Free doesn't mean easy

Dear future hubster,

in a recent discussion about values, I came to the conclusion that freedom of choice is something I value dearly, and something I would (and do) sacrifice other things for.

Now this might not be a surprise to anybody who's ever heard my signature "Don't tell me what to do" catchphrase, but in times like this, my preference for freedom of choice goes deeper. 

Just looking at the past week or two, it's easy to see what a privileged position it is to prefer having a choice. To be allowed to choose whom I love without having to fear that it puts them or me in danger. To be allowed to live where I choose, without having to fear that I will be evicted from my very homeland, which, in turn, will be razed to the ground and sowed with salt. To be able to walk the streets without having to fear being attacked because of how I look. To be able to make decisions about my own body without having to go underground for the services said decisions then require. To not have to worry about those I love because of how they look, where they live, whom they love.

Not trying to be dramatic here, but the words fundamental human rights somehow come to mind, and in my privileged position of being allowed to have preferences, I'd very much prefer that everybody has these fancy things. 

If that makes me pro-choice, I'm here for it. And since we're at big words already, let's throw in apartheid, racism, misogyny, and oppression for starters and see where we get. 

Don't feel excluded, dear future hubster. It might look like this is all about me, but you most probably also have the privilege of choices. You get to choose what you think and do about those big words too. 

And you get to choose what you want with a woman like me in your life. If you want me there, that is.