Unlabeled

You know her. You love her. Standing at just four feet, seven inches tall, with beautiful skirts and dainty sweaters, Marie Kondo seems like the sweetest human being on the face of the Earth. She is eager to hug everyone she meets, and forms these wonderfully deep connections with her clients. Of course, I'm sure it helps that she is literally going into peoples' homes and aiding them in cultivating joy. But I wouldn't know. I haven't been lucky enough to meet Marie Kondo, of course; I've just gathered all of this information from her Netflix series, Tidying Up with Marie Kondo. Have I mentioned that it is an amazing show? Yes, I think I have. But it's worth saying again. It's fabulous. And it's also a perfect exemplar of the idea I wish to discuss in this post: people are not always what they seem. You see, Marie is indeed a lovely lady. But she also means business. She expects the families she works with to do their homework and stay dedicated while cleaning up their living spaces. She will put *insert clap* you *insert clap* to *insert clap* work. Kondo does not fit solely into one box. She is not just one thing. Instead, she is a layered, multidimensional person; not just sweet, not just hardworking and responsible. Both. All of them. This example is actually kind of ironic, as Marie Kondo is a huge fan of boxes. A box for your silverware, a box for your folded polos, a box for your vintage stamp collection. Boxes are fabulous, especially if you are working on tidying up your life. But boxes are for things.

They should never, ever, ever for people.

Now, this may seem extraordinarily obvious. Maya, you may be thinking, of course she can be more than one thing. People are complex creatures. I don't need you to tell me that. All of this is very true. But as a society, we tend to forget it, all the time. Despite our insistence that a human being can be anything they want to be, we love our classifications. We put each other into boxes based on sex, gender, ethnicity, race, nationality. We judge one another by our appearances - tall, short, thin, curvy, pretty, average. People constantly make assumptions about my age; as an incredibly short person, I was recently asked if I'm excited to go into the seventh grade... when in reality, I'm in high school. People are judged as smart or not, creative or logical, traditional or innovative. It's natural, really. By putting our fellows in categories and boxes we can understand, we help to shape the way we see the world. It is a way of comprehending the chaos around us, of finding order and structure in this beautiful mess we call life. Boxes are helpful. But they also cause a lot of problems.

Consider historical conflicts surrounding religion. Although someone's religion or faith is only one fraction of their overall identity, people fail to recognize one another as fellow human beings and instead attack an identity characteristic they disagree with. They attack a classification, a group of people. People who have been put in a box because of their beliefs. Of course, religious conflicts often run deeper than this, but at their core, they exist because of differences. Battles and wars have been fought over our unique traits, mentifacts, and sociofacts. Because we belong to diverging categories. Diverging boxes. While we can help understand who we are with the use of labels, they can also result in apathy and hatred. They divide us.

We cannot afford to be divided.

Labels, boxes, categories. These things help me so much at the grocery store; I want organic heavy whipping cream? Cool. I look for the organic label on a carton of cream, which I can guarantee will always be found in the dairy section. Grocery stores use this method of organization not only to make the shopping experience easier for the consumer, but also to simplify restocking, cleaning, and managing goods. Of course, stores are also structured so the shopper is more likely to buy packaged and processed foods... but that's a whole different blog post. My point is that your local King Soopers, Sprouts, Fred Meyer, Kroger, etc. is structured in a way that allows for shopping carts to be navigated and life to be marginally less difficult for everyone. Just as we separate and designate places for dairy, produce, baked goods, and tea (which is totally, 100% its own category), we label and set aside people. As a high school student, I'm all too familiar with this. Now, it should be acknowledged that I am fortunate enough attend an arts school, where the atmosphere is quite a bit more accepting and open. However, it is not without groups. Boxes. Cliques. Labels.

There will always be the nerds, the jocks, and the preps. There will be the theatre kids, the history kids, the science kids. The system doesn't seem to care if you identify as both a baseball player and a vocalist. Nope, you will be defined as one or the other, because it is more convenient for other people to "get" you. It's easier to make judgments that way; even if someone has never met you, they will evaluate you based on the group to which you belong. Sure, your identity can be layered in high school. It just won't be acknowledged as such. I find this to be extraordinarily sad. Since my first day of Kindergarten (which I got through wearing blonde pig tails and a bright pink dress), I've simply adored school. The learning, the constant curiosity, the potential to push yourself and test your limits - it has always thrilled me. But I've never really grasped the social aspect of school. Back when I was five, it was so easy to walk up to someone on the playground and ask if they wanted to be my best friend. Now, it can be hard to distinguish between true friends, acquaintances, and those who are less than fond of you. I'm sure this is true for boys too, but I've found that girls can be especially nasty to one another. We wear fake smiles, talk about each other, are terrible back stabbers, and cause a whole lot of unnecessary drama. People are put down for being themselves. Kindness and empathy are overlooked in exchange for judgement and petty meanness (Did I just quote The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, reader? Why, yes. I did). It's awful.

At my old school, the perfect illustration of this social hierarchy we've constructed was the lunch room. You were expected to sit with the same people every single day - just stick to your group, keep you head down, and walk to the table you've been sitting at since day one. The popular kids sat together. The athletes sat together. The theatre kids, while more dispersed than others, also tended to eat their sandwiches together. There were the nerds, the misfits, and everyone in between. I never really decided where I fell in this system. But I did know never, ever to sit with the popular kids. That would be anarchy. Me, screwing up the system that was already messed up in the first place.

Looking back, I wish I would've been a little rebel in that lunch room, with its invisible boundaries and unwritten rules. I wish I would've rejected the structure. But of course, I cannot turn back the clock, and it is always easier to imagine these things than actually execute them. Because despite all of their flaws, the bullying and apathy they cause, labels can be comforting. They provide us with community, like-minded people, a sense of security. Shedding all of that imaginary protection is a terrifying prospect. Being different is absolutely petrifying. But here's the thing - there is no such thing as normal. None of us, not a single person out of the 7.53 billion on the Earth, belongs only to one category. We all have our quirks, beautifully unique traits, and an inherit sort of weirdness. When we zoom out of the confining perspective of every day life, we can see that we are all, truly, the same. Everyone craves happiness and wants to avoid suffering. Everyone wants to be understood in a way that transcends labels. We just want to be ourselves, feel content with our individuality in a society of equally distinctive people. We want to be seen.

So here is my challenge to you, my friend. For one day this week, decide to be unlabeled. Decide who you want to be, and define your own identity. Sit with who ever you want to at lunch. Defy the social structure, and use the incredible super power we all possess: empathy. If someone irritates you or hurts you in anyway, try to understand that, at heart, they are the same as you. Practice forgiveness, gratitude, and pure, unadulterated tolerance. Allow yourself to be both the baseball player and the all-state jazz choir kid. Embrace who you are without fear. Is it going to be hard? Heck yes. Can you do it? Definitely. And maybe along the way, if you decide to engage in my seemingly crazy challenge, you'll begin to understand who you are. You'll see yourself for who you are - not an individual belonging to one of Marie Kondo's beloved boxes, but many, infinitely many. You'll start to recognize your magic.

The Earth is an incredible place, lush with gorgeous landscapes, witness to countless sunsets and rain storms, a hearth of human love. It is home to brightly lit cities and star speckled farms, the sound of a lone violin, and to us. It is ours, collectively. Something we share. In spite of our differences, we all have this. This world. This cycle of breathing in and breathing out, eating, falling in love, and simply living. We are, therefore, one. Allow yourself to be human. To just be, and to be without a title. To be unlabeled.

With love,
Maya

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