Skip to main content

Putting people in boxes

Are stereotypes born or made? We shout ourselves hoarse about the narrow-mindedness of others but aren't we stereotyping people all the time? We want people to play the roles we choose for them. We put them in little slots inside our heads and take comfort in the thought that they will only do this much and no more.

And we do this quite unconsciously -- a home, at work, with the people we love, the people we dislike, with each other. A colleague or boss does this when he/she allots work to the team. The favourites get the plum assignments, the silent ones end up the worst off. A parent does this when he or she lays down the law -- tells the child to do only this and not that.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Maybe, we are all more than a little cruel, deep inside. We don't want to re-think our image of others and we most certainly don't want them to do something we think is out of character for them. Maybe we do this because there is a deep fear inside all of us, a hunger to always be proved right; a fear of inadequacy, of being overshadowed and overlooked; of being stuck in the shadows while another basks in the limelight.

But really, we don't need to be so afraid. Of others or of ourselves. Because we truly can do anything we put our mind to. Marianne Willamson put it beautifully in 'Return to Love: Reflections on a Course in Miracles':

‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond imagination.'


So break out of those little stereotypical cardboard boxes you've built inside your head.
Do what your heart wants. Because you can.







Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.

Why?

Two times now, I've seen it happen. Twice, I've seen men, ordinary-looking chaps, verbally and physically abuse the women with them. While people around them did nothing. One man was young, he had an identity tag. He wore formal pants, nice stout shoes. I saw him kick the young woman with him, straight in the gut, with those shoes. His companion was in burkha but she seemed young.  The other man was older. He harangued the woman with him loudly and crudely. He spat at her, followed her when she tried to walk away. Shook her by the shoulders, repeatedly. Both men did this at a public park, in full view of dozens of people milling around. Walkers walked, joggers jogged, various men lounged about, sat around. The onlookers watched the two men do these terrible things. And they did nothing. I am not a brave person. In my heart I was terribly afraid--that if I confront them, they could hurt me, find out where I live, hurt my family. But I was ashamed to stand by and watch. S...

Cockroach eggs and innocence

Baby ate a cockroach egg last night. At least, he tried to. C noticed and got it out. But the lil' one must have gotten a taste. Yuck, ewww! Really and truly. But then, I got thinking. He ate it because he didn't know he wasn't supposed to. He doesn't know what bad is. Or evil. Or lies. Or hate. He doesn't know, what it is, you see, to be all grown-up and knowing what is right and wrong. And who is good and bad. That's why, when he sees a white-haired gentleman, he says "Ajja". How can I tell him then, that I'm afraid not all "Ajjas" are safe to be around. That in our adultness, we've lost the capacity to trust infinitely and innocently. That we can't really, because we've corrupted ourselves too much. That's why, even if I whack him and shout at him in my pettiness, he'll screw up his face and bawl his heart out. And then hold his arms out to me. And that's when I feel miserably small and just like tha...