Down with categorization
Why is everybody so goddamn scared to just be what they are? To do what feels right without needing to categorize the feeling? Enough with the categories. Sure, they're helpful, the Cliff's notes of a person. Saves you the trouble of actually getting to know another person before making a judgment. Saves you the trouble of getting to know yourself.
But here's the thing...
Tight jeans are for sorority girls, nerdy boys, gay men, straight men, hippies, cowboys, youngest siblings, models, rock stars, ANYONE WHO CARES TO WEAR THEM.
"I love you" is a phrase for brothers, girlfriends, barbers, grandfathers, teachers, husbands, mothers, daughters, librarians, boyfriends, straight lovers, gay lovers, transexual lovers, aunts, wives, sons, friends, mentors, fathers, ANYONE WHO CARES TO SAY IT.
Questions of life, death, love, the universe, and "why" are for physicists, lovers, writers, anthropologists, sanitation workers, theologians, Darwinians, artists, 4-year-olds, philosophers, politicians, junkies, archaeologists, doctors, astrologers, teachers, actors, ANYONE WHO CARES TO WONDER ABOUT THEM.
Once upon a time, science, religion, and philosophy were the same thing and everyone was free to wonder about the big questions as they pleased, without stopping to consider if something was a religious issue or a scientific issue. What purpose was ultimately served by placing restrictions on our thinking through oppressive categorization? Did religion advance more satisfactorily once Socrates (with his ridiculous notions about non-Olympian caused rain clouds) was declared impious and executed? Did earth science and archaeology yield greater rewards for those scientists who chose to ignore the recurring flood myths found in the religious traditions of nearly every culture on the planet? No. The parceling out of "appropriate" questions for religion and science to deal with, respectively, has only limited our understanding of ourselves and of our universe. It is entirely possible that it's all there - the meaning of life, the origin of humanity, the fate of the universe, the whole bit - if only the right people (from every field, however seemingly irrelevent or useless) were to sit down together and compare notes, rather than continuing to categorize and exclude one another from the process.
On a smaller scale, Zorsky, the main character in the screenplay Paul is writing, cannot fall in love with his male best friend. And why can't he? Because then it would be a "gay movie", an "art film" at its broadest categorization. And Paul, in an effort to defy categorization, refuses to be what people would expect: a gay screenwriter who writes gay films. But even in his defiance, Paul is being controlled by categorization. Similarly, I am relinquishing my control when I put on baggy jeans and a wifebeater in the morning then decide to change because I am afraid of looking too much like the image of the stereotypical lesbian people hold in their minds. Or when I avoid playing certain CDs in my car where others will hear them because I am afraid that liking certain bands will earn me the label "emo" and all that that entails. Despite our defiance, the categories control us.
Paul does not write what he wants. I do not wear what I want or listen to what I want. For this sacrifice, we gain the chance to reveal ourselves a little more before we are categorized, the chance to buy a little more time before our lives and personalities are neatly summed up and placed into boxes on the basis of some superficial quality we overlooked in our attempt to avoid stereotypes as we dressed ourselves in the morning. It is a paradox. We gain the opportunity to show ourselves at the cost of necessarily hiding little parts of ourselves. And the world misses out. Maybe not on my stunning fashion statements, but perhaps on Paul's storytelling, on my music, on Paul's poetry, on my political ideas, on all the things we hide because it would be too easy for the world to seize upon them, mistake them for Us, and assume a thousand other things about us based on the stereotypes of those categories.
But we're not any one thing, so slow down. Each of us is a million different things all jumbled up together. No, it's not convenient, I know. It would be so much easier if we were all just cliches, stock characters with a previously established set of mannerisms, talents, interests, and expectations. But we're not. And it takes time, effort, and energy to sort through these things. But I believe, for the sake of not limiting ourselves or each other, it's worth trying.
But here's the thing...
Tight jeans are for sorority girls, nerdy boys, gay men, straight men, hippies, cowboys, youngest siblings, models, rock stars, ANYONE WHO CARES TO WEAR THEM.
"I love you" is a phrase for brothers, girlfriends, barbers, grandfathers, teachers, husbands, mothers, daughters, librarians, boyfriends, straight lovers, gay lovers, transexual lovers, aunts, wives, sons, friends, mentors, fathers, ANYONE WHO CARES TO SAY IT.
Questions of life, death, love, the universe, and "why" are for physicists, lovers, writers, anthropologists, sanitation workers, theologians, Darwinians, artists, 4-year-olds, philosophers, politicians, junkies, archaeologists, doctors, astrologers, teachers, actors, ANYONE WHO CARES TO WONDER ABOUT THEM.
Once upon a time, science, religion, and philosophy were the same thing and everyone was free to wonder about the big questions as they pleased, without stopping to consider if something was a religious issue or a scientific issue. What purpose was ultimately served by placing restrictions on our thinking through oppressive categorization? Did religion advance more satisfactorily once Socrates (with his ridiculous notions about non-Olympian caused rain clouds) was declared impious and executed? Did earth science and archaeology yield greater rewards for those scientists who chose to ignore the recurring flood myths found in the religious traditions of nearly every culture on the planet? No. The parceling out of "appropriate" questions for religion and science to deal with, respectively, has only limited our understanding of ourselves and of our universe. It is entirely possible that it's all there - the meaning of life, the origin of humanity, the fate of the universe, the whole bit - if only the right people (from every field, however seemingly irrelevent or useless) were to sit down together and compare notes, rather than continuing to categorize and exclude one another from the process.
On a smaller scale, Zorsky, the main character in the screenplay Paul is writing, cannot fall in love with his male best friend. And why can't he? Because then it would be a "gay movie", an "art film" at its broadest categorization. And Paul, in an effort to defy categorization, refuses to be what people would expect: a gay screenwriter who writes gay films. But even in his defiance, Paul is being controlled by categorization. Similarly, I am relinquishing my control when I put on baggy jeans and a wifebeater in the morning then decide to change because I am afraid of looking too much like the image of the stereotypical lesbian people hold in their minds. Or when I avoid playing certain CDs in my car where others will hear them because I am afraid that liking certain bands will earn me the label "emo" and all that that entails. Despite our defiance, the categories control us.
Paul does not write what he wants. I do not wear what I want or listen to what I want. For this sacrifice, we gain the chance to reveal ourselves a little more before we are categorized, the chance to buy a little more time before our lives and personalities are neatly summed up and placed into boxes on the basis of some superficial quality we overlooked in our attempt to avoid stereotypes as we dressed ourselves in the morning. It is a paradox. We gain the opportunity to show ourselves at the cost of necessarily hiding little parts of ourselves. And the world misses out. Maybe not on my stunning fashion statements, but perhaps on Paul's storytelling, on my music, on Paul's poetry, on my political ideas, on all the things we hide because it would be too easy for the world to seize upon them, mistake them for Us, and assume a thousand other things about us based on the stereotypes of those categories.
But we're not any one thing, so slow down. Each of us is a million different things all jumbled up together. No, it's not convenient, I know. It would be so much easier if we were all just cliches, stock characters with a previously established set of mannerisms, talents, interests, and expectations. But we're not. And it takes time, effort, and energy to sort through these things. But I believe, for the sake of not limiting ourselves or each other, it's worth trying.