Fiery red or playful pink? I could never choose between them. When I was small, I’d say my favorite color was red, same as my favorite character. Then pink enchanted me and feeling needlessly guilty after having betrayed red, I stubbornly swore loyalty to pink; insisting that pink (light baby pink) was my favorite color.
By 12, I had a pink laptop, wardrobe, and room just to prove my undying allegiance to my favorite color. At the time, pink, light baby pink, well reflected my spunky, bubbly, friendly personality. Thus, upon first meeting me, new acquaintances instantly and correctly guessed my favorite color.
Though I would never dare to admit it at the time, I grow to once more love red. As I matured from a young naïve child into a somewhat less naïve, passionate person, red (deep bright red) appealed to my blossoming adulthood self. But my stubborn inner fire refused to admit it. “Pink,” I’d declare. “Undeniably light baby pink. I don’t care for deep bright red one bit.” Admittedly, I was and (sometimes still am) a bit pig headed. But the older I get, the more familiar the rainbow becomes: sensible, brave green and tranquil, noble blue. Not to mention lovely lavender, mighty mint and admirable amber all of which echo the beautiful world. I simply did not know what color I reflected.
Now, I realize I don’t need to commit to one color. Sometimes, my heart shines pink or glows red. Then, other times bends into a brilliant tie-dye swirl.
