There’s something refreshing about the no-labels approach to life. To me, it feels like a way to reclaim freedom — freedom to simply be.
Labels can sometimes feel like tiny prisons, can’t they? We slap them on ourselves, on others, on our beliefs or dreams, only to find we’ve boxed something in that was never meant to fit. The no-labels approach says, “Enough. Things don’t need to be reduced to definitions or categories for them to exist beautifully.” I think we’ve all been guilty of labeling ourselves at some point. “I’m not good at this.” “I don’t belong there.” “I’ll never be enough for them.” It’s exhausting.
Throughout history, humanity has struggled with the idea of labels. Jesus Christ himself carried none. Think about it: he wasn’t just a teacher, prophet, or king — he shattered every role he was expected to fill. When asked who he was, he responded, “I am that I am” (Exodus 3:14). What a profound rejection of boxes! He didn’t conform to societal labels. He just was. And somehow, that was more than enough. What if we gave ourselves that same permission? What if we said, “I don’t need to be one thing. I don’t need to explain myself. I just need to be.”
Look at someone like Walt Whitman. In Leaves of Grass, he declares, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” Isn’t that the very essence of refusing labels? Life is fluid, chaotic, and complex. Why shrink it into one-dimensional descriptions? Whitman insists we are not one thing — we are bursting with contradictions, capacities, and evolving truths. The more I think about it, the more I resonate with his perspective. Why limit yourself? Why apologize for being inconsistent or ever-changing? That’s where you’ll find humanity’s heartbeat.
I think about the early Quakers and their deep spiritual emphasis on inner light. To them, labels like “religious” or “secular” didn’t seem to hold much weight. They believed every person carried a divine spark inside, something beyond societal classification. That idea has stuck with me. Maybe it’s not about what religion you belong to — or whether you practice faith in any traditional way at all. Maybe life isn’t meant to be measured by categories like believer, non-believer, progressive, conservative, or whatever else divides us. When we lay those aside, what’s left is connection — a real, human connection that transcends labels.
But I’ll be honest, avoiding labels isn’t always easy. We seem wired to categorize. I can’t tell you how often I catch myself sizing someone up based on their job, clothes, accent, or opinions. It’s almost automatic. But when we box someone in, we risk missing out on the deepest parts of who they are. I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird. Atticus Finch said, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view.” But how can we do that when we’re focused on whether they’re the “kind of person” who fits into a particular narrative or group? The no-labels approach demands we go further. It says: open your mind, stretch your empathy, and let people define themselves — or not define themselves at all.
In Buddhism, there’s a concept of non-attachment that resonates here. Labels can easily become things we cling to — especially the ones that describe us. We know that voice in our head, the one that whispers, “I’m this type of person, so I can’t try THAT.” But who’s saying you can’t? Non-attachment tells us to let go of the need to tether ourselves to these ideas of what we are. It urges us to live in the present, without the baggage of identity weighing us down. There’s such freedom in that.
Even science, in its own way, reveals the shackles of labels. Evolution isn’t about fixed traits or static categories. It’s a fluid, endless process of becoming. Whether we’re talking about species, ecosystems, or individual organisms, nature thrives on flexibility. It adapts — it grows. If the natural world refuses to settle into boxes, maybe we’re not supposed to either. There’s a quiet beauty in thinking of ourselves as works in progress — not “this” or “that,” but undefined and limitless.
I once had a conversation with a friend about this. She said something that stuck with me: “A label might feel like clarity at first, but eventually, it becomes a wall. You’re either trapped inside or keeping someone else out.” That hit home for me. Because don’t labels do just that? They oversimplify us, strip away nuance, and create unnecessary barriers. When we cling to them — whether for safety or belonging — we lose the chance to experience the world in all its richness.
I think back to Rumi’s poetry. He wrote, “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” That’s the no-labels approach to me — a peaceful meadow where we meet each other not as categories or demographics, but as fellow human beings. It reminds me to loosen my grip on those judgments we make so quickly about others. None of us are defined by a single word; none of us are just the sum of assumptions someone makes about us.
And yet, I get why labels are tempting. They give us structure in a world that often feels uncertain. But life doesn’t stay within structures. As much as I love the comfort of labeling myself as someone who’s this kind of person, life has taught me again and again that I’m broader than that. I’ve been the introvert who suddenly thrives at a party, the pessimist who catches herself smiling at something small and stupid, the cynic who’s brought to tears by forgiveness. Contradiction is part of being human, isn’t it?
When we peel away our labels — whether we’re doing it for ourselves or others — something amazing happens. We start to see the world with fresh eyes. Everything’s not as black and white as we thought. People aren’t “good” or “bad.” They’re human. Situations aren’t “success” or “failure.” They’re learning experiences. And life, well, it’s no longer something to be conquered or figured out. It’s just something to be lived.
So that’s what I’m striving for: to live beyond labels, to lean into the undefinable, and to embrace the multitudes within me and everyone else. Maybe in the end, that’s all we’re really called to do. Just live — and let others do the same.
