Box
Lover
“The
history of the living world can be summarized as the elaboration of
ever more perfect eyes with a cosmos in which there is always
something more to be seen.”
Pierre
Teilhard de Chardin
I
confess to loving boxes. I like to get my hands on a perfect box and
fill it with something special. In my sewing room, all the fabrics
are sorted by their predominant color and stored in plastic,
see-through boxes, so at a glance, I can locate a fabric I need. I
also like pretty boxes, even if I don't know what I'll put into them.
I collect them just because they're pretty. They can be
advertisements; I have a round one on top of my kitchen cabinets that
is a Camembert box with red and gold scrolled filigree around it. And
I have one with strutting roosters, and a red one with a decorative
lid. They are empty, but I like the way they look. I have some wooden
boxes, too. One with birds heavily carved on all sides. It is from
Israel. And I have one carved with oxen pulling a wagon; from the
Philippines. I have been known to stop on the side of the road and
collect wooden wine boxes that have been put out for trash
collection. No reason to let a perfectly good box go to waste. That's
is my motto.
I
also confess to having a habit of putting people into boxes—not
literally, of course, but with the way I characterize them. It is
easy to meet someone, and within a few moments, slap a label on
them—angry woman, snob, subservient little man, intelligent guy,
sure of himself—labels that I tend to stick with regardless of what
comes next. Most of us do. First impressions happen within thirty
seconds and tend to last. I ask myself, “Could someone know all of
who I am in thirty seconds?” And, certainly, the answer is no, they
could not. We cannot know what may have shaped the mood or the
uncertainty of a person within thirty seconds or even thirty minutes.
There are many facets to everyone, and we change, hopefully, over
time. Are you the same person you were at, say, twenty?
Do
you ever look across a distance and think you see someone you know,
only to find, as you get closer that they are not who you thought? I
did that just yesterday at the post office—I'm glad I didn't call
out her name and then have to explain myself. We do this too with
groups of people, with organizations, and with communities. We assume
that our label applies equally to everyone in that cohort.
Southerners, for instance, get lumped into the cohort labeled, “dumb
rednecks.” For sure, there are some dumb rednecks in the
South...and in the mid-west, and the south-west and everywhere else.
I, on the other hand, know quite a few southerners who are
intelligent, thoughtful people.
Our
labels often say more about us than about the people who wear them.
Even when our first impression is a positive one, we must realize
that we are seeing only one aspect of that person in one moment of
time. Every one of us is multi-faceted and complex. We should put all
our labels into one of my fine boxes. And then, close the lid.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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