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The sky is blue (green)
Apr. 10th, 2015 12:01 amThe sky is blue, and that’s beautiful.
Everyone thinks so. I mean, look at it. Even people for whom blue may not be their favorite color, they can definitely see how pretty it is. Even if it weren’t obvious to me, everybody around me tends to think so.
If you have eyes in your head, you can see it. By any standard, it’s blue.
I really like how that blue looks; honestly, sometimes it seems like the bluer it is, the more I like it. So I’m actually rather invested in the sky being blue. I work hard to avoid allowing things like pollution and smog to ruin that blue. So the fact that it’s blue gives me a lot of joy, and I put a considerable effort into keeping it that way.
But because I like that blue so much—as I said, sometimes it seems like the bluer, the better — it’s on my mind a lot. The comparative blueness. The quality of it. “God, it’s so blue today! Gorgeous!” “Well, it could be a little bluer, but it’s still pretty blue, and it’s still nice the way it is.” But sometimes it’s not so much about appreciating it as worrying over the possibility that someday, it might turn green. “Make sure you don’t let the sky turn green,” so that I put in the effort to keep the smog levels down. “Ugh, keep polluting like this, and the sky’s going to turn green for sure.”
The sky is blue, not green. The very idea is absurd, and I’m not crazy. I can look at it and see that.
But sometimes— and how often can vary, depending on a lot of things —the little voice in my head actually tells me, “The sky is green.”
The funny thing is? Most of the time, it is not hard to ignore. I mean, yeah, it’s silly that there’s a part of me that thinks that, but it’s OBVIOUSLY, VERIFIABLY WRONG. It doesn’t bother me that much because it’s not difficult at all to just go about my life, free of distress, ignoring the plainly irrational thought without allowing it to change my behavior in any way.
I am proud to say that I’ve never allowed that idea to affect my actual behavior. Maybe I’ve occasionally made a bad choice on an isolated occasion, but it’s never become a pattern and it’s never hurt me. I will confess, though, that sometimes the voice gets loud, and sometimes it gets vehement. Most of the time it’s just an occasional moment of “The sky is green,” but in very bad moments, weak moments, it becomes, “Phoebe. The sky is so fucking green I don’t know how you stand it. Shut down the factory, close off the smokestacks. NEVER OPEN THEM AGAIN.”
I’ll admit, the yelling has on certain occasions become so bad I started to believe it. But still, always, I have never acted on it. I have always been able to understand intellectually that I’m being crazy, even if it doesn’t feel true in the moment.
I suppose there’s still the temptation to go to absurd lengths to maintain that blue. But I’ve never given into it— I am too busy, too healthy, too grounded, thank God. But right now, the sky stays blue pretty easily these days. That may not always be the case.
I know it can’t stay blue forever; even if I don't smog the hell out of it, eventually the sun’s going to set, and all that gorgeous color’s going to go away and change into something else. I don’t like thinking about that. The color of the sky is probably way too important to me. Especially since its change is almost inevitable, no matter what I do, and I shouldn’t put myself in a position to hate the new color and be miserable. People put way too much stock in blue, I know. Other colors can be beautiful, and the world would be a better place if we didn’t care so much about beauty at all. But I’ve internalized it. Blue is most beautiful to me. I want the sky to be blue forever.
When the sun sets— if the sky really does turn green— I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Today is my twenty-eighth birthday.
Everyone thinks so. I mean, look at it. Even people for whom blue may not be their favorite color, they can definitely see how pretty it is. Even if it weren’t obvious to me, everybody around me tends to think so.
If you have eyes in your head, you can see it. By any standard, it’s blue.
I really like how that blue looks; honestly, sometimes it seems like the bluer it is, the more I like it. So I’m actually rather invested in the sky being blue. I work hard to avoid allowing things like pollution and smog to ruin that blue. So the fact that it’s blue gives me a lot of joy, and I put a considerable effort into keeping it that way.
But because I like that blue so much—as I said, sometimes it seems like the bluer, the better — it’s on my mind a lot. The comparative blueness. The quality of it. “God, it’s so blue today! Gorgeous!” “Well, it could be a little bluer, but it’s still pretty blue, and it’s still nice the way it is.” But sometimes it’s not so much about appreciating it as worrying over the possibility that someday, it might turn green. “Make sure you don’t let the sky turn green,” so that I put in the effort to keep the smog levels down. “Ugh, keep polluting like this, and the sky’s going to turn green for sure.”
The sky is blue, not green. The very idea is absurd, and I’m not crazy. I can look at it and see that.
But sometimes— and how often can vary, depending on a lot of things —the little voice in my head actually tells me, “The sky is green.”
The funny thing is? Most of the time, it is not hard to ignore. I mean, yeah, it’s silly that there’s a part of me that thinks that, but it’s OBVIOUSLY, VERIFIABLY WRONG. It doesn’t bother me that much because it’s not difficult at all to just go about my life, free of distress, ignoring the plainly irrational thought without allowing it to change my behavior in any way.
I am proud to say that I’ve never allowed that idea to affect my actual behavior. Maybe I’ve occasionally made a bad choice on an isolated occasion, but it’s never become a pattern and it’s never hurt me. I will confess, though, that sometimes the voice gets loud, and sometimes it gets vehement. Most of the time it’s just an occasional moment of “The sky is green,” but in very bad moments, weak moments, it becomes, “Phoebe. The sky is so fucking green I don’t know how you stand it. Shut down the factory, close off the smokestacks. NEVER OPEN THEM AGAIN.”
I’ll admit, the yelling has on certain occasions become so bad I started to believe it. But still, always, I have never acted on it. I have always been able to understand intellectually that I’m being crazy, even if it doesn’t feel true in the moment.
I suppose there’s still the temptation to go to absurd lengths to maintain that blue. But I’ve never given into it— I am too busy, too healthy, too grounded, thank God. But right now, the sky stays blue pretty easily these days. That may not always be the case.
I know it can’t stay blue forever; even if I don't smog the hell out of it, eventually the sun’s going to set, and all that gorgeous color’s going to go away and change into something else. I don’t like thinking about that. The color of the sky is probably way too important to me. Especially since its change is almost inevitable, no matter what I do, and I shouldn’t put myself in a position to hate the new color and be miserable. People put way too much stock in blue, I know. Other colors can be beautiful, and the world would be a better place if we didn’t care so much about beauty at all. But I’ve internalized it. Blue is most beautiful to me. I want the sky to be blue forever.
When the sun sets— if the sky really does turn green— I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Today is my twenty-eighth birthday.
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