Guided listening, anyone? Ballade №1 in G Minor, Op. 23 (the one I don’t shut up about) was my muse while writing this. If you know, you know.

I’ve written a fair bit about the dynamic between escaping monotony, appreciating the small things in life, et cetera. However, especially as of late, I’ve found that whole collection of hopefully-inspirational memoirs to be more of a “do as I say, not as I do” type situation. Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot on my day-to-day, and how I’ve been complacent with plain, comfortable in the shades of grey, with no consideration for the splashes of color that I seemingly wash away without any loss of sleep.

I’ve always considered myself very lucky to live the life I do. I’m by no means the product of hardship — there were a few roadblocks on the way, but I consider those water under the bridge. It’s for that reason that I think, for years, I didn’t quite consider the value of certain people, places, and things in my life that were there deliberately, not just as passerby material objects or random encounters, but instead, seemingly by fate, were there to enrich my everyday monotony.

Especially so during exams — I regularly fall victim to shutting my brain down, putting my body on screensaver mode, and becoming increasingly apathetic towards people around me. In fact, I’m regularly baffled at how people deal with me — “can’t talk, studying” is a fairly regular modus operandi when it comes to dismissing conversation, favoring whatever math problem tends to be bugging me. I tune the world out, and I can feel it slip into monochrome as each day passes. Sure, the winter literally making things monochrome probably doesn’t help, but bear with me for the sake of analogy, yeah?

First, it’s the people. No matter how regular an appearance people make in my life, they’d always lose that flash of creative light that makes them who they are. Voices devolve into cacophony, faces melt together, and a quick nod is usually the extent of what I’m socially prepared for. When you clue into this one, it hurts the most, and it tends to be enough motivation to try and pull yourself back out — unless, like me, you’re stubborn in your pursuits.

As people fade away, so do places. Trees lose their color. The world seems bleak and grey. You lose your connection to why you decided to set up shop here in the first place. You walk your preprogrammed routes like a good little Roomba and you get your little hit of dopamine when Point A all of a sudden becomes Point B.

This would be a regular phenomenon during any periods of high stress in my life, and even now I continue to see the proverbial blinders creep in on my vision. Life turns into Points A, B, C, necessary conversation 1 and 2, and tasks 3 through 7 — no creative spark, no inspiring light, just procedural, right/wrong, yes/no. I was always convinced this was a consequence of stress, one that was necessary and was indicative of a good pace on a pursuit towards the ideal result — whether that was a good idea or not to begin with. As time progressed, though, I learned that, rather than being an enduring consequence, it was a worthy challenge, a reminder that everything in life has a purpose and that being an adherent to fate isn’t always a bad idea.

The key? Just clue in a little bit. Even if you’re the most social butterfly, this is the season that in which, I promise you, you’re lacking in this department.

For example, I started to deliberately appreciate the value of every entry on my calendar. Class was a time to learn, and so when my professor got particularly excited about a topic, I saw the flash of gold, the lightbulb moments, the brief spark of color that stuck to this weirdly ashen canvas like a parasite — a welcome one. After class, it was work, where walking into a room and being greeted by bright minds and warm hearts meant seeing flashes of red, blue, green, different colors for the unique ways each person genuinely impacted my day with just a simple hello and some brief conversation.

And just like that, the faces stop melting together.

You make that previously annoying small talk to the person or people who really give you that glow. For me? My coworkers. This time last year, I wanted nothing to do with anyone — now, I’m always itching to share. If I have a lightbulb moment about something I didn’t understand, or a particular grade that made me super proud of my work, I shared. I shared without bound — not quite overshared, but fell into that gap where maybe it was a personal victory of the lowest degree, but a victory nonetheless. I heard stories and passions of people I value so dearly, yet didn’t even consider when it was 3am and I just wanted to finish this assignment.

I’d take a walk around my typical scenery, laughing and carrying on, and I’d see new flashes of light — greenery appearing brighter, waving in the wind a bit more than usual, the sky’s bleak landscape interrupted by just a sliver of light blue, the sun casting its own abstract expression of the day it had gone through — a kind of silent storytelling that only fueled that fire.

And when I would head home, my home would be a bit warmer, my bed a tad comfier, and my life a bit sweeter knowing that I had those people, those places, those small material or immaterial things that make a life worth living.

So, as I feel I have to end every piece of writing I send off with a tad bit of advice, here’s yet another freebie from yours truly — appreciate the sparks, embers, and splashes of color that make your life yours. Tell someone a bit more about your day than you typically would. Lament about something that’s a bit embarrassing but a funny story regardless. Take a minute to stop and recognize the air you breathe, the sights you see, and the people you meet and the unique palettes they all bring to your life as a collective.

We are truly mosaics of everything we’ve ever done, everywhere we’ve ever gone, and everyone we’ve ever met — everyone’s canvas is made a bit brighter by the artists we get the privilege to call our colleagues in this great exhibit of life (god, I swear I didn’t intend for that to sound so damn cheesy). Watch for the new flashes of light as well — those brief yet important sparks that may lead you to a new friend, a new opportunity, a chance to better yourself and those around you. When your canvas is vivid, you’ve made progress — whether you feel it’s forward or backward, and others want you to celebrate those victories with them.

Just make me the promise that you’ll do your best to paint a picture, and none of that “leave the canvas blank as a statement” stuff, right?