The Beauty of Black and White

Those slippery, spiky spaces between the protective pillars of definitive views and steadfast opinions have always been frozen front steps without the salt, bumperless bowling lanes, and unmanned manholes. Like recklessly careening around a roller rink free of sidewalls, the notion of warmly welcoming “floating maybes” has routinely felt equally bizarre and dangerous.

Yes or no. Right or wrong. A or B. Greater good. There is no gray. There is no doubt. Stack the facts, introduce the variables, and make the calculation. Why waiver? Why wonder?

Although we arguably have little control over our individual brain circuitry, I am immensely grateful for this robotic programming. Blowing in the breeze of endless conjecture can be a time-sucking, fruitless endeavor. Scratching at stone walls, feeling stuck in a bottomless chasm of emotional self-flagellation, endlessly weighing potential outcomes, and ceaselessly questioning past choices only help to construct locked cages around a torture chamber of regret. It seems like most of that discouragement and frustration could be avoided by simply picking a path and getting those figurative feet walking.

That is not to say there is a dearth of creative currency in collaboration, brainstorming, or the sharing of ideas. I think there’s a unique vitality to the energy produced in a room full of spinning frontal cortices. But much of life is lived outside of those spaces, and a quickdraw ability to choose among the proposed options without protracted rumination could help keep society’s trains running more swiftly on the rails.

Look at the presented choices. Listen to your gut. Decide.

The time and toil saved from avoiding another trudge through the mental mud pit will pay dividends down the road.

Adolescence Interrupted

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