The Myth of Liberation: Why Freedom Isn’t a Distant Heaven

According to many religions and spiritual traditions, the ultimate goal of human life is liberation. Moksha, Nirvana, salvation — call it what you want, but the idea is simple: this life is a burden, and your grand purpose is to escape it. Liberation from the misery of human birth. Liberation from the cycle of birth and rebirth. Liberation from desire, pain, ego, identity — basically, everything that makes you you.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found this a little… well, insulting. Here we are, in this wildly vivid, messy, electrifying human experience, and the philosophical consensus seems to be: “Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather transcend it.”

Seriously?

Every ancient text seems to look at the present moment — this body, this mind, this heartbeat — and scoff. “Temporary.” “Illusory.” “Suffering.” “A test.” Sounds like the spiritual equivalent of those rich uncles who tell you not to enjoy your twenties because “real life” starts at forty.

But here's the twist: I don’t buy it. I find this life beautiful. Not because it’s perfect — far from it — but because it’s alive. Human life is not a punishment; it's a front-row ticket to the greatest spectacle ever staged: existence. Consciousness. Love. Longing. Laughter. Tears. Coffee. Chaos. All of it.

But of course, we’re rarely allowed to enjoy it in peace.

Why? Because we're too busy chasing that elusive, future-tense freedom. That mythological place of rest and relief we’re promised after we’ve done all the suffering right. Heaven, enlightenment, success, validation — take your pick. We're told to keep climbing the ladder, but no one tells us what floor we’re aiming for. Worse, we’re not even climbing properly. We're just thinking about climbing. We’re not living, we’re reliving and pre-living. Constantly scrolling through the highlight reel of our past or simulating a future that doesn’t exist yet — because apparently, our ability to mentally time travel is what makes us superior to other species.

Oh yes, we’re different from animals, alright. Animals just exist. They’re not concerned with “finding themselves” or “being enough.” Your neighborhood dog isn’t worried about his karmic cycle or spiritual evolution. He’s just trying to get a biscuit and a nap. And honestly? He might be onto something.

We, on the other hand, have built entire civilizations on not being here. Our most celebrated quality — imagination — is also our greatest curse. We can imagine a better past, a perfected future, an ideal self, a utopian world… but ask us to sit still with our current emotion for five minutes and we start glitching. We say we’re planning for the future. Fair. Planning is useful. Reflecting on the past? Also useful. But what we’re doing isn’t planning or reflecting. It’s obsessing. Fantasizing. Replaying. Projecting. Regretting. We’re compulsively living everywhere except where we are — and then wondering why we feel stuck.

Here's the irony: We think we’re chasing freedom, but what we’re really doing is outsourcing our freedom to some hypothetical future version of ourselves. “One day, I’ll be happy.” “One day, I’ll be successful.” “One day, I’ll be free.” That “one day” is the greatest con ever sold.

Naval Ravikant — who isn’t a sage in a cave but a capitalist philosopher in a T-shirt — puts it bluntly. Real freedom isn’t the ability to do whatever you want. It’s the ability to not do what you don’t want. It’s freedom from your own obsessive thought loops. Freedom from the compulsive chatter in your head. Freedom from the mental treadmill that keeps you running but never arriving.

Because here's the uncomfortable truth: The real prison isn’t society. It isn’t capitalism or the government or your job or your family. It’s that voice in your head. The one that won’t shut up about everything that’s wrong with you, wrong with your life, wrong with the world. That voice that believes peace is always one achievement, one relationship, one enlightenment away. But what if freedom isn’t a destination? What if it’s just this — right here, right now — without your brain running off into a fantasy or a regret?

To be free, maybe you don’t need a guru. Or a retreat in the Himalayas. Or an afterlife. Maybe you just need to do the radical, almost rebellious thing of living right here, in this breath, in this second. Yes, plan for your future. Yes, learn from your past. But don’t turn your present into a waiting room for some grand liberation. There’s nothing more tragic than spending a life chasing heaven when you’re already standing in it.

Freedom isn’t out there. It’s not later. It’s now.

But good luck convincing your mind of that.