life in a box

While we all seem to be dealing with varying levels of disappointment and stress these days, I spent some time last night thinking about the restrictions I’ve been feeling, and how my life today compares to other times in my life.

And I realized that I’ve been living in a box.

Some boxes offer structure and healthy boundaries that make day-to-day living easier and more pleasant — working within the confines of your job description or the scope of your project, knowing where and when to show up, understanding what foods are good and not so good for you, knowing what activities you enjoy and which ones you don’t, having everyone on the road (more or less) follow the same rules of driving.

But other boxes are not so comfortable. They can stifle and even do harm.

I was raised to never draw attention to myself. Don’t cause a scene. Don’t embarrass myself or anyone around me. Even if I’m in pain, even if (sometimes especially if) another person is causing me harm, don’t cry out. Under no circumstances make anyone feel uncomfortable.

Yeah, those are some crappy rules, and they meant that I kept quiet about some really awful situations in my life.

After a year or two away from home at college, my sister made the comment that I seemed “louder.” She qualified this by saying it wasn’t bad, simply that I was funnier and less afraid to make noise or voice an opinion. And she was right. I’d stepped out of the box I’d been in.

Later, I stepped back into and again out of even more not-so-helpful boxes. For several years before I left Virginia, I was living happily in my own space — without worry of disturbing roommates or immediate neighbors (I was in a detached home with no shared walls or floors/ceilings). I played music as loud or as soft as I liked and didn’t cringe when the dogs barked. I dressed the way I wanted both at work and in my home office. I was opinionated and wrote letters to my representatives and went to vigils. I even danced on MTV. I still felt confined by my history in the area, as I was living in my hometown — home to some of the boxes I’d lived in previously. In an effort to step beyond those last restrictions, I packed up and moved cross-country to Oregon.

And inadvertently landed squarely inside another box.

Five years on, I realize I’m not well suited to close-community living — at least, not this particular community. I’m in a condo, with neighbors sharing walls on either side of me, situated on property where sound carries dramatically across lawns and water. Even inside my own space, I creep around, not wanting to disturb anyone. I’ve caught myself worrying over turning on the television or hammering a nail into the wall. So much noise. I play by the community regulations of parking, gardening, recycling, and more, even though not so many others here do. And I’ve been trying to figure out the rules and status quo of a new city, a new region and new writing and networking markets.

But it didn’t occur to me until yesterday how I’d put myself in this box. It was shocking to recognize how timid I’d become, when I finally took a few minutes to look it in the face.

Old habits — playing by the rules at all costs, being as quiet as a mouse, not demanding attention even when that’s precisely what’s necessary (think marketing) — die hard. But die they must. So yesterday, I turned up the volume on my stereo, drove a few nails into a common wall, ran the vacuum cleaner with the windows open and tromped up and down the stairs a lot.

No one complained. I doubt anyone even noticed.

Even harmful boxes can offer the comfort of the familiar. It can be frightening to step outside those restrictive boundaries, especially in dicey economic times — when everyone else is scrambling just to hang on. But sometimes it is precisely these moments of uncertainty and instability that offer the best opportunities to make the leap and try something different.

I’m not playing the part of the phoenix just now — at least, I’m not planning to. I’m not contemplating huge, sweeping changes that will make my life yesterday completely unrecognizable tomorrow. But I am returning to what I know is healthy and nurturing for me — like morning meditation before I do anything else — as I also try new approaches in my daily life.

As if in support of my somewhat shy resolve as I get back to building from basics this morning, the weather has offered me my favorite kind of day — cool, with a light mist of invigorating rain. It’s both calming and wide-open. This is precisely the kind of relaxed inspiration that drew me to Oregon in the first place.