Freedom from choosing

Reality has a habit of setting in and anchoring us in new realities.  One may compare life with a novel full of bizarre twists but one which is to a variable degree interactive like those TV shows where the viewer is invited to make choices for the characters in the plot.  But although the novel may be writing itself-relegating some events to footnotes and elevating others to new chapters,  in doing so it creates material realities.  But even as the novel unfolds, there is always the resistance of very material characters; in their daily procrastination, detachments and inertia, with the resulting feeling of melancholy reflecting the pleasant tension between what actually exists, what cannot exist and what can potentially and easily exist but which we can postpone or even evade or let slip away.  Ultimately there are always choices but  also the freedom to refuse to choose. Cause while freedom is all about choice, it also entails not choosing between things which are already defined for us in the scripts of already written plots and novels.  In this sense one may choose to subvert the plot through inaction, procrastination and basking in lethargic futility.  The freedom not to go anywhere.  The freedom of having no goal.  The freedom to collect memories and things for the sake of it.  The freedom to be nomadic and go round in circles.