12. Why Do I Feel Like a Victim in Relationships? What Does It Mean to Act Out of Choice?

One of the deepest things I have come to experience through Nonviolent Communication is that choice lies at the very heart of being human.
When people experience themselves as having a choice, something beautiful happens. There is more aliveness, more creativity, more authenticity, and more willingness to contribute.But when people no longer feel at choice, many painful dynamics begin to emerge. Resistance, resentment, withdrawal, rebellion, compliance, sabotage, and disconnection often follow.
I find it fascinating that one of the very first stories in the Bible already revolves around choice:“You can choose this tree or that tree.” If God wanted pure efficiency, perhaps human beings would simply have been programmed toward the “correct” option. And yet, choice was given.
For me, this feels deeply meaningful. Choice is what allows me to discover my own spirituality, explore life, and follow my inner truth.
It is what allows each of us to walk our own path. It is the foundation of diversity—the possibility for every human being to become fully alive in their own unique way.
Children and the Need for Choice
I often think about children throwing tantrums. A child may scream desperately because: “I want the red spoon with pink dots! Not the blue !!!!!”
And from the adult perspective, it may look absurd.
But increasingly, I don’t think the child is truly fighting for the pink dots. I think the child is fighting for: choice. For the freedom to explore the world from within themselves. To experiment. To discover. To feel their own taste. To follow their own curiosity and aliveness.
The longing for choice, autonomy, freedom, integrity, and the ability to live from our own spirituality is planted within us from the moment we are born.
None of us chooses to want these things. They are already there, woven into our humanity.
They are part of what it means to be human.
The Violence of “Should”
One word I became extremely sensitive to is: should. Or its close cousin: “have to.”
“I should wake up earlier.”
“I should exercise.”
“I have to listen better.”
“I should play with my child more.”
“I should not disappoint people.”
“I have to be more disciplined”
The word “should,” by its nature, denies choice.
And I am amazed by how deeply rooted this consciousness is in our culture. Many people hear “should” hundreds of times a day: from parents, schools, religion, teachers, society, partners, and especially from themselves.
Over time, I began to notice a simple pattern: when choice disappears, joy often disappears as well.
And whenever a “should” enters the picture, resistance is usually already present.
Why Giving from Obligation Hurts Relationships
One of the deepest insights Marshall Rosenberg gave me was: “Please don’t give to me unless you are clear how giving also nourishes you.”
At first, this sounded almost shocking to me. Because many of us were taught that “goodness” means: sacrifice, self-denial, obligation, and giving out of a sense of responsibility.
But over time, I began seeing something painful: giving from “should” often carries hidden costs. For example: resentment, exhaustion, loss of attraction or love, guilt, emotional bank accounts, or subtle pressure.
Sometimes I find myself externally I say: “Of course I’ll do it, no problem.” But internally something says: “You are a burden.” “I never get care back.” “I always have to give.”
And even if the words sound caring, the body often feels the hidden energy underneath.
Marshall and the Crying Baby
One story from Marshall Rosenberg touched me deeply:
At the end of a long exhausting day, he finally put his head on the pillow — and then heard his baby crying. 
He noticed himself dragging his body out of bed with resentment.
Then suddenly he stopped. And he realized: “I do not want my baby to look into my eyes and see that he is a burden to me.”
So he stayed in bed for a moment longer.
At first, horror arose. He imagined reading in the newspaper the next day: “Psychologist Conducts Experiment on His Baby—Baby Dies.”
And then suddenly, something shifted. Instead of hearing his son’s cry as a burden—or thinking, “I have to go calm him down”—he heard something entirely different: A helpless human being in need of support.
And then he got up with completely different energy.
This story deeply moves me because externally the action looked the same: he still got up. 
But internally, everything changed. From obligation, to choice. From: victimhood, to willingness.
And for me, this tiny shift in consciousness changes the entire atmosphere of a relationship—and its sustainability over time.
The Victim Role
One thing I increasingly notice is: almost every time I am complaining about someone, I have probably lost touch with where my choice lies.
And then I fall into what I call: the victim role.
I want to be very clear: I am not speaking here about abuse or trauma situations where acknowledging: “this was done to me” can be profoundly healing.
I am speaking about many ordinary daily moments where I unconsciously experience: “My well-being depends on other people changing.”
For example: “Why is she so messy?”, “Why doesn’t he listen to me?”, “Why are they so insensitive?”, “Why don’t they change?”
