​The Box

Somewhere along the way, you were handed a box. It was empty and unremarkable, but it felt as if its weight defied gravity—like something that came too close would cross an event horizon and never escape.

“What do I do with the box?” you asked.

“You must put yourself in,” they answered.

Confused, you looked around. You noticed other people had boxes, too. They hid them in attics, closets, and garages. Their boxes, sealed long ago, collected dust in seldom-visited corners. Forced smiles were frozen on their faces as they wandered from place to place in their daily lives. Up close, you could see a quiet pain in their eyes, but their faces could not betray them.

“You must put yourself in the box,” they persisted. “Can you not see how happy we are?” Their eternal smiles never wavered as they lived their lives, worked their jobs, and grew their families. You wanted to belong. You wanted acceptance.

You opened your box and began to take yourself apart. They watched over your shoulder as you sorted yourself in front of you, pointing out which pieces to put in the box. You felt pain as you separated these pieces from yourself. Your soul cried out.

“You mustn’t listen. We know best,” they said.

The more you put in the box, the more the cries quieted. Eventually, you could hear nothing at all.

You solemnly sealed your box and carried it to your closet. You moved it as far back as you could, beside your childhood toys and memories of long-lost love. As you turned to leave, you passed by a mirror. A smile appeared on your face, but you did not put it there.

Time passed. You went to school, got a job, bought a house. You shuffled through crowds of others, smiling all the way. You exchanged pleasantries, asked about weekend plans, waved at neighbors. You began to forget about the box. It was better that way.

One day, you opened the closet, looking for an outfit. As you reached for a hanger, it fell onto the box. It was the first time you’d seen the box in a long while. The hanger had pierced one of the sides. You knelt to examine the box and found a piece of yourself had fallen out.

“I should put this back,” you thought.

As you picked it up, you felt your smile loosen. It was the first thing you had felt in a long, long time.

“Is there something wrong with me?” you thought.

Colors became slightly deeper. Sounds were slightly richer and more layered. You hid the piece of yourself in your coat pocket and walked out the door.

The streets you walked felt less familiar. Everything looked the same, but it felt like a façade. Your neighbors waved as they always did, but it was as if they looked through you. You noticed their eyes didn’t match their smiles.

You went back home and found the box. You mustered up the courage to pull out another piece of yourself. The room brightened. You felt euphoric. Surely, you thought, everyone else should know about this.

You ran to find your best friend and showed him the pieces of yourself. His lips, upturned as they always were, never wavered. His eyes darkened.

“Why do you have these? Don’t you want to be like everyone else?”

A crowd began to gather. You could hear the whispers, feel their gazes boring into your back. You felt something awful that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You ran back home.

You passed by the mirror and noticed your smile was gone. Tears streamed down your face. I’ve made a mistake, you thought. You went to put the pieces back in the box.

As you did, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to face the stranger, and his gaze pierced like a spear. He wore a smile, but not like the others. It was as if his eyes were spotlights illuminating your heart.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said.

His features revealed a man who had experienced success and failure, happiness and sadness, intense love and overwhelming grief.

“I put myself in the box long ago. One day, I turned around and noticed I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt nothing. Had no true connections. I decided to open it.”

“But I just showed my friend the pieces of myself,” you said, “and it made him angry.”

“Others who put themselves in the box are comfortable sacrificing themselves so they can be like everyone else,” the stranger said. “They fear what might happen if they open their own box.”

The stranger turned to leave. You held your box tightly. You thought of your life. Your friends. Your coworkers. What would they think? Would they accept you? Why not just take the easy road?

As you stood contemplating, the stranger opened the door.

“Remember the look in their eyes,” he said as he pulled the door shut behind him.

You remembered the first time you were given the box. You remembered their smiles, but there was something about their eyes. It was as if they were screaming silently, unable to break free of themselves.

Once again, you looked in the mirror. You noticed your eyes were sad, as if storm clouds had grown inside them. But there was also a gleam—an honesty that you hadn’t remembered seeing.

Finally, you opened the box.

Welcome back. We’re happy to see you.