How does modern culture escape ‘little boxes made of ticky tacky’?

Life is full of tradeoffs. If we choose one thing that we want, we tend to be forced to give up a degree of something else we also value. Being happy isn’t a matter of getting everything we want. It’s a matter of finding the right tradeoffs — deciding what matters most.

It seems as though most modern people have chosen — perhaps unconsciously — the path of accumulating material things over emotional connections with other people. So millions of them sit in their suburban “boxes” and wonder why they’re miserable, even though they’ve achieved what they thought they wanted.

I’m thinking about this because of an old song that someone introduced me to over the weekend. (Listen to the song at the end of the article.) Malvina Reynolds was a singer/songwriter and political activist in the ’60s. I doubt I would have agreed with many of her political positions, but I found myself strongly identifying with her song, “Little Boxes,” which satirizes the antiseptic and meaningless lives that she saw people living in suburban tract homes.

I’m of two minds about people who protest against this “little plastic life.” There’s a part of me that appreciates the standard of living we’ve come to have because of the standardization and mass production of our lives. A world in which everything was custom-built individually is a world where not nearly as many people can afford nice houses and other material things.

On the other hand, there’s a huge part of me that’s repulsed by the world those things have created.

I don’t want to take away people’s ability to pursue that life. If people are foolish enough to value those “Little Boxes” and the kinds of empty lives that frequently come with them, that’s their choice. But I don’t want to be part of a world where we all look the same, act the same and raise our children the same. And I don’t think you can be part of that plastic life and still live a life with the values I believe are important.

Today’s little suburban boxes are nicer than the tract homes of the ’60s. Homebuilders know to vary the designs in a subdivision enough to give people the illusion of something that’s just for them. But the life it represents is still just as sterile to me as what Reynolds sang about. The life it leads to — the whole package deal — is the sort of life that doesn’t seem worth living. Not to me.

If that’s the life you want, I truly want you to have that choice. But if you live in a nice house with all the material things that life can offer — yet you’re still unhappy — you have to consider whether the tradeoffs you’ve made are worth it.

I know what I want. I know what I need. At the top of my list are real connections — emotional, intellectual and spiritual. I’d like loads of money and some nicer things — in a few areas — than I have now. (And we all want the illusion of security that more money brings, don’t we?) I wrote recently about how I believe I’ve undervalued the drive to accumulate wealth, and I do think that’s true. But I’ll never accumulate wealth if it means giving up the things that truly matter.

As a society, I believe we’ve collectively jumped off a cliff in pursuit of “the American Dream.” If we lose the things that matter most — real emotional and intellectual connections with others — it will be a very lousy tradeoff, no matter how good our Little Boxes look from the outside.

Our Little Boxes might be full of nice “stuff,” but they’re worth nothing if the hearts of the people inside are relatively cold and empty as a part of the deal.

Little Boxes
Malvina Reynolds

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.