It's A Small World After All

I have a little boxer named Max. Max went to obedience school and learned people rules for appropriate dog behavior. She sits, lays, heels, and stands at the door to signal when she needs to go out to pee. She doesn’t nudge, lick, or hump my guests. She doesn’t bark at our mail lady, garbage man, or every little bump in the night. Max is a good dog.
Max has a crate to sleep in. The trainer said it is a house training tool. A dog won’t soil where it sleeps.
Here’s the deal….the crate is for night. The rest of the day Max has the run of the house. She can go wherever she wants—outside, inside, upstairs, downstairs, living room, laundry room—where ever she wants!
Guess where she spends her day. The crate.
I guess she just feels safe and secure in that little space. Her life is defined there, it is predictable. There are no surprises in the crate.
Observing Max’s preference for life “in the box” has given me great insight into a certain human “type.” A kind of person who seeks, creates, pretty much requires life “in the box” because a box is safe.
A box defines what and who is good and bad, right and wrong, in and out.
A box is comforting. It sets parameters of predictability and security for one’s world. Inside the box is okay. Outside the box is not okay.
Politics, education, employment, recreation, relationships, intellectual pursuit, religion, normality, even sanity or lack thereof are ordained by the four walls of the box.
I believe that this kind of person knows there’s a whole world out there, a world of infinite experience and mind-blowing possibility, but it just doesn’t matter.
The good life, the right life, the surpriseless life is in the box.
It looks to me like we will all be spending another four years with a president elected by this type of person.
Somebody should be sure he knows not to soil where we sleep.