Boxes


I try to put myself in a box. All the time. Everyday. There are so many boxes I try to squeeze myself into. They’re scattered all over my living room floor like an Amazon prime-shipping addict (also true). 

There’s the “occupations” or ways that I occupy my time: writer doodler actor producer boss manager business owner thinker critic performer improviser director seasonal entrepreneur trailblazer filmmaker person who still doesn’t get paid for her work etc. 

There’s the identities and perceptions: woman, woman of color, brown person (who still benefits on the colorism scale), muslim lady, why does everything have to be about race?, why? in general, skinny, etc.

There’s my personalities: dork shy fierce intense scary brooding thoughtful downer silly funny sequined reserved open closed bold ambitious fire…

And then there is me trying to pick a lane in myself. Trying to cut away parts of myself to conveniently explain myself. Trying to squeeze my big huge fabulous amazing-ass self into the tiniest most convenient box possible. 

So to myself, today, I say: you are already the box you were meant to be in: yourself. This is your skin, your body, your gifts, your human spectrum of good and evil, your mission, your life. The world has limiting ideas of and for you. But you are limitless in your own way. You will never fit in another person’s shadow or box or self. Please try to stop trying. And recycle those damn boxes for God’s sake.

Thoughts?

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