There weren’t enough boxes before, so they made new ones. Welcome the new boxes: fabulously primped queens, dreamy turtleneck-donned Wills, die hard politico dikes, and lipstick lesbians. Say hello to the career climbing bitches, bike ridding veggies, diaper bag daddies, and enigmatic indie dreamers. In the search to expand an archaic paradigm, one in which many found themselves outside and looking in, they created more boxes. New boxes so that everyone will have a place, so that everyone will be included. Everyone will love himself or herself, and everyone will be loved in return.
Its all inclusive, so they say. So why is that with each new box, some of us, like me, feel even more alienated? I am still on the outside looking in. There is a polarity between the old paradigm and new, so, if you didn’t fit into the Stepford fences of the old, and yet you’re not quite crunchy enough, gay enough, or whatever orthodox enough to fit into the new, well, then there is still no box for you, my friend. Moderate liberal? Not good enough! Bisexual? That doesn’t even exist! Motherhood? That’s pathetic. Don’t know that band? Laughable.
They said they hated the boxes, but, given the chance to enter one, they rush in, unpack, and squat there like they never knew anything before it. I can’t blame them. I imagine that its ever so warm and fuzzy inside those walls- large patriarchal walls, boundaries, of validation, a big blanket wrapped around you saying, “Hello. You’re a correct human being.” At some point there is a hardening of the boundaries, once so permeable. Horror of horrors for the inhabitants to find some sad loner encroaching upon the Holy territory. They feverishly turn into pack wolves, protecting the box from outside intrusion. To let others into the box is to permit evolution, and to do that is to risk the status quo that accepts them each. The wolves throw former idealisms to the wind.
Its human nature. Revolutionaries turn into conservatives, and, yet, still parade around like the newest bike in town. Clinging to old grievances, “We are the underdog,” they proudly say. Well, somehow, as I watch them in their comfortable boxes, with their smug pride, I just can’t help seeing it all as a reflection of everything they hate. I don’t blame them though; I just envy their shelter.
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