Boxes

Flighty. Careless. Unfocused. Reckless. I’ve heard these words to describe myself and my seeming inability to make up my mind from everything from what job to have, what way to eat, what major to finish my degree and what to make for dinner.

Whimsical. Inquisitive. Passionate. Adventurous. Brave. These are the words I choose when I have to reconcile my seeming inability to make a decision. I like to believe that I live my life with a sense of wonder and curiosity. That each day I wake up is a new one, full of new things to learn and new ways to grow.

What these words really do is mask the insecurity and entrapment that I feel about the box where I have stuffed myself. A box where I am conventional and go with the flow of societal norms. A box where I am ok working one 9-5 job for the next 30 years so I can save up for a retirement full of golfing. A box where we have our nice house, with our two cars and our polite children. A box that I don’t fit in.

It seems that I try to shove myself into these boxes of what I think my life should look like rather than embracing what my life does look like.

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The area where this is the most obvious is school. I have a great career as a massage therapist. I love what I do and if loyalty and compliments are wealth, then I am rich. But rather than embracing this skill that I have I look to the box I don’t have. I’ve tried time and time again to figure out what I’m meant to do. I’ve tapped into every passion that could possibly turn into a Bachelor’s degree and therefore deem me acceptable to the masses. The problem is that this is not my box. I have tried every way I know how to fit into it. It is not my box.

It is not my box. 

How do I free myself from this box?

This question has been a decade long wrestling match. Trying and letting go. Not failing, because it is never a failure to try new things. It has been ten long years of trying on boxes only to find they’re not meant for me. Ten years of watching my friends find theirs that they fit into so well and longing for the day that I’d find my perfect box too.

Recently a good friend pointed out that I only focus on what I don’t have rather than the skills I do have.

Maybe I don’t have that one perfect box that is all together. Instead I have many that were quilted together to create one that I am meant to grow into. I may not have that degree on the wall that says you completed something (though I actually do). I’m not the conventional 9-5 type. Our house is a crazy war zone and far from perfect. But I have creativity. I have the ability to change my mind (which my husband says is brave). I have a heart the size of Texas. I have a wide span of interests and a spirit that desires to learn. That also means I have a box full of all kinds of interesting information just waiting to be shared.

I may not have one thing that defines me. But I do have many. Maybe instead of looking for one box, I need to rearrange the many that I already possess.

 

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