I swam in the sea this week. First time since moving to live so close to it. It was really warm. Ok, so we were experiencing a major heatwave, and the heatwave has now abated, so that might be an annual event, but still. Box ticked and all that.

I’ve been thinking a lot about boxes and lanes recently. About compartmentalising stuff and whether that’s a good thing or not. I like to put my stuff in boxes. Preferably sorted by major and sub category, definitely neatly labelled. Makes things a lot easier to find when you need them. And a nice bit of sorting of stuff makes everything feel more sorted generally. Tidy house, tidy mind etc.

I like a nice boundary, too. Between work and life, for example. But then that’s what got me thinking. Work-life balance. Because when you think about it, work’s just a part of life, surely. And thinking about it as in opposition to life kind of sets you off on the wrong foot if you’re in the pretty standard position of needing to spend most of your time there, for most of your life. I mean, boundaries between work and non-work are totally appropriate, obviously. Let’s just say I’ve learned from bitter experience and social media a few things about my colleagues that I’d be very happy not to know. So it’s more the labelling of those boxes that needs a bit of attention.

But boxing things up neatly only works when the things are happy to be put away. It’s all fine when they fit neatly into a box, and stay there. Gives you a satisfying illusion of control. And let’s face it, that’s what it’s really about. But how about when things start to grow and spill over into other boxes – emotions getting in the way of attempts at practical decision making, for example. Test results looming ominously like a big black cloud threatening to rain all over your parade. It’s not so much the mixing up of stuff, or the loss of the neat little stacks of metaphorical boxes. It’s more the realisation that the illusion of control created by boxing stuff up in the first place was just that: an illusion. Everything’s actually pretty much out of control. Which is a scary thought. Not so easy then to plaster on a smile, rock up to Pride and strut your stuff in that parade.

So here’s my plan: I’m always going to put things in boxes. It’s how I roll. But I’m going to try the following. I’m going to leave the lids off. Radical, I know. Still compartmentalised but not hidden. So I might not want to get some of the stuff out very often, but I’ll try to look at it occasionally, and I won’t pretend it’s not there. And if anyone gets close enough, I might even let them have a peek inside.