The Big Squeeze
There’s a captivating biographical comedy-drama by Adam McKay called The Big Short. Really, it is a great film. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend. For some reason this film is coming to mind in this moment. For some reason The Big Squeeze feels like it would be an apt title for my own biographical comedy-drama given how I am feeling this morning—which is completely unrelated to the aforementioned film minus the slightly hijacked title.
I truly do feel as though I am under a big squeeze. A tremendous force is wrapping me up like the packaging tape that compresses and wrings out bubble wrap over a fragile item that is then to be packaged and shipped off safely.
Moral of the story is that as a result of these few moments of extreme grasp on behalf of said bubble wrap and packaging tape, the package arrives safely at its final destination.
Layers are slowly removed. First it the tape on the outer encasing, informally known as a box, are cut (or torn). User’s choice. I do hear that a sharp object aids tremendously in this process. Next, styrofoam peanuts are sifted through, as hands and wrists and elbows dive deep into the abyss that is this box filled with so much extra stuff all there to aid in prudent arrival of whatever fragile object may lie within. This can sometimes commence as a blind search, not having a clear vision of what one is looking for inside. Of course, this is dependent upon the size of the object, the protective wrapping, the amount of extra cautious peanuts, and of course dimensions of the dwelling in which all of this is meticulously placed.
But once we are in, the brain, by way of the frontal lobe, brain stem, spinal cord, sends signals to the C4, C5, C6, C7, C8, and T1 nerve roots (did you know that we only have seven cervical vertebrae yet there are eight nerve roots that exit form our spinal cord?? Try explaining wrapping your head around that one as an early chiropractic student) commanding and coordinating the very movements of the fingers, hands wrists, elbows and shoulders, depending on how rigorously the search is progressing. This becomes an involuntary process until we strike gold.
Ahh, resolution. Hands have finally secured the asset and we can begin the next step.
Retrieval and analysis.
We weigh it, it our heads. Comparing to weight of other known objects, known experiences. We scan for familiarity, racking our brains to see if there is something similar in this object so we can compare, so we can conflate that something in this experience may be predictable, within the grasp of our control, of our premeditated presumptions and ideas. We do all of this just by feeling the weight and visually taking in the size.
Obscure, physical analysis: complete.
Next we have another layer to unwrap. After this layer, nearly everything will be revealed. We can use something sharp to cut the tape adhering the bubblewrap to this fragile object. At this point, the walls, the uncertainty, the mystery will melt away and all will be revealed.
We’ve carefully selected what it is that we want. We’ve entered in shipping and payment details. We’ve waited patiently for arrival of said package. And now it is finally here. Moments, days, weeks, maybe months of suspense and now the moment is here. It is time to reveal what is actually contained within. Despite all of the reviews in the world, we want to know what the quality, size, shape, and configuration are like for ourselves. Sure we can trust the word of others, but some things we must uncover for ourselves, when we are ready to do so and not a moment before.
Damn it, where did I put those scissors?
A knife would be better for this moment. One clean slash and it’s all over. With a small backswing, the knife cuts through all four layers of the tightly-grasping clear packing tape that is wrapped so tightly around the thousands of air bubbles creating a protective barrier between the actual contents of the package and the outside world.
The sound is crisp. All layers of tape are destroyed at once.
The corset can be untied, and gently slid off, undeniably hugging the corners of the innards along the way down, taunting the receiver as if to say “are you sure you want to know what’s inside?”
And then, it’s clear. We can see the very thing that we’ve been waiting for, potentially with diligent patience, potentially not. But there it is.
It arrives just on time.
But only after it has been wrapped tightly, squeezed like there’s no tomorrow in the packager’s best effort to protect, stuffed into a box with styrofoam garbage that they say is there to aid in transport efficacy, and then stuffed into a giant box that somehow arrives on your doorstep.
This thing is here but only after it undergoes a tremendous process of compression and reconfiguration. There is no going around this process if we want the package to arrive in tact and as we had previewed—or potentially better.
We can let go of preconceived notions, of assumptions, of fears that the package wouldn’t turn out as expected. Because it turns out we typically can trust the reviews. We can trust that things will unfold in a timely manner. We can resume our scheduled programming of trust and ease, as the ebb and flow of compression and expansion seems to always find harmony.
We remind ourselves that while it can seem like the utmost pain in the ass to go through this long and drawn out process just to receive something we want and have to slave away to unwrap and retrieve the goods, it is always worth it. We never regret this process of unwrapping, layer by layer. Because we always find more of what we want within, no matter how much squeeze we may have to go through to get there.
So today, I sit in the squeeze. I know that through this squeeze is a big learning moment. I know that in this squeeze is where the magic happens. Innately, I know that some of the most important moments happen in the squeeze and character and grit are reflected in how we handle them. Educatedly, I am looking forward to it being over and the package being unpacked, unwrapped, and in my hands. I know that it is also okay to ask for help and support during the squeeze, to allow for a lull in the constant contraction, finding solutions on the other side.
So here I am. Squeezing myself, being squeezed. I sit with it. I breathe into it. I expand in areas in which I can evade some of the squeezing, and allow myself to be squeezed in others. Squeezed into this dance of contraction and expansion, oscillating between the two. But I proceed, I advance, and I continue. I choose to unwrap. I choose to let the bubblewrap fall. I choose to reveal the final product.
