Is That Supposed to Be a Picket Fence?

(This is not my picture, but when I thought about going to take a picture of a lovely house and picket fence, I realized the neighbors might get creeped out...thanks Google Images)

    Growing up, everyone has a basic idea of what life will be like when they are "grown up." We hear even little children talk about, "When I grow up, I'm gonna marry so-and-so..." and "My house will look like..." It's a natural process for children, and honestly, it's just plain cute. It's interesting how this process starts in everyone so young, this drive to achieve the American middle class dream. I started calling these the "Picket fence" dreams, because a house, a spouse, a dog, some kids, a yard, and a picket fence to keep it all in seems to be the most common picture of middle class success and happiness. It may not be everyone's personal dream picture, but we all know and recognize those picket fence dreams of how we thought our lives were supposed to go, or the pattern we think others expect our lives to follow, way back when  we were solidifying our versions of "right" and "wrong" "good" and "bad" in our childhood psyches. They all lend to the pattern and timeline people feel their lives should follow, if they are doing it right.
     As a whole, picket fence dreams are not necessarily wrong. They can be sweet and positive things. The problem comes when picket fences don't  mesh with someone's personal dreams. Sometimes those two ideals conflict uncompromisingly. Then there is the other, very real issue: Picket fence dreams cannot always be happily accomplished by sheer effort and force of will. Sometimes life does not land that way. Sometimes we are left feeling insufficient.

     The truth of the matter is, I have no picket fence around my yard. I didn't follow a path that led to a yard with a picket fence. I might never live that picket fence life. The hardest truth I had to learn about this is that I like my fence free life. I like the adventure that a less than typical path has allowed me. For the longest time, I felt that I needed to explain, justify, or just feel insufficient and shuffle off to a corner over the fact that I did not marry right out of school, I have no children, I have no house, I did not settle into a career straight out of school, I have no dog in my yard, I have no prospective leads that may lead to that life, and (here's the zinger) I do not have those things because I did not choose those things. I did not choose those things because my priorities were and are different. That last part was the hardest part for me to understand fully.

       I am in the life I am in now not because I am insufficient at life in general, but because it is the life I am best suited to live right now.

      It's like this: In the beginning, we are all given this box of materials with no directions inside.

We grow up, looking around, observing others, listening to other people's descriptions of what they did with their own box of materials. What we see is that everybody used their materials to build picket fences and beautiful lives. Some of us decide those lives and picket fences are so great, that we decide to build similar ones of our own, and this thrills us. Another set of us decide that because that is what everyone did with their box of materials, this must be what that box of materials is for, and so we dutifully decide to build picket fences just like them. As we try to do so, we develop resentment towards our awkward, lopsided, ugly fences and also the people who built beautiful fences.

     For the latter half of us, the main error is assuming that this is what everyone did with their box of materials. The reason we do this is because cute homes and picket fences are the most visible, recognizable constructions from similar boxes of materials. We fail to realize that the people who built zoos, airplanes, boats, bridges, restaurants, hang gliders, museums, and bike paths also started with similar boxes of materials. They just looked into their box, looked at the houses and picket fences around them, and said, "That's cool, but I can't sail to Iceland on a picket fence...and I think I'd rather go sailing."  or, "This would make a fantastic elephant cage! Let's go find an elephant!!!"

     I personally failed to see those things, because first, I didn't realize they started with boxes too, and second, people who decide to build airplanes with their boxes typically do not park their airplanes in the neighborhood for little kids who are trying to decide what to do with this seemingly random box of materials to notice. Third, while the boxes of materials may be similar,  I made the mistake of assuming that everybody's box is identical. They are not. Not at all. It can be very frustrating for a person to try to work a propeller into the creation of a picket fence, but sometimes, they try anyway.
 




   In the end, we all build something. We all get splinters, smash our thumbs, and run into problems, no matter what we end up building. The difference is, the people who really looked at their boxes to see what the materials actually inspire and then look themselves to see what their souls are built for, end up building quality products that they love, and the splinters, smashed thumbs, and broken pieces are just minor details in their stories of success, because they loved building it. The people who take their boxes and try to force them into what they think everyone else thinks they must create, end up with half-hearted excuses for picket fences or airplanes, splinters that fester enough to cause gangrene, an unexplainable sense of shame, and an unshakeable aura of bitterness.

It's not wrong to build a cute home and a picket fence, if that's what your box and your soul agree on.

It's also not wrong, quirky, or absurd to end up building an airplane, zoo, tree house, boat, or whatever, instead, if that's what makes your particular soul dance. What matters is this: Whatever you end up building, will you be happy or bitter about the splinters you suffered while building it?

Quaint, I know, but it has taken a long time for me to reach and fully accept this weird little epiphany of mine.

(Thanks, Google)

Now, I'm off to find a hang-gliding okapi to add to my flying treehouse zoo-restaurant thing, but I'll leave you with this sticky note:

What's in your box? What's in your soul? What are you building? Are your splinters worth it?

Is your picket fence an airplane?