And honestly, I deeply understand this consciousness because I still enter it regularly myself.
The Tragedy of Trying to Change People
One of the biggest discoveries of my life was realizing that trying to change people is often an extremely inefficient strategy for caring for my needs.
The moment my well-being depends on another person changing, it becomes dependent on something I do not control.
And often, people do not change. Not only because they do not want to change, but for a deeper reason: 
When my core intention is to change another person, they are likely to resist me because their attention shifts toward protecting something precious: their freedom to choose their own path. Their autonomy. Their integrity. Their own inner truth.
Which is tragic, because what I actually long for is to support their openness to change. Yet when I try to change them, it often creates the opposite of openness: protectiveness.
In other words, the very strategy I use to care for my needs often ends up creating resistance and making it less likely that my needs will be met.
This is what I see in almost every mediation I facilitate: people invest enormous amounts of energy for very little result.
They try to change the other person. And the more they try, the more the other person tends to close down into resistance and self-protection.
The Parking Lot Story
One simple experience taught me a lot about this:
I was once in a huge traffic jam leaving a parking lot with my friend Hans. Cars were completely stuck.
I immediately began complaining: “What a stupid system!”, “Why didn’t they put a traffic light there?!”
Then suddenly I remembered: complaint often means I lost touch with my choice. I have slipped into a victim mindset.
So I asked myself: “Where is my power to choose?”
Immediately, an image appeared: I could walk to the junction and direct traffic myself like a police officer.
Honestly, shame immediately appeared too: “No way… that’s embarrassing.”
And this became another deep realization: where my power lies, fear or shame are often nearby too.
After a little empathy from Hans, I finally did it. I left the car and stood in the middle of the road directing traffic with my bare hands.
And actually, it became incredibly joyful.
People smiled. Honked with gratitude. The whole atmosphere changed.
This experience stayed with me deeply because it reminded me that choice is where life is. When I give away my power to choose, I lose my love for life—and often my love for people as well.
Mourning My Favorite Strategy
One difficult part of reconnecting with choice is that I often need to mourn first.
For example, imagine that I want my partner to change by remembering to wash her dishes after she finishes eating.
I have already tried—many times and in many different ways—to encourage her to change.
And miraculously, not only does she not change, but she seems to resist me even more, creating additional tension between us.
Reconnecting with choice may first require facing a painful possibility: “Maybe she will never change.”
This can feel heartbreaking. It may mean in my mind that I will continue to be the one washing the dishes. ALWAYS. And deeper than that, it may touch an old fear: “I will become like my mother, who was always taking care of everyone else, while no one took care of her.”
I feel hopelessness. Fear. Powerlessness.
Mourning.
But strangely, once I stop fighting these feelings and simply allow myself to experience them, something begins to shift. It is often precisely then that new possibilities emerge. New creativity.
For example:
I could leave the relationship.
I could choose to stay and wash the dishes, recognizing that I value cleanliness and that I am doing it for my own well-being. And I am choosing the relationship as well.
I could hire someone to help clean the house once a week.
I could learn to relax after eating and enjoy doing the dishes later, perhaps even together with her.
And countless other possibilities.
The moment I stop fighting reality, I often regain access to choice.
Choice Is Not Control
Choice does not mean controlling life. It means reconnecting with where my freedom still exists.
I once heard a teacher say: “No one can take away your freedom of choice.”
Even if someone puts you in jail, they can limit your options, but they cannot take away your capacity to choose. For example, they cannot choose your thoughts for you. They cannot choose where you place your attention.
The moment I remember where my choice is, I stop feeling like a victim.
Not because everything becomes easy, but because I reconnect with my participation in creating my life.
The Difference in Energy
Today, one of the biggest questions I ask myself is: “Am I acting from a have to, or from choice?”
Externally, the action may look identical. I may still drive my child around, go to work, help a friend, or support my partner.
But internally, the energy can feel radically different.
One energy says: “I have to.”
The other says: “I choose to.”
These are two different worlds.
I increasingly experience this tiny inner shift as revolutionary. Because when I reconnect with choice: resentment softens, joy becomes possible, giving becomes lighter, and relationships breathe differently.
Not perfectly. But more freely. More honestly. And more alive.

