My fourteen year old daughter took this photo of her old man in one of London’s iconic red telephone boxes.
I do look just a little trapped!
We do it to others; we do it to ourselves mostly.
Put them, us, into boxes of our design.
Labels are for jars, and boxes, well, boxes are the caskets that we will go out in.
Pigeonholing and stereotyping behaviours kill the hope of the different and the unique.
In venturing into blogging , I am trying to think outside of a box I have spent years carefully constructing.
In expressing my creative side, I bury the negative self-thought (and perhaps the thought of others), that tells me that is not what I am, or do.
That final box can wait for now; I have a few more I need to tick…
It’s the way of the world.
If something is shiny and precious enough, it gets assigned a value over and above its basic elements.
And like this very yellow gold jewellery in an Asian glass display cabinet, it gets boxed in.
To be admired, shown off and micro-examined by others with their own motivations, good or otherwise.
I have seen it with people I know or are well aware of – once you are on constant display there is a polished role or roles to be played.
That person might still shine but their light is often captured in the box of others.
A gold bracelet has an amplified worth, but it had a unique molecular character and purity before the artisan’s touch gave it a lustre to be lusted after, or sold to someone with enough cash.
We are all valuable in our own right, and really need just enough glimmer to throw light on the free path we are on.