘There is no goalpost’
‘There is no goalpost,’ A wise man recently told me. Life is a continuum, and the Sisyphean process of goal setting is counterintuitive because the goal post only exists in our minds. Whenever we think we have come close to it, we observe new goals which are farther away from our reality. Therefore, whenever we get to the top of any mountain, we notice unconquered barren land in the distance which looks fertile and flourishing, and that thing in us that craves new adventures and experiences instantly begins to ponder and conjecture how good we would look at the top of that mountain, the joy of this latest victory, already stale and tasteless in our mouths. Thus, the metaphorical stone rolls downhill again. Still, in another direction, and in a bid to please whatever gods may be, we rush speedily after it, putting ourselves through a new arduous process of rolling the stone uphill again.
Freedom is an illusion. Because Sisyphus could have simply chosen to stay with the stone downhill and damn the gods, he may have been cursed to roll the stone uphill for all eternity, but he had a choice to apply himself. He could have sat on the lush gardens at the foot of the mountain, enjoying the scenery. Eating grapes, pomegranates, and whatever other fruits he pleased, while drinking water from the brooks and streams surrounding said garden. He could have chosen to defy the gods by simply not engaging in their mindless games. In the end, I believe the punishment was all in his head. But I digress.
In essence, I have concluded that freedom is a farce. We create an idea of a reality where we are free from whatever present constraints we may have come to observe and detest. As long as we are still trapped in our mortal encasements, I don’t believe we can ever be free in the true sense of it. We can only enjoy types and shadows of true freedom until one day, we are truly free from this world of pain and turmoil. But till then, we’re all pleasure-seeking biological automatons, chasing the next high, finding new thrills and defining and redefining the concept of freedom to suit our ever-changing realities.