What Does It Mean to Act Out of Choice?
Why Do I Feel Like a Victim in Relationships?
One of the deepest things I have come to experience through Nonviolent Communication is that choice lies at the very heart of being human.
When people experience themselves as having a choice, something beautiful happens. There is more aliveness, more creativity, more authenticity, and more willingness to contribute.
But when people no longer feel at choice, many painful dynamics begin to emerge. Resistance, resentment, withdrawal, rebellion, compliance, sabotage, and disconnection often follow.
I find it fascinating that one of the very first stories in the Bible already revolves around choice:“You can choose this tree or that tree.” If God wanted pure efficiency, perhaps human beings would simply have been programmed toward the “correct” option. And yet, choice was given.
For me, this feels deeply meaningful. Choice is what allows me to discover my own spirituality, explore life, and follow my inner truth.
It is what allows each of us to walk our own path. It is the foundation of diversity—the possibility for every human being to become fully alive in their own unique way.
Children and the Need for Choice
I often think about children throwing tantrums. A child may scream desperately because: “I want the red spoon with pink dots! Not the blue !!!!!”
And from the adult perspective, it may look absurd.
But increasingly, I don’t think the child is truly fighting for the pink dots. I think the child is fighting for: choice. For the freedom to explore the world from within themselves. To experiment. To discover. To feel their own taste. To follow their own curiosity and aliveness.
The longing for choice, autonomy, freedom, integrity, and the ability to live from our own spirituality is planted within us from the moment we are born.
None of us chooses to want these things. They are already there, woven into our humanity.
They are part of what it means to be human.
The Violence of “Should”
One word I became extremely sensitive to is: should. Or its close cousin: “have to.”
“I should wake up earlier.”
“I should exercise.”
“I have to listen better.”
“I should play with my child more.”
“I should not disappoint people.”
“I have to be more disciplined”
The word “should,” by its nature, denies choice.
And I am amazed by how deeply rooted this consciousness is in our culture. Many people hear “should” hundreds of times a day: from parents, schools, religion, teachers, society, partners, and especially from themselves.
Over time, I began to notice a simple pattern: when choice disappears, joy often disappears as well.
And whenever a “should” enters the picture, resistance is usually already present.
Why Giving from Obligation Hurts Relationships
One of the deepest insights Marshall Rosenberg gave me was: “Please don’t give to me unless you are clear how giving also nourishes you.”
At first, this sounded almost shocking to me. Because many of us were taught that “goodness” means: sacrifice, self-denial, obligation, and giving out of a sense of responsibility.
But over time, I began seeing something painful: giving from “should” often carries hidden costs. For example: resentment, exhaustion, loss of attraction or love, guilt, emotional bank accounts, or subtle pressure.
Sometimes I find myself externally I say: “Of course I’ll do it, no problem.” But internally something says: “You are a burden.” “I never get care back.” “I always have to give.”
And even if the words sound caring, the body often feels the hidden energy underneath.
Marshall and the Crying Baby
One story from Marshall Rosenberg touched me deeply:
At the end of a long exhausting day, he finally put his head on the pillow — and then heard his baby crying. 
He noticed himself dragging his body out of bed with resentment.
Then suddenly he stopped. And he realized: “I do not want my baby to look into my eyes and see that he is a burden to me.”
So he stayed in bed for a moment longer.
At first, horror arose. He imagined reading in the newspaper the next day: “Psychologist Conducts Experiment on His Baby—Baby Dies.”
And then suddenly, something shifted. Instead of hearing his son’s cry as a burden—or thinking, “I have to go calm him down”—he heard something entirely different: A helpless human being in need of support.
And then he got up with completely different energy.
This story deeply moves me because externally the action looked the same: he still got up. 
But internally, everything changed. From obligation, to choice. From: victimhood, to willingness.
And for me, this tiny shift in consciousness changes the entire atmosphere of a relationship—and its sustainability over time.
The Victim Role
One thing I increasingly notice is: almost every time I am complaining about someone, I have probably lost touch with where my choice lies.
And then I fall into what I call: the victim role.
I want to be very clear: I am not speaking here about abuse or trauma situations where acknowledging: “this was done to me” can be profoundly healing.
I am speaking about many ordinary daily moments where I unconsciously experience: “My well-being depends on other people changing.”
For example: “Why is she so messy?”, “Why doesn’t he listen to me?”, “Why are they so insensitive?”, “Why don’t they change?”
