The Nature of Gray Area

Great love stories always have either a happy ending or the complete opposite, a very tragic one. But what about the space in between? The stories that end happily, yet somehow leave a gray area so heavy you can’t stand living in it for too long. Or maybe you prefer it that way, because some believe life is never truly black and white.

I’m a big believer that life has a “summer season”, and I think you only get it once or at most a few times throughout the entire span of living. It’s the season you long for every time something goes wrong. Like a certain part of a melody that’s your favorite, yet if you cut it out and play it on repeat without the rest of the song, you might find yourself bored or not drawn to it anymore. But you still love that part. So is that a gray area of life? I think it is.

Now let’s talk about dreams. “Dreams come true” is the biggest lie ever sold to us. They never truly do. You dream of a very specific life scene, you might achieve something close but never exactly the same. And maybe that’s what makes dreams beautiful, the unbearable gray we can’t quite swallow. Tell me about a dream you believe came true. I’ll wait until you explain it in detail and then you’ll realize it didn’t. What came true was an alternate reality. Maybe that’s what makes dreams special, the fact that they can never be fully attained.

And don’t get me wrong, I’m a big dreamer. Dreams are intimate. They have deep meanings. It’s easy to imagine yourself living them. They’re as personal as the songs you never told your lover reminded you of them.

Gray areas of life are uncomfortable yet sometimes they’re better than pure black. Some extremists might say the opposite. But when you watch your whole life fall apart and still have your health, that’s a gray area. When you lose the person you fell in love with but know they’ll be okay without you, that’s a gray area.

Is it easier to live in the gray, full of emotions, highs and lows, constant shifts between light and dark, or to live with no variation at all, just a straight vertical line? I think smaller bumps are easier to handle. But that constant, restless feeling, being always slightly unsettled, disturbs the nervous system. And yet, who’s to say our nervous system is meant to be regulated all the time? Would we truly live happier lives? Or is life itself found in the midst of chaos?

Maybe gray is the only real color in life, and black and white are illusions we cling to because they feel safer. But is safe the best part? Would you rather find the great love you’ve been longing for and hold it for only a short time, or never meet it at all? I’d choose the short time every time. Does that make me morally gray, or is that simply the truth of living?

The life we love most is often found in the gaps between black and white. The nature of gray areas, that’s where we truly live