Coloring Outside the Lines

Black/White. Truth/Lies. Gossip/Discretion.

I grew up with a very defined definition of right and wrong. One I mostly agree with and am grateful my parents instilled. And I have done my best to live within these precepts.

Except every now and again I like to color outside these defined lines.

Sometimes I like to kick conformity to the curb. Defy convention.

Like having sweet potatoes for breakfast instead of eggs or cereal.

Why not?

And yet, it still feels weird to do it. Almost wrong. Even though there are no breakfast police.

And I do eat sweet potatoes for breakfast.

My own little rebellion against conformity.

Now there is a word that I have not often been associated with. Rebellion. I’m pretty much a run of the mill middle aged mother and grandmother.

Except I do yoga.

And I cuss now and again.

Oh! And I was a practicing vegetarian for nearly 25 years. Now I’m not.

And guess what?

I haven’t been arrested for changing my mind or my position on my dietary habits.

A harder line to color outside of is conforming to other people’s presuppositions. I cannot tell you how many times I have done things I didn’t want to do because it was assumed I would do it.

Like being less than who I am so as not to make anyone uncomfortable.

Now, I reject other people’s expectations of me. And it’s hard.  Lots of people with lots of expectations.

But there are times I just don’t want to do what other people think I should be doing.

And here it is. The hardest thing to tell my brain when I feel like I am failing someone and experience the guilt and shame that come along with it.

It’s okay to color outside the line drawn for you.

I cannot be responsible for what other people think of me, think I should do, or that I should behave a certain way.

That’s on them. Not on me.

One of the purest forms of joy I have is watching my two-year-old granddaughter color. She loves it. She gets so excited when I bring out the crayons and coloring book. She plops down on her stomach and hollers, “Colors!” Then she grabs a crayon and starts to scribble.

As if the lines don’t even exist.

I mentioned it to her once.

“Honey, don’t you want to color inside the lines? Like this?” I pick up a brown crayon and carefully color one of Santa’s reindeer.

“No!” she says, very loudly, smiling and coloring wherever her purple crayon lands.

She has no desire to conform to my expectations.

Good for her.

And how liberating.