And honestly, I deeply understand this consciousness because I still enter it regularly myself.
The Tragedy of Trying to Change People
One of the biggest discoveries of my life was realizing that trying to change people is often an extremely inefficient strategy for caring for my needs.
The moment my well-being depends on another person changing, it becomes dependent on something I do not control.
And often, people do not change. Not only because they do not want to change, but for a deeper reason: 
When my core intention is to change another person, they are likely to resist me because their attention shifts toward protecting something precious: their freedom to choose their own path. Their autonomy. Their integrity. Their own inner truth.
Which is tragic, because what I actually long for is to support their openness to change. Yet when I try to change them, it often creates the opposite of openness: protectiveness.
In other words, the very strategy I use to care for my needs often ends up creating resistance and making it less likely that my needs will be met.
This is what I see in almost every mediation I facilitate: people invest enormous amounts of energy for very little result.
They try to change the other person. And the more they try, the more the other person tends to close down into resistance and self-protection.
The Parking Lot Story
One simple experience taught me a lot about this:
I was once in a huge traffic jam leaving a parking lot with my friend Hans. Cars were completely stuck.
I immediately began complaining: “What a stupid system!”, “Why didn’t they put a traffic light there?!”
Then suddenly I remembered: complaint often means I lost touch with my choice. I have slipped into a victim mindset.
So I asked myself: “Where is my power to choose?”
Immediately, an image appeared: I could walk to the junction and direct traffic myself like a police officer.
Honestly, shame immediately appeared too: “No way… that’s embarrassing.”
And this became another deep realization: where my power lies, fear or shame are often nearby too.
After a little empathy from Hans, I finally did it. I left the car and stood in the middle of the road directing traffic with my bare hands.
And actually, it became incredibly joyful.
People smiled. Honked with gratitude. The whole atmosphere changed.
This experience stayed with me deeply because it reminded me that choice is where life is. When I give away my power to choose, I lose my love for life—and often my love for people as well.
Mourning My Favorite Strategy
One difficult part of reconnecting with choice is that I often need to mourn first.
For example, imagine that I want my partner to change by remembering to wash her dishes after she finishes eating.
I have already tried—many times and in many different ways—to encourage her to change.
And miraculously, not only does she not change, but she seems to resist me even more, creating additional tension between us.
Reconnecting with choice may first require facing a painful possibility: “Maybe she will never change.”
This can feel heartbreaking. It may mean in my mind that I will continue to be the one washing the dishes. ALWAYS. And deeper than that, it may touch an old fear: “I will become like my mother, who was always taking care of everyone else, while no one took care of her.”
I feel hopelessness. Fear. Powerlessness.
Mourning.
But strangely, once I stop fighting these feelings and simply allow myself to experience them, something begins to shift. It is often precisely then that new possibilities emerge. New creativity.
For example:
I could leave the relationship.
I could choose to stay and wash the dishes, recognizing that I value cleanliness and that I am doing it for my own well-being. And I am choosing the relationship as well.
I could hire someone to help clean the house once a week.
I could learn to relax after eating and enjoy doing the dishes later, perhaps even together with her.
And countless other possibilities.
The moment I stop fighting reality, I often regain access to choice.
Choice Is Not Control
Choice does not mean controlling life. It means reconnecting with where my freedom still exists.
I once heard a teacher say: “No one can take away your freedom of choice.”
Even if someone puts you in jail, they can limit your options, but they cannot take away your capacity to choose. For example, they cannot choose your thoughts for you. They cannot choose where you place your attention.
The moment I remember where my choice is, I stop feeling like a victim.
Not because everything becomes easy, but because I reconnect with my participation in creating my life.
The Difference in Energy
Today, one of the biggest questions I ask myself is: “Am I acting from a have to, or from choice?”
Externally, the action may look identical. I may still drive my child around, go to work, help a friend, or support my partner.
But internally, the energy can feel radically different.
One energy says: “I have to.”
The other says: “I choose to.”
These are two different worlds.
I increasingly experience this tiny inner shift as revolutionary. Because when I reconnect with choice: resentment softens, joy becomes possible, giving becomes lighter, and relationships breathe differently.
Not perfectly. But more freely. More honestly. And more alive.

