Those moments which are hard on 'being' arrive.
They are moments, which mean they pass. But what if they remain as
an unwanted and permanent guest.
We are for some a 'being in time'. One moment
engrossed with the coloring book, the next flawed. A complexity of the
random place, perhaps. The get up and go that tomorrow is supposed
to mean. The thing that we are. The slope upon which life is.
As a clinical exercise, describe it as depression.
This gives it that certainty with a solution,
that status of identifiable problem, and because we are 'beings in the
world' our obligations are defined, solutions available.
So I wonder what freedom might actually be.