The box that was his life was pressing on him from all sides, constricting his every movement, his every thought.
As he woke each morning beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he thought about the day that lay ahead of him. Every minute of every day he felt the walls of his box getting inextricably closer, at times he felt as if the very breath of life was slowly being squeezed out of him. Wherever he looked he imagined those people nearest to him pushing those walls ever closer.
There was his wife, no longer the beautiful, fun-loving girl that he had fallen in love with. She now spent her whole life highlighting his shortcomings, nagging about his lack of drive and compassion. Every time he looked into her eyes he saw his failures reflected there.
Then there were his children, two teenage boys. They saw him as little more than a figure of ridicule whose only purpose in life was to ferry them from one party to the next and feed them money. He looked into their eyes and saw their mother glaring back at him.
Finally, there was his boss, once a good friend, now no more than an aggressive overseer. He made an already stressful job even more unbearable with his raving and ranting and unachievable demands. He looked into his eyes and saw a reflection of himself in the future.
The walls of his box were so close now that he could reach out and touch them.
One morning he woke, dressed and walked out of the house, walked out on his family, walked away from his job, but most importantly he walked out of that box.
For a whole month he did nothing but walk, his only thought was to get as far away as possible from that box that had been his life.
He has a new life now, a new box.
It’s a large cardboard box under the railway arches.
The nights can be cold and damp and the days long. He has no money, no possessions, just the clothes that he stands in. But the walls of his old box have disappeared, he can breathe again. Life in his new cardboard box is worth living.