The Fear of Being Free

I have been round a wide loop: from the Emirates to Italy, a short run into Germany, and back to Georgia. Now I am in a hut in the mountains, going back over two years.

My life in Germany was a prison. I dressed the way I was shown. I lived the way I had been taught in school, and dreamed of freedom. I went looking for answers and another way to live, and after years of universities, libraries and roads I understood a few things and found my way to trusting God.

And I was still locked up in the mental one. In some ways I still am.

Because a year ago, after Europe and a long stay in Georgia, I was ready to drive on through Armenia and Iran. I wanted to reach Tibet by car.

What held me back?

What made me turn and look at the old habits and attachments — the recognition, the success, the money, the sweetness of women?

I was very close to leaving all of it behind and trusting that the road appears as you walk it.

It is easier to be afraid of a border guard than of what happens to a man when nothing is holding him any more.