What Does It Mean to Act Out of Choice?

Why Do I Feel Like a Victim in Relationships?

One of the deepest things I have come to experience through Nonviolent Communication is that choice lies at the very heart of being human.

When people experience themselves as having a choice, something beautiful happens. There is more aliveness, more creativity, more authenticity, and more willingness to contribute.

But when people no longer feel at choice, many painful dynamics begin to emerge. Resistance, resentment, withdrawal, rebellion, compliance, sabotage, and disconnection often follow.

I find it fascinating that one of the very first stories in the Bible already revolves around choice:“You can choose this tree or that tree.” If God wanted pure efficiency, perhaps human beings would simply have been programmed toward the “correct” option. And yet, choice was given.

For me, this feels deeply meaningful. Choice is what allows me to discover my own spirituality, explore life, and follow my inner truth.
It is what allows each of us to walk our own path. It is the foundation of diversity—the possibility for every human being to become fully alive in their own unique way.

Children and the Need for Choice

I often think about children throwing tantrums. A child may scream desperately because: “I want the red spoon with pink dots! Not the blue !!!!!”
And from the adult perspective, it may look absurd.

But increasingly, I don’t think the child is truly fighting for the pink dots. I think the child is fighting for: choice. For the freedom to explore the world from within themselves. To experiment. To discover. To feel their own taste. To follow their own curiosity and aliveness.

The longing for choice, autonomy, freedom, integrity, and the ability to live from our own spirituality is planted within us from the moment we are born.
None of us chooses to want these things. They are already there, woven into our humanity.
They are part of what it means to be human.

The Violence of “Should”

One word I became extremely sensitive to is: should. Or its close cousin: “have to.”

“I should wake up earlier.”
“I should exercise.”
“I have to listen better.”
“I should play with my child more.”
“I should not disappoint people.”
“I have to be more disciplined”

The word “should,” by its nature, denies choice.
And I am amazed by how deeply rooted this consciousness is in our culture. Many people hear “should” hundreds of times a day: from parents, schools, religion, teachers, society, partners, and especially from themselves.

Over time, I began to notice a simple pattern: when choice disappears, joy often disappears as well.
And whenever a “should” enters the picture, resistance is usually already present.

Why Giving from Obligation Hurts Relationships

One of the deepest insights Marshall Rosenberg gave me was: “Please don’t give to me unless you are clear how giving also nourishes you.”

At first, this sounded almost shocking to me. Because many of us were taught that “goodness” means: sacrifice, self-denial, obligation, and giving out of a sense of responsibility.

But over time, I began seeing something painful: giving from “should” often carries hidden costs. For example: resentment, exhaustion, loss of attraction or love, guilt, emotional bank accounts, or subtle pressure.

Sometimes I find myself externally I say: “Of course I’ll do it, no problem.” But internally something says: “You are a burden.” “I never get care back.” “I always have to give.”

And even if the words sound caring, the body often feels the hidden energy underneath.

Marshall and the Crying Baby

One story from Marshall Rosenberg touched me deeply:
At the end of a long exhausting day, he finally put his head on the pillow — and then heard his baby crying.
He noticed himself dragging his body out of bed with resentment.
Then suddenly he stopped. And he realized: “I do not want my baby to look into my eyes and see that he is a burden to me.”

So he stayed in bed for a moment longer.
At first, horror arose. He imagined reading in the newspaper the next day: “Psychologist Conducts Experiment on His Baby—Baby Dies.”

And then suddenly, something shifted. Instead of hearing his son’s cry as a burden—or thinking, “I have to go calm him down”—he heard something entirely different: A helpless human being in need of support.
And then he got up with completely different energy.

This story deeply moves me because externally the action looked the same: he still got up.
But internally, everything changed. From obligation, to choice. From: victimhood, to willingness.

And for me, this tiny shift in consciousness changes the entire atmosphere of a relationship—and its sustainability over time.

The Victim Role

One thing I increasingly notice is: almost every time I am complaining about someone, I have probably lost touch with where my choice lies.
And then I fall into what I call: the victim role.

I want to be very clear: I am not speaking here about abuse or trauma situations where acknowledging: “this was done to me” can be profoundly healing.

I am speaking about many ordinary daily moments where I unconsciously experience: “My well-being depends on other people changing.”

