Eight Crayons
There was a time when all I needed to be happy was a box of eight Crayola crayons and a coloring book. Stretched out on the living room floor, I would color for hours in a state of bliss.
Then, I noticed that Crayola sold a box of sixteen crayons. It was great having twice as many colors but it didn’t make me twice as happy. Finally, the store started selling an enormous box with a flip-top lid that seemed to contain hundreds of crayons and I persuaded my mother that I had to have such a box.
What I discovered was that the colors weren’t that different from each other, so having dozens to choose from was meaningless. Worse, it distracted me from doing what I loved.
That was long ago and now the whole world has exploded with choices, making it harder and harder to assemble the ingredients of happiness. Something is always missing. But I’ve figured out that even with a flip-top box, sometimes more is just more—not better. With eight crayons, I could mix all the other colors I needed and be creative.
Coloring with a seven-year-old recently, I felt a surge of forgotten bliss. “Here’s a marker with glitter,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m happy with this blue crayon.”
