How often have you found yourself in a meeting where ideas are volleyed hot 'n' heavy until someone settles back in his chair, squeezes the bridge of his nose, squints in obvious pain, and sighs in exasperation, "People, we have got to start thinking outside the box"? This annoying phrase is a party-killer, but it's been in vogue now for at least 15 years. Companies pride themselves on their ability to "think outside the box." People are promoted for thinking "outside the box." Ask anyone with air between his ears and a salary to match, he'll proudly announce that the box is over here and he's always over there.
The problem with all this cramped box-livin' is that to acknowledge the existence of a box is to assume that we're all on equal creative footing—that there's a normal thought process to which we all adhere, without question. We arrive at similar conclusions after taking routes of deduction familiar to us all. Every problem demands the same response. So decrees the iron-fisted Mr. Box. The only way to defy the mustache-twirling villain's suffocating will is for his more enterprising captives to plot their escape—imagine the cover of Thin Lizzy's Jailbreak ("See, me and the boys mean business"); it'll be that awesome.
Or will it?
Frankly, this "thinking outside the box" stuff is a pipe dream. Its hopeless theory: The only thing separating rote, banal monotony from creative epiphany is effort; or worse, that successful creativity is just a simple formula. That Salvador Dali began with some pleasant sketches of clock faces and tree branches. That Picasso might've painted simple portraits had he not made a conscious decision to "amp it up a notch." That Charles Bukowski tossed his old poetry and said, "Well, swoon/June ain't payin' the bills. How about 'fucked-up'?"
Not only is all this talk of boxes an insult that trivializes genuine inspiration, it's also a smoke-and-mirrors device on loan from Wonderland: Once you've thought "outside the box," you might find yourself trapped in, yes, another "box." Because when you're asked to perform this duty, what you're really being asked is to think beyond what your employer assumes is your limit. And naturally, because he makes more money than you, and because he consciously dabbles in this fine Box Theory, his allegorical "box" is bigger. So if you suggest something beyond his frame of reference, he's likely to dismiss it—not because it's a bad idea or unworkable: it just doesn't fit in his "box." This, of course, makes all his lip service moot, which is just as well, since most accepted "innovative" proposals tend to be short-leashed to the "box," anyway.
And how do you know when you've thought outside the box? Does the weather change? Do you feel complete? Is there someone next to you waiting with a glass of lemonade and remarking, "Phew, bet you're glad to be outta that thing!", pointing a calloused thumb back at your captor, your master, your king? Once escaped, will you ever long for the simple sanctity of your box-prison chains? A friend quipped that sometimes an out-of-the-box idea won't fly, but how is that possible, since it now has more room to spread its wings? The ultimate quandary, however, is, if you believe in thinking outside the box, then first you must believe in boxes, that imagination is tangible and four-cornered, which is the antithesis of imagination. Therefore, if you've already established limits at the get-go, should you really be contributing to creative endeavors in the first place?
So enough of this box shit. Frankly, I believe in holes. Not only are they deep, mysterious, and endless, you can seal boxes in them. Forever.
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