A Problem Play

All's Well That Ends Well is a play written by William Shakespeare in the early 1600's. Originally, the play was classified as a comedy, but today, it is now considered by experts as one of his "problem plays" -- meaning they can't neatly categorize it as either a comedy or a tragedy.

"Problem Play" -- that's a narrow-minded, lazy pile of pigeon dung if you ask me. All's Well that Ends Well is a play about love and desperation and there is nothing more comedic AND tragic than love.

Why are we so compelled to categorize? Why must everything be so "defined," slapped with a laser-jet print label and placed in the appropriate aisle, section and shelf at your nearby superstore? Sure, categorization is used as a tool to make it easier on us all in this overcomplicated societal mess we've made to access, understand and describe something. I'm game. I can't say I don't get a silly satisfaction from different-sized tupperware, color label makers and everything that has to do with Target.

But, I can't help but wonder when it comes to "the bigger stuff" -- what do we sacrifice and strip from the essence of things, from ourselves, in order to squeeze fit into the constricting confines of categories?

Try it on for size and you'll understand how incomplete a picture it paints.

Go ahead, categorize yourself. On paper, what are you?

Go ahead, categorize me.

For much of my 30 years, I've reached deep into the electric blender of my own soul to search, find, grip and pull out with a mangled hand my beating heart. Cradled in my shaking hands, I've stared at that heart staring back at me looking terrified, broken, alone and helplessly wondering what went wrong. I could not believe it was my own. I could not believe what I had done to it and how it still had the strength to beat.

I stare at that heart now staring back at me. It looks better. Pink. It beats a list of names followed by murmurs of gratitude, hope and love. Cradled in my steady hands, it feels safe. I don't think it has breathed freely in quite some time. Or seen clearly. Or felt fully. Cradled in my hands, it is very talkative -- wanting to speak about life, love, desperation and the comedic tragedy of it all.