Collapse the Box

She put me in a box.

She posted a message on social media about “those people.” My people. Me! I considered canceling. I’m not going.

Before her post, I thought we were in the same box. She’s in that box?

I shouldn’t go. What if the boxes come up? Damned boxes.

But are they damned?

Boxes help us.

They sort and organize our lives and belongings. They safe keep keepsakes, store the out-of-seasons.

Boxes are essential.

Those virtual boxes in our heads, in our textbooks, on spreadsheets, on reports —categories, classes, types, styles…— this is how we sort our world and each other, for a better understanding.

  • They’re paramedics. They save lives.
  • Those are invertebrates. They have no backbone.
  • He’s a math teacher. He explains numbers to students.
  • We’re professional soccer players. We have strong legs.
  • This is a dangerous narcotic. Keep it out reach of the children.
  • She’s Hindu. She believes in reincarnation.

But boxes can blind us.

  • She’s a Republican.
  • She’s a Democrat.

I saw her political box. It wasn’t mine. Should I go?

What I know

It’s not like I don’t know people in that box, the other box. I have family in that box.

  • I love them.
  • I spend time with them.
  • I sit at their table.
  • We talk.
  • I know them.

And there it is. I know them. I know that box is only part of their story, I know they are more than the box we use to understand their politic. I know they are much better than any box of politic.

The Golden Rule

I was bothered when I saw how her meme boxed us, made assumptions about me. I considered canceling. But I want to go! I don’t want to cancel.

I turned the boxes over with the Golden Rule. I don’t want to be confined to a box, only understood within that box. Why would I do that to her?

I went. We met, we spent time together, we sat together. We didn’t talk about those boxes, but we talked deeply. She is much more than her box of politic, and I am more for having gone. I gained a friend.

Boxes can be good, but we shouldn’t allow boxes to limit our love and understanding.

Stepping outside the box

These are difficult times. We can stir the difficult pot or step outside the box to be the change, to make a difference. We can’t control others. We can, however, choose how we interact with others.

I choose love over the boxes. I want to be heard, but first I must listen. I want to be seen, but first I must collapse all the boxes.

The process is slow and sometimes painful. Listening and seeing to make a difference, to be the change, requires faith and love, but the magic of that slow alchemy is worth it.

I’m glad I went. We saw each other. We heard each other. We didn’t kick around our boxes of politic this time, but I think we’re in a better position to hear each other when we come round to that.

©Pennie Nichols All Rights Reserved 2020

Choked

I haven’t written much since the 2017 election. I don’t have writer’s block, really. I just feel choked.

I miss writing, because writing is where I figure things out. Writing is introspection, meditation, screaming therapy, and prayer in one painful and joyful process. My self-inflicted October one-blog-a day challenge is my effort to loosen the strangle hold from my pen. The late nights are exhausting. Loosening the restraints is a struggle. Yet I’m grateful to be writing again.

From Choked to Conversation

So, what’s choking you?

If you’re guessing political climate, you’re getting warm.

Why is that choking you?

If you’re guessing I’m a chicken for not raising my voice or a snowflake because I’m an aghast liberal, you’re getting colder now.

This obstruction in my esophagus has nothing to do with chickens and snowflakes. This stricture is about my anxiousness to find the path to conversation and common ground, in spite of and because of the political climate.

After nearly a year of searching for it, I realize that if I’m not writing, I’ll never find that path.

This is me, coming unchoked, looking for the path to conversation and common ground.

©Copyright Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved, 2017.