Light doesn’t exist without dark.
Just as life doesn’t exist without death.
This human experience is not black or white. No, it is that ominous color somewhere in between.
The color where nothing exists
and yet somehow, everything does.
The color of the messy middle.
The unknown.
The becoming.
The color where anything is possible.
Grey.
It’s a color I’ve spent most of my life trying to run from. Trying to hide from.
Trying desperately to paint over with something brighter.
It’s a color I’ve shamed myself for feeling
time and time again. But it turns out running from grey doesn’t make it go away. It only buries itself deeper,
waiting beneath the surface
until we are willing to look at it.
I’ve always preferred the light.
The warmth.
The certainty.
The places where everything is illuminated and I can see exactly where I’m going.
But maybe I’ve misunderstood the light. Because our darkest shadows
become the most visible when the sun is shining.
Maybe the goal was never to outrun the darkness or to live entirely in the light.
Maybe it is learning to exist somewhere between the two.
To let grief and joy, fear and love,
darkness and light coexist.
To live in the grey.
That messy, uncertain, wildly alive space
where nothing is promised and yet anything is possible.
Grey.
I think it might be my new favorite color.
