Some time ago, I had written a short piece on how we seem to be living in a rectangular world. The thought came back to me recently—and like most things in life, I felt the need to revisit it, rework it, and reflect a little more deeply.
Philosophically, that’s life, isn’t it? We do… then redo… and sometimes redo again, until something inside us quietly says, “Yes, that feels right now.”
So here's a rewritten version , with a touch more perspective.
I’ve just realised—we really do live in a rectangular world.
In my office, nearly everything is rectangular. The desk, laptop, screen, mobile phone, paper tray, files, drawers, whiteboard—even the biscuit tin, which despite being alarmingly empty, sits proudly in its four-cornered glory. The only rebels are a flower pot (which I water more out of guilt than hope) and the clock—round, quiet, and silently ticking away like a philosopher who has seen too much.
At home, the story continues. The TV, fridge, bed, bookshelves, remote control… all simple conformists. Even the humble coffee tray, which shows the faintest ambition of being oval, has been firmly corrected by the laws of manufacturing.
Rectangles, I suppose, are just easy to produce. They’re efficient. They stack well, store neatly, and behave. You can measure and control them. They don’t ask too many questions. But if you notice nature… well, nature doesn’t much fancy rectangles.
You’ll never see a square hill, a rectangular river, or a tree that fits into a box. Clouds float along with no regard for symmetry, puddles form whatever shape they like and no mountain has ever asked for architectural approval.
Even cameras—with their circular lenses—produce rectangular photos. And not a single part of the human body is rectangular. Not even our personalities, though we spend a great deal of our adult lives trying to force ourselves into neat little frames to “fit in.”
In education, it’s much the same. We create tidy boxes: timetables, lesson plans, grade sheets, report cards , seating charts. Then we try to fit gloriously unpredictable, creative, emotional, sensitive young minds into them and we pat each other on the back for doing so . It rarely goes to plan. And thank goodness for that.
Adults aren’t much better—we spend years sanding down our edges to slot neatly into job roles, social groups, family expectations. Some become so used to it, they forget they ever had curves, quirks, or rough edges. Until life reminds them.
Maybe that’s the philosophical angle here. The rectangle is our symbol of control, of order, of neatness. But the real stuff—growth, change, love, grief, anger ,creativity—happens in the curves, the loops, the chaotic swirls.
So yes, this is a repost of sorts. But also a re-thought, a re-shaped idea—proof that not all rectangles are final, and not all stories are best told once.
Today, while you sit at your rectangular desk, typing away on a rectangular keyboard, glance out of your rectangular window.
The sky doesn’t care for straight lines does it ? - and maybe, deep down, neither do we.
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