joi, 23 decembrie 2010

All Made Out of Ticky Tacky

By Irene Conlan -

When did it happen that we all have to be alike?

“Oh, no,” you may be saying, “we don’t have to be alike. We’re free to be whomever and whatever we choose.” As human beings we have freedom of choice and most countries in today’s world allow us to exercise some degree of freedom. But sometimes we don’t exercise it. Think about it.  Have you heard any of these statements or questions before?

Why can’t you be like your sister/brother?Don’t color outside the lines.We ALWAYS do it THIS way.Why don’t you follow the rules?Why don’t you dress like everyone else?Why can’t you be like everyone else?If you want to fit in you need to …If you want to be a part of our group you need to …

We’re hearing a lot about “authentic self” these days and it’s time to pay attention. George Orwell, in his book 1984, described a society run by “Big Brother.” No one dared question or deviate from what the government required. In a way it seems we have almost done that voluntarily. Only we are slaves to some unknown “they” or to the media that tells us  how to look, how  to feel and how to be. We want to be a part of something bigger than ourselves and so we capitulate – we give up part of who we are and what we can do to fit in. We become “less  than” to belong. Children learn early in school not to be the “smart kid” so they don’t get teased or  picked on. How sad is that?

But greatness doesn’t come from playing follow the leader nor from conforming to what you are told by the media. Remembering the “bell shaped curve” and knowing the small percentages that are on either end of it, it is safe to say that the majority are followers. But what are you? Where do you fit?

Are you at the top of the charts in terms of intelligence and ability but allowing yourself to be lost in the mob of mediocrity?

There is nothing wrong with being “average” unless you are given “above average” gifts and abilities.

There’s a song called “Little Boxes” written in 1962 be Malvina Reynolds about the housing developments like Levittown and Daly City. It can apply to other things as well. Read the lyrics and think of  the “ticky tacky” that may have surfaced in your own life.

You can hear a brilliant version of it by clicking the video in the right sidebar.  The lyrics follow:

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,
And there’s doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

About: Irene:
Irene Conlan has a master's degree in nursing, with a major in nursing administration and a minor in psychiatric nursing. She taught nursing at Arizona State University, served as Director of Nursing Administration at St. Luke's Hospital and Medical Center in Phoenix and served as Assistant Director of the Arizona Department of Health Services for the Division of Health Care Facilities and Emergency Medical Services. She is also a certified hypnotherapist with a practice in Scottsdale, AZ. She is an avid blogger and manages http://www.theselfimprovementblog.com/http://www.theselfesteemblog.com/ http://www.thepositivepsychologyblog/ Irene lives in Scottsdale AZ and has two sons and three grandsons.

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