Cell

November 21, 2016

Greetings from the parolee,

Recently I was in jail.  It was voluntary, and so I walked in with choice and carried it with me until I chose to walk out.

As many times as I have visited there you might think that it would become discouraging.  There is a perpetual line of men and women to fill the cells.  Most are new faces, many are back for a refresher in whatever lesson you gain while incarcerated.  Which, by the way, is not the lesson that makes the line shorter.

The inmates, sometimes men, sometimes women, will ask for prayers.  In that time they will give a glimpse of their lives, and I get a page of their stories.  Inevitably someone will talk about their sentence, or the system, or their dreams, or their regrets, or the day that will finally allow them to get out and see their family.  It is often a moving experience.  Strangely it gives me hope.  But the most tangible result of this time with the men in orange is this renewed perspective.

The inmates are locked up.  They talk about what that loss of freedom costs them.  I have heard it, seen it, smelled it.  I have stood up, with my visitor’s badge barely clinging to me, and felt it already seeping into my skin as I leave.

I walk to the door and the deputy who sees me presses a button and there is a grinding, buzzing noise and the door is unlocked and I can walk out.  And every time, every single time, I am relieved.  And reminded.

In that moment outside, I can fully appreciate what I am given every morning I wake up.  And then I go about my life, slowly sanding down the gift of perspective, until there is only a fine dust to remind me of what I learned.

I move around in the population which does not wear orange jumpsuits.  And I get a page from their stories.  There are real pains, regrets, there are challenges, there are crises, and chaos and sadness and loss.  Among all of that though, among this population, in which I am counted as a member, there is a freedom that few of us recognize, let alone feel gratitude for.

Many of us are serving a life sentence in cells of our own making.  We have put in place, bar by bar, the restrictions in our daily lives that keep us from finding what will bring us a full, satisfying life.  We think the richness we have been hoping for is just beyond the bars.

One bar at a time.  Regrets.  Envy.  Self pity.  Procrastination.  Guilt.  Fear.  Grudges.  Resentment.

Something goes wrong, maybe we break a rule, or we are unfairly charged and we go in the hole; solitary confinement.  Sometimes we tell others about being in the hole, they commiserate, but we know unless they have been in this particular cell, which would be impossible, they don’t understand.  So solitary becomes more solitary.

Some of us think we will get a better deal with good behavior.  We try to earn the freedom we are already given every day.  I’m a big fan of good behavior, don’t get me wrong.  But trying to deserve this freedom is a never ending staircase. 

Turns out the cells, even the ones we construct, are unlocked.  We test the door, it doesn’t move easily so we sit down and wait for enough time to pass that we qualify for what we want.  And we are not even sure what our sentence is, really.  So each morning we look thru the bars and pine for the freedom that we already have.

Wait.  Don’t roll your eyes and sigh about this.  This is not a metaphor for someone else to figure out.  This is the same thing we are all faced with.

Here’s what I know: I walked in and out of jail armed with choice.  It was a gift, I didn’t earn it or probably deserve it but it’s mine.  I walked out into the free air and then I was faced with a million other choices.  Starting with what to do with the freedom I have.

And each day my plans and dreams intersect with a world that was not designed to make life easy, but to teach and challenge, to make me adapt and bring out the best of what I have.  And whatever I am presented with, I am armed with the same gift; choice. I get to choose what happens next. 

“Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.” John Donne

Hope this finds you pushing harder,

David