Irving S. Underhill (possibly): Statue of Liberty, New York (c. 1928)

"…to never be the same again. Period."

I woke this morning to find myself temporarily off my usual duty. In Navy parlance, this state renders me On_Liberty. I haven't mustered out, and I still retain my responsibilities, though they have been suspended for a limited time so that I might pursue other interests. Somebody else fed my cats last night, a daily responsibility I take most seriously, and they also fed my pond fish. The Muse rigged up water timers and sprinklers to accomplish what I would usually take full responsibility for fulfilling. I left Kurt, our painter, in charge of the never-ending porch refurbishment, and Linda Sue, our longtime friend and house cleaner, in charge of the house. I did not begin yesterday evening crouching around picking up over-ripe apricots I couldn't reach when harvesting that had finally given up and smashed themselves on the driveway. I didn't even cook my own supper, for I was On_Liberty.

My nephew, who served a stint in the Navy, though I didn't, explained to me that most seamen waste what little liberty they get. They head for a questionable corner of town on quests they usually fail to achieve. They seek a good time and end up unable to remember what happened after that fifteenth beer. They might have mistaken their liberty for unrestrained freedom —a fatal error for liberty seekers everywhere. One must, it seems, remain especially discriminating when On_Liberty, lest that latitude be wasted on meaningless or trivial pursuits, or worse. Getting good and drunk on freedom seems little different from getting good and drunk on rotgut rye; neither buys anybody much more than a hangover the following morning. Few if any memories will abide.

Being On_Liberty might involve even more responsibilities than that on-shore pass ever imagined freeing anyone from. This change of scenery wasn't intended to free anybody from their primary responsibility, that of remaining responsible for the quality of their own experience. Of all the freedoms anyone might experience, imagine investing yours in shooting guns, for instance. Many choose to exercise their Second Amendment rights as if they represented the very height of human liberty, rather than a noisy distraction from it, a hollowness filler. The freedom FROM religion might provide a more enlightening experience for even the most devout when finding themselves On_Liberty. Who might you become if temporarily freed from fulfilling your everyday responsibilities? Might you stumble upon some previously undisclosed higher purpose, or might you prove fortunate enough to stumble into a new and novel form of farting around?

No judgment or disparities, I was just asking myself a question. Who might I become when finally freed from my usual grounding obligations? If given the opportunity to engage in something other than pretending I'm making up for already forfeited time or, perhaps worse, trying to somehow save time by becoming a more efficient producer, who might I catch myself being then? When, not if, I catch myself adrift, what might I notice about myself that I'd never catch when focused upon my usual activities of daily existence? What worlds exist in the wrinkles of my usual world? If I could choose anything from an array of sudden unknowables, what might I choose? How might that choice expand or contract my understanding of who I might be and what I was supposed to be doing before I assumed so many super-critical responsibilities? Who? What? When? Why?

I felt as though I was flying as we toodled up and over the rim of our usual valley. We passed into rimrock country, then up and into sedimentary stone scenery different from that at home. A river moved inexorably in the opposite direction as we headed up into, then over, the sky. Traffic was blessedly light to non-existent. In two hundred miles, fewer than a half dozen vehicles overtook me, and I overtook precisely none. I drove at my own speed, uninterested in maintaining the posted limit because I chose not to live on that knife edge for those moments. We had no idea where we might spend the night because we had no need to know at that moment. We found reasonably comfortable lodging noisily near the Missoula trainyard and delighted in the different sounds we heard throughout the night. Supper was chosen based on an outdated internet posting. We found upon arriving that they no longer offered the trout The Muse had wanted, but she found instead what she couldn't have otherwise imagined. I discovered tomato confit. My life will never be the same again after being On_Liberty this time. Liberty's intended to provide an opening for my life, once I return to its on-board ship responsibilities, to never be the same again. Period.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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