It is almost laughable how, most of the time, we fail against our own standards. We have become our own Frankensteins, who, in the attempt to achieve something remarkable, have created our own monster--our own nemesis. Our monster has convinced us to look past the gray areas of this black and white world. We are inclined to think that what only matters is that one has given up; it never matters that he was hopeful until the end. In a black and white world, what we see is that one has been defeated; we do not see how he had struggled in the fight. In the face of the great uncertainty in which we are all placed in this life, it is almost merciless that we are judged against our own unfair criteria.
The world we live in is cruel enough by itself, and we make it ruthless with our careless idealisms and pessimisms. If all of life is a struggle in the dark, as the Roman poet and philosopher Lucrecius says it is, then it is a struggle more against our own selves than against anything else. In this world, we choose to either be resigned to the powers that be, or be faithful to the same powers. Resignation or faith. Black or white.
In between is gray.
The gray between the black and the white is where we are most human. It is where we dream because of our present circumstance, and where we dream, in spite of it. This gray area, that the world sees but often ignores, is where we hope and take risks. It is where we doubt and imagine. It is where we reason and regret. It is where we decide to trust again and allow ourselves to heal. It is where allowing ourselves to get hurt is bravery, and where each of the greatest stories we ever tell--of broken men with stubborn dreams are set. And it is, ultimately, where we believe in the unfailing power of love.
The Gray matters. In the end, it would be the only thing that ever will.
And I write of the Gray here. I collect, here, what I think of our stubbornesses and our braveries. About the powerful kindnesses we are too fearful to behold. And about the mystery of waiting until everything makes sense.
