Gray

Gray. It's a strange color; a perfect combination of black and white.

My favorite color is gray. It's odd, I know. It's such a melancholy color. It's dull. It's depressing, It's glum. It's the color of clouds before rain cleanses them. Strange as it is, I love it. Every time I am perusing for bargains at Marshalls, I smile with delight as I see a gray knee-length sweater dress. My friends and family laugh. It's odd.

Life used to fee black and white to me. Things were right and wrong. Plain and simple. There was no middle ground. I knew what was right, what I was supposed to do and what was wrong and that I shouldn't do, and I had no problem finding the discipline to do just that. It came naturally to me. I took that for granted.

Lately, life has felt very gray. What used to be so plainly black and white has somehow been blended together. Emotions float in between. People float in between. And all of the sudden, what was a palate of neatly dabbled splotches of black and white is a charcoal mixture. It's hard to know how to fix it. It's difficult to know what to do next.

Part of me things that the gray is what makes life...well, life. Perfection is wearing. Life would be dull without imperfections. Maybe embracing the gray, embracing the complication, embracing the mess is what makes life.