Boxes and Vases

A Suggestion For Rethinking Compartmentalization

Sometimes I look at my great accumulation of stuff and morbidly wonder who will have to sort through everything if I die tomorrow. Or I look at a friend or family member’s great accumulation of stuff, wondering if I’ll be the one, some unfortunate day, uncovering treasures and secrets and memories.

I’m packing up my life here on the coast soon, which means everything must go. Keep or sell or give. I have a lot of stuff I don’t need but I still hold onto for whatever reason. I’ve displayed curious objects on windowsills and bookshelves. Like this little Buddha statue that reminds me of my nieces and nephews. I have piles in corners that I’ve ignored for months. Some rooms appear tidy, some are messy. Messiness is a sign of mental illness but also a sign of creativity. Tidiness is a sign of intelligence but also of past trauma. Maybe it’s something completely different. The more important question is: how does the tidiness (or lack thereof) make you feel? 

And then there are these dogs we live with. I may give Boo a brush weekly to avoid his hair weaving into every article of clothing I own. I may dry Yaya’s beached fur with futility before he deposits great masses of sand on my pillow. If I pay attention, it’s their personalities that help me compartmentalize the most important things. Boo’s sensitivities reflect my social anxiety and my understanding of the importance of boundaries. Yaya’s endless bounds of energy help me come to terms with my neurotic nature and even strengthen my desire to walk through life with a little more joy. A living embodiment of my anxiety and my quest for joy, depositing hair and sand all over my life.

When we discover these parts of ourselves in our clutter or our cleanliness (or our dogs), we so often put them into boxes, too. How convenient, the box metaphor, to house a ubiquitous affliction like anxiety. At 41, I’ve filled a lot of boxes that I occasionally return to. A box labeled ADHD, another reads catholic guilt, and another photography, and dogs, and social media, boxes for friends and family, for past traumas, for my hopes, and for my future. And these boxes sit on a shelf in a room I don’t venture into very often.

Here comes the hook. I’ve been wondering what it might mean to put some of these parts into vases instead of boxes. What if I express a part of myself in a way that can be seen and understood and maybe even nurtured. Out in the open on a countertop to breathe and be warmed by sunlight. Out in the open for an invited visitor to witness and nurture and even clip a wilted flower. 

Jungian philosophy emphasizes not only the importance of metaphors, but which metaphors we choose in our language. Expressing “I had a rough day” instead of “I had a bad day” might allow us to let go of our day sooner. The textural quality of the word “rough” suggests that this roughness is temporary, and that a softness can soon follow. A vase may suggest openness in place of the confinement of a box. 

I don’t want to drag out this metaphor too much longer. You get it. If we can find the mental dexterity to compartmentalize our parts into boxes, I think we can occasionally reach for a vase. Maybe these dogs of mine are vases for some of my parts. Maybe another vase is a philosophy book by Sartre the size of my head which suggests that I want to know more about Being and Nothingness but not enough to read this damned book. Maybe another vase is a bumper sticker or my project Be More Like Your Dog which will soon be getting a refresher, I promise. Vases are the parts that you can see. The parts I choose to share.

You can choose to hide your parts or show them. Our dogs may even choose for us. But for the most part, it’s your call to make. Some parts might be better on a shelf in a room you never enter, for now. Some parts might flourish in the light. Maybe there’s a correlation between how many parts we choose to show and the stuff we leave behind for someone else to sort through. The more important question is, I suppose, how does it make you feel?

With love,

Andrew, Yaya & Boo