Damn

Freedom, it turns out, doesn't smell like the sea and the wind, as it does in the movies. Rather, it smells like yesterday's soup with a hint of bathwater and a slight despair at the bottom of the mug. When there is nothing left to lose but your own ego, even heroism seems tiresome. It's easier to be honest than strong. It's easier to admit that all these “pearls” are just ordinary pebbles, but they're yours.

There is something almost touching about this: the attempt not to appear, not to save, not to embellish history for the sake of likes. Just living as best you can. Without armor, but with morning sickness from an excess of truth. And somewhere between regret and relief, you suddenly realize - yes, this is it. This is what freedom feels like. A little dirty, a little painful, but real.