Eulogy of the Box
I always liked to believe that I was independent, conscious, and driven by my own wishes and goals. Sometime around the beginning of last fall, the curtains that were shielding a different truth started to be lifted and I had the sense that there were little signs around me that were begging to be seen. I was under the impression that something important was lurking just beneath my consciousness, but it felt like every time I came close, it burst like a bubble.
I had never thought of myself as someone who fit neatly into a box. As a matter of fact, I took great pride and pleasure in setting myself apart. I loved being different, ‘weird,’ deep, an overthinker, and sometimes an alien. But suddenly, I was struck by the idea that society had, indeed, succeeded at nudging me into a box. It was so subtle that I didn’t even see it happening, not until I was folded, groomed, and packed tightly into this life that I was made to believe was my own. In reality, it was just another carbon copy of the other ‘normal’ lives that society loves. A few differences here and there, but generally the same. Boxes come in all shapes, sizes, and colors — as do our lives. Here’s the catch, though: just because they look different doesn’t mean they are actually different. A box is a box, no matter what color it is. For the first time in my life, I felt like a square. I have a Bachelor’s, a Master’s, and a PhD. I have a full-time job that gives me financial security. I’m married to a man. I spend my days at work and my nights reading a book or watching Netflix. I plan social outings a few times a week, usually on Fridays or Saturdays.
I don’t know whether moving to a new country for a job or the onset of the pandemic triggered this existential crisis, this need for so much more. Perhaps it was something else altogether, like a destined awakening courtesy of the universe. Whatever it was, I’m deeply grateful that it did happen. Ignorance is bliss, and being hyperaware of your own circumstances and choices can cause intense suffering at times, but I’d rather be awake and lost than asleep and on auto-pilot. I’d rather wander in search of something than be a clone.
Avoiding being another clone has been a motivation since I was in high school, when I could barely relate to my peers who were more concerned with popularity and gossip than books and the world around us. At the same time, I was always a goody two-shoes, a fan of rules. My anxiety thrives on a diet of chaos and randomness, so my only weapon of defense has always been control, planning, and order. I have never been a rebel, but I have recently found myself rebelling against being boxed in, being buried alive in a pre-packaged life that I didn’t quite sign up for.
I couldn’t stop wondering, why is it that so few of us who come to terms with this fact actually choose to act on it? How come only a few people end up traveling the world, designing their own routines, and letting go of that blueprint that society passes onto us, while the rest of us settle? I used to believe the former group of people were irresponsible, childish dreamers who lack discipline and choose escape because they couldn’t fit into the real world. I can now admit that those judgments arose from a place of envy and were therefore completely false. I now have the utmost respect for anyone who has the courage to destroy the box, to sketch out exactly what they want to do every day, whether that is making music, or volunteering at a chimpanzee sanctuary in Liberia, or expressing love to one of multiple partners.
Why should relaxation, pleasure, and beauty only exist 20 days a year, when we take our vacation days and travel to some distant island? Why should the rest be a combination of working ourselves to exhaustion, taking occasional breaks to go out, cleaning, scrolling through the lives of others on social media, and mindlessly watching shows just to pass the time?
From the reactions I received from people I talked to about this, I quickly understood that most people did not appreciate my thoughts. I believe it’s because people don’t like to be faced with things that are confusing, ideas that threaten their sense of stability, questions that could fill them with doubt about their own lives. So, I have remained silent, but I have written about this endlessly. Talked to myself. I don’t blame them; it can be terrifying to look this in the eyes. It can be terrifying to ask yourself how many things in your life were genuinely the result of nothing but your own will. It can be terrifying to start to accept that there are very few decisions that we take that are clean of the influence of others, whether it is the career or partner we choose.
I’ve started to make tiny steps towards a life that resembles my true self, but I can’t tell you which road I will actually take, because I don’t know yet. I’m not getting a divorce or going traipsing through the Amazon rainforest (my fear of insects completely eliminates that option). Maybe I’ll shove this knowledge deep down and pretend I never uncovered it. Shut my mouth and convince myself I’m living a life that is of my own choosing, one that I built around my desires and needs. Maybe I’ll jump off these tracks and hop onto another one, try out another life in an alternate universe where I’m a writer who works from a different country every couple of months. Reading The Midnight Library by Matt Haig — a book that is precisely about trying out different lives — did not give me the resolution I was seeking, but rather intensified my fixation on alternate lives.
A quote I saved four years ago is more stuck in my mind these days than ever, but it is as if I had a feeling it was important even back then: Do not choose the lesser life. Do you hear me. Do you hear me. Choose that life that is yours. The life that is seducing your lungs. That is dripping down your chin (Nayyirah Waheed). That is all I want. A life that is truly mine. A life that has not been plagiarized. A life that has been created and curated by yours truly, without even the slightest regard to societal pressure or what others might think. Have I figured out what that looks like yet? Not in the slightest. But I really hope I will have the courage to do what needs to be done to have it. All I know is I cannot close my eyes again. I cannot go back into that box.
