Ear worm alert! I have the song Little Boxes by Pete Seeger stuck in my head. It crawled inside my head during my 45-minute commute to work. Because cars are basically little boxes on wheels.
All these people, rolling along in their little boxes, not interacting with each other at all. In fact, they’re actively trying to avoid each other. Physics. The gift that keeps on giving.
And then they go home to their little boxes, or to work in their little cubicles which is just another word for a little box. We stare into little boxes in the form of smart phones. We gaze at them to watch television. We store our excess crap in them. Our mail comes in them. Our food is packaged in them. I defy you to go through a single day without encountering a box.
And we spend a lot of time trying to categorize everyone around us. Should you be put in the old box or the young box? Which racial box do you fit in? No straddling boxes allowed! Are you politically red or blue? Are you rich or poor, educated or not, fat or thin, tall or short, male or female (ABSOLUTELY no straddling those boxes, oh my goodness, no. Heaven forfend.)
People cannot stand it when you refuse to fit neatly into your box. How are they supposed to treat you when your lid keeps popping off and you spill out? It’s just… well… rude.
When all is said and done, the majority of us, upon dying, will be put into yet another box, whether it’s a small one or a large one. And our relatives will most likely feel stress and guilt over whether the box is nice enough, because it’s your last box, after all.
But let’s face it. We aren’t going to care. It’s. Just. A. Box.