There once was a boy named Nuance.

photo source

He lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Like most days, Nuance and a handful of other children were playing on a picture-perfect playground in the dry heat of the summer sun — as if they were being baked into earthen vessels. It was just before midday.

Nuance wasn’t like the other kids.

They just didn’t understand him. They didn’t get him. They usually left him out of all of their children’s games.

The other kids were comfortable around each other. They got each other.

Each day was the same.

The kids played on the playground until the sun had set.

As the sun was setting, it spilled amazing reds, yellows, and oranges into the huge Albuquerque sky.

The kids commented on the sunset and yelled out what colour it was that day, “It’s red! It’s orange!”

Then, with a quiet confidence laced with wonder, Nuance piped up, “Wow! Look at that! Splashes of carmine, crimson, and rosso corsa and look how they’re fading into smears of tangelo, tawny, and gold.”

Each day was the same.

The kids sneered. They didn’t get him. They couldn’t see what he saw.

The friends went home together and left Nuance to walk alone – his back to the fading playground.

One of the defining characteristics of contemporary western society is our profound inability to befriend nuance.

We want two sides because that way our chances of being on the ‘right side’ and finding our place of security and significance is 50/50 — even though we’re usually 100% sure.


Hi, I’m Michael and this is my daily project where I write about diverse ideas.

This is Dose #108.

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