Paint the walls

"It's dark," he said.

I watched his eyes as he took it in.

He exuded trepidation, unsure of how to navigate the delivery of the bad news. Unsure of how it would be received.

My heart sank.

It was dark.

On purpose.

He had wanted black paint to color his 'more grown up room'. It was a birthday gift. A rite of passage to his more grown up self.

It was important that he liked it.


It was important that he owned the choice he fought so hard to convince me was right.

Do I teach that lesson?


Do I teach the beautiful, limitless opportunity to (re)paint the walls?

Very few choices in life are forever. They are simply the color we chose off a very small swatch in the paint aisle of the big hardware store. We did the best we could with what we knew. Yes, it takes effort to roll and brush a new hue, a new choice, a rebirth.


It's worth it to spend our day surrounded by a view that suits us better.

And, that's the lesson I chose to teach.


**Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

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