So What If it’s Taboo

I still remember that poster from elementary school - the one with a single fish swimming the “wrong” way while the others looked offended by its audacity. “Dare to be different,” it said in Comic Sans, as if rebellion could be taught between math facts and recess.

Because daring to be different sounds cute until you actually do it. Until you are the fish. The one facing the current, getting side-eyed by the school, wondering if maybe conformity wouldn’t have been so bad after all. “You jump, I jump, Jack” - too soon for a Titanic reference? Monkey see, monkey do; we all jump eventually.

But here’s the thing…sometimes going against the current isn’t defiance. It’s alignment. You feel it in your bones when you’re meant to move differently. And yeah, it’s terrifying.

Do it anyway. Do it scared.

Some of the best things I’ve ever done started that way. Credit where credit’s due to my sister; the one who initiated me into the fold by forcing me to face my fear of heights. Turns out, panic and exhilaration share the same scream.

A solitary fish swims against the flow of a vibrant school, illustrating the power of individuality amidst conformity.

Taboo is a funny word. It’s part dark comedy, part caution tape. Once upon a time, someone decided what was too much, too strange, too powerful. And everyone else nodded along. Then came the moral compasses, the color codes, the whispered hierarchies of “good” and “bad.” Somewhere along the line, pink got branded as gentle and blue got deputized for strength, as if pigments have ethics.

History didn’t help. Every age had its heretics, its burned libraries. its stories buried because someone somewhere said knowledge is dangerous when everyone can read it. The flames may be metaphorical now, though I may retract that statement, because it currently feels like everything’s digitally burning and book bans are back in style (something tells me they never really were a fad among some). Where’s LeVar Burton and his Reading Rainbow when you need him? Legend says he’s still fighting the good fight.

Maybe that’s the grey area where I like to live - between sacred and scandalous, light and shadow, the realm of the black sheep and the secret keeper. Who said we can’t craft our own parables? (And if they who shall not be named are reading this - yes, that’s a side-eye.) Storytelling is rebellion. It’s remembrance. It’s the refusal to go quiet.

Humor helps, too. You have to laugh when you realize how absurd it all is. The same people who say “don’t rock the boat” are often the ones drilling holes in it. So rock it. Sing while it sinks if you must.

Trust your inner compass. Use your best judgement, obviously - discernment is holy - but don’t you dare let fear of taboo stop you from touching the edges of what feels real. The world doesn’t evolve from comfort zones. It evolves from question marks.

And if the old maps don’t fit anymore, make new ones.

Someone has to.

Your fellow cartographer,

⊹SyndiCait