There was probably a time in my life when I thought that I could fit my life into a box. That who I was could be defined by 5 walls and lid. So often as children we are taught to categorise our lives. By our hair colour, our eye colour or our cultural backgrounds. How we feel about things into likes and dislikes. We read things which advocate learning styles, pigeonholing our lives in this way.
But there are a few problems with using boxes. Whenever I try to pack up actual boxes filled with physical things there are usually one or two things which just won’t fit in the box no matter how hard I try, so why should trying to pack abstract things into a metaphorical box work? And boxes are usually associated with being all the same, and I have found very few people who I share a vast similarity of my interests with. My over-flowing box of stuff is pretty unique and I’m always surprised when something in my box matches with something in someone else’s. Usually boxes are seen as quite bland. When I found this picture I knew it was close to perfect. Boxes in different shapes and each one with a brightly coloured and with a unique design.
I know my life doesn’t fit perfectly into a box and I’m learning that I’m unique in this world and that’s okay. I might not always be able to find someone who perfectly understands me, but I’ll find someone with whom our boxes share a little in common.
Life doesn’t fit into a box, or if we try it fits into many different boxes or creates an overflowing mess, because life isn’t perfect. Our boxes bear the scars of the life we have lived. We’ve carried them around with us and tried to stuff in more than would fit. A bend here, a watermark there, something stuck to the lid. My process of fitting my life into boxes is realising that it doesn’t fit well and then going about life not worrying that my box mightn’t be that neat, pristine or organised. But it is my life that I have to live so I’ve built my own unique box which fits my life and no one else’s.