I didn’t have a favorite color. Colors are all so beautiful, especially when they’re all together. Why would I want to separate them? How could I want to choose just one? I hardly know how to do that now. Still my answer starts with, “It depends . . .”
Most folks find that response to be the wrong one. They think I’m being difficult, or clever, or taking their serious question too lightly. They don’t realize I’m actually taking their question too deeply into my heart. I want to answer. I don’t know how.
That’s when the tables get reversed. That’s when I confuse most people. They think that I’m too intelligent not to understand something they intuitively know.
They look for a motive. Motive isn’t a nice word. It comes packed in popcorn made from the judgment of a negative brand. The nicest brand is Reluctance. On that shelf sits Resistance, Defiance, and Arrogance. But on the shelf across from it are the boxes marked No Experience and Not Enough Information to Decide.
If only my right-brain creativity would serve me. The words come so slowly and so intensely. That my replies sound like a defense rather than an attempt to say that my brain needs to find a way to explain.
I can describe the colors around what’s happening, but I cannot access the words.
I think in colors. How could I possibly choose one that is the best?
Most children don’t choose a favorite musical note or a favorite letter of the alphabet.
They’re all my favorite colors. They all live inside my head.
−me strauss Letting me be