Beige

I have spent a lot of time being beige. Nondescript, goes with everything, nothing really flashy to it, you can't have too much or you'll die of ennui. I'm not a lot less beige now than I was then, I can name three different people in the last two years who have had to be introduced to me anywhere from four to nine times before it stuck. Not randoms, people I interacted with anywhere from once to five or six times a week for three months at a time, and it wasn't like they were drunk the first few times either.

The thing is, I'm not all that beige on the inside. Unfortunately on the outside, at first glance, I am. Even more unfortunately, our kindergarten teachers were lying to us, because it does matter what we look like, what we sound like, our appearances, the impressions we give. I suppose I should say me, since it is conceivable that nobody else got this crock from their kindergarten teachers, or that they simply didn't believe them. My disillusionment aside, I'm really not all that beige. There's all kinds of interesting stuff going on, but it's not on the surface, you have to be looking for it.

This is what I get for walking the lines. The line between extraversion and introspection. I take my energy from people, but I love to hide out somewhere inside myself and just think. The line between selling out and buying in. The line between being what and who I want to be and what and who I have to be. Instead of keeping to the razor-sharp edges of liminality, the boundaries all went blurry.

The problem with education is that it's about answers, even though learning is about questions.

I'm not as beige as I once was. Maybe I'm turning a little dusty rose, a touch of periwinkle. Maybe a lovely cafe latte shade.

I hope to get less beige in the future. Rather, I hope to appear less beige. To act less beige, to speak less beige.

Still Dreaming
Daydream Believer