On Freedom and Cages

I've been thinking a lot about freedom. Freedom isn’t the absence of responsibility or commitment — it’s the presence of choice.

True freedom begins the moment you stop living from fear of what others might think and start living from the truth of who you are. It’s the soft exhale after years of holding your breath to fit into someone else’s idea of you.

Freedom is not rebellion for rebellion’s sake; it’s the sacred act of returning home to your own rhythm. It means you can love deeply without losing yourself, speak your truth without apology, and walk away without bitterness when something no longer fits.

There’s a kind of freedom that arrives quietly, without fireworks or grand gestures. It’s the moment you realize you no longer need to prove your worth. It’s waking up one morning and realizing your peace matters more than your image — that joy is not something to earn but to remember. Freedom whispers that you are allowed to outgrow people, places, and patterns that keep you small. It’s a reclamation — of your time, your energy, your voice, and your right to evolve.

If you listen closely, the wind knows something about this kind of freedom. It moves without asking permission yet never loses its direction. You too can be that — untamed and intentional, rooted and wild all at once. You can belong to yourself and still be connected to everything. That is the paradox and the gift of being fully alive.

Is Freedom for Everyone?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about freedom from another angle — through the eyes of someone who doesn’t have it.

For someone who is incarcerated, this kind of freedom is both dangerous and almost impossible. Prison is not a place that welcomes softness. It’s a place built for survival, where the strong prevail and strength is defined by how well you hide your humanity. You don’t cry. You don’t flinch. You keep your shoulders square and your gaze steady, because weakness can become invitation.

The body adapts, pumping cortisol like a river after spring thaw — fast, wild, unstoppable.

Always on guard.

Always scanning.

Freedom, in that world, isn’t about chasing dreams or following joy. It’s about making it through another day without breaking. And yet, I can’t help but wonder if a flicker of freedom still lives even there — in the sound of a bird that perches on the razor wire, in the steady rhythm of breath, in the thin blue line of sky above the yard.

Why these thoughts about freedom and incarceration? Because I made a pen pal. Not your typical pen pal, however. He is a middle-aged man serving a life sentence for murder.

Yup. I said murder.

How I Met a "Murderer"

One night, feeling that quiet ache of aloneness that visits us all sometimes, I searched online for pen pal programs. Prisons happen to be full of them. I have previously done mental health work in correctional facilities and have always enjoyed working with inmates. I have found that male "criminals" are some of the most misunderstood and discounted human beings there are. I can go into my rational for that thinking another time.

So I found myself scrolling through menus of thousands of incarcerated people — faces, names, short bios — all looking for connection, a window to the outside world.

And I sat there wondering: Does a murderer deserve this?

Does being accused of murder make you a murderer?

What if you weren’t the one holding the gun?

What about forgiveness?

So, I’m taking the opportunity to get to know him. As a human. Because everyone deserves that. We are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done — or been accused of doing.

Maybe this is where true freedom begins: in choosing curiosity over fear, connection over judgment, and compassion over convenience.

I don’t know where this correspondence will lead. Maybe it ends as quietly as it began. Or maybe — just maybe — we’ll end up writing a book about our experience.

You never know.

But I do know this: freedom, in any form, starts with the courage to open a door — even when it leads somewhere unexpected.

As Always,

Sending Good Vibes...,

-Naazh

Reflection Prompt

Take a quiet moment to ask yourself:

• What does freedom mean to me right now — not in theory, but in practice?

  
  

• Where in my life am I still waiting for permission to be free?

  
  

• What walls have I built around myself for safety that might also be keeping me from connection?

  
  

• And if freedom begins with compassion — for us, for others, for the imperfect human story — what would that look like today?

  
  

Write. Reflect. Breathe. Sometimes the doorway to freedom is simply your willingness to see another human being — and yourself — with softer eyes.