I’ve just emerged from a busy supermarket into the brisk sensory immediacy of a cold, rainy, very British December evening. It is a welcome shock that helps bring me back from the numbing of my mind induced by the relentless seasonal musack, the intensely bright light and the aisles of super-laden shelves.
As I start the car and turn northwards towards a shared weekend, I wonder whether freedom really equals choice and whether choice equals freedom, at least in terms of material goods?
Is there not perhaps a point beyond which greater choice becomes oppressive and limits our freedom to enjoy living and our relationships with others?
My cup is empty and I am running late… I could choose to write more… but I choose to move on … people are more important than these words.
Safe journeys to any readers out there.