For example: “Why is she so messy?”, “Why doesn’t he listen to me?”, “Why are they so insensitive?”, “Why don’t they change?”

And honestly, I deeply understand this consciousness because I still enter it regularly myself.

The Tragedy of Trying to Change People

One of the biggest discoveries of my life was realizing that trying to change people is often an extremely inefficient strategy for caring for my needs.

The moment my well-being depends on another person changing, it becomes dependent on something I do not control.

And often, people do not change. Not only because they do not want to change, but for a deeper reason:
When my core intention is to change another person, they are likely to resist me because their attention shifts toward protecting something precious: their freedom to choose their own path. Their autonomy. Their integrity. Their own inner truth.
Which is tragic, because what I actually long for is to support their openness to change. Yet when I try to change them, it often creates the opposite of openness: protectiveness.

In other words, the very strategy I use to care for my needs often ends up creating resistance and making it less likely that my needs will be met.

This is what I see in almost every mediation I facilitate: people invest enormous amounts of energy for very little result.

They try to change the other person. And the more they try, the more the other person tends to close down into resistance and self-protection.

The Parking Lot Story

One simple experience taught me a lot about this:

I was once in a huge traffic jam leaving a parking lot with my friend Hans. Cars were completely stuck.

I immediately began complaining: “What a stupid system!”, “Why didn’t they put a traffic light there?!”

Then suddenly I remembered: complaint often means I lost touch with my choice. I have slipped into a victim mindset.
So I asked myself: “Where is my power to choose?”

Immediately, an image appeared: I could walk to the junction and direct traffic myself like a police officer.

Honestly, shame immediately appeared too: “No way… that’s embarrassing.”

And this became another deep realization: where my power lies, fear or shame are often nearby too.

After a little empathy from Hans, I finally did it. I left the car and stood in the middle of the road directing traffic with my bare hands.
And actually, it became incredibly joyful.
People smiled. Honked with gratitude. The whole atmosphere changed.

This experience stayed with me deeply because it reminded me that choice is where life is. When I give away my power to choose, I lose my love for life—and often my love for people as well.

Mourning My Favorite Strategy

One difficult part of reconnecting with choice is that I often need to mourn first.

For example, imagine that I want my partner to change by remembering to wash her dishes after she finishes eating.
I have already tried—many times and in many different ways—to encourage her to change.
And miraculously, not only does she not change, but she seems to resist me even more, creating additional tension between us.

Reconnecting with choice may first require facing a painful possibility: “Maybe she will never change.”
This can feel heartbreaking. It may mean in my mind that I will continue to be the one washing the dishes. ALWAYS. And deeper than that, it may touch an old fear: “I will become like my mother, who was always taking care of everyone else, while no one took care of her.”

I feel hopelessness. Fear. Powerlessness.
Mourning.

But strangely, once I stop fighting these feelings and simply allow myself to experience them, something begins to shift. It is often precisely then that new possibilities emerge. New creativity.

For example:

• I could leave the relationship. 
• I could choose to stay and wash the dishes, recognizing that I value cleanliness and that I am doing it for my own well-being. And I am choosing the relationship as well.
• I could hire someone to help clean the house once a week.
• I could learn to relax after eating and enjoy doing the dishes later, perhaps even together with her.
• And countless other possibilities.

The moment I stop fighting reality, I often regain access to choice.

Choice Is Not Control

Choice does not mean controlling life. It means reconnecting with where my freedom still exists.

I once heard a teacher say: “No one can take away your freedom of choice.”

Even if someone puts you in jail, they can limit your options, but they cannot take away your capacity to choose. For example, they cannot choose your thoughts for you. They cannot choose where you place your attention.

The moment I remember where my choice is, I stop feeling like a victim.

Not because everything becomes easy, but because I reconnect with my participation in creating my life.

The Difference in Energy

Today, one of the biggest questions I ask myself is: “Am I acting from a have to, or from choice?”

Externally, the action may look identical. I may still drive my child around, go to work, help a friend, or support my partner.

But internally, the energy can feel radically different.

One energy says: “I have to.”
The other says: “I choose to.”
These are two different worlds.

I increasingly experience this tiny inner shift as revolutionary. Because when I reconnect with choice: resentment softens, joy becomes possible, giving becomes lighter, and relationships breathe differently.

Not perfectly. But more freely. More honestly. And more alive.