the cage is open. why are you still in there?
Through regular journaling, I became an avid believer we cause a lot of our own suffering. Sometimes, I'll catch myself in miserable situation I know I could leave. I'm not even trapped, though I'll still perform the motions of someone pressing hands against a cage that is neither iron-barred and locked.1 Perhaps I stay because it's comfortable; because I've spent enough of myself there that leaving feels like losing an intricately-woven part of my identity.
Do you think staying in something that doesn't serve you anymore is being noble, a good person? You might feel sacrificial, loyal for not abandoning an expired identity, or a "a good person" doing "the right thing." Deep down, though, you're feeling empty, even miserable for betraying yourself in the name of comfort and not hurting others. Are you being virtuous, or are you afraid of what leaving would cost you?
Free will is a strange thing to have and not use. I think about this: I have it! I am not stuck! There is no lock in my cage! That's barely even a cage! Often, the question isn't can I leave? (because the answer is almost always yes!) but why don't I? Ponder the question repeatedly, and you realize the answer roots in comfort and cowardice, the special human talent of choosing a familiar suffering over uncertain relief.
A lot of us are choosing to persist in familiar rooms we've outgrown, delusively negotiating peace with its leaky ceilings and tattered furniture. After all, a comfortable pain is easier than venturing into unknown territories. I think that may be the most human thing there is, yet, also, the saddest. Free will becomes only yours when you use it.
