Most of life is beige.

Not offensively beige. Not tragic. Just bland. Neutral. The emotional equivalent of unseasoned chicken and overhead lighting.

We like to pretend life is made up of big moments such as the highlights, the milestones, the Instagrammable stuff. But the truth is, most of our days are built from innocuous pieces. Commutes. Emails. Errands. Dishes. Conversations that start with “Did you hear back?” and end with “Let’s circle back.”

And yet.

The bland has a strange potential.

Because the innocuous doesn’t stay neutral forever. It quietly absorbs meaning. The way a song can suddenly wreck you. The way a street corner becomes loaded because something once happened there. The way a random Tuesday becomes that Tuesday in retrospect.

But here’s the part we don’t talk about enough. The hues don’t change on their own.

Beige does not wake up one day and decide to be turquoise.

If we want vivid, we have to interfere.

We have to add something.

Some mixture.
Some pizzazz.
Some jazz hands where none were requested.

This is where people get stuck.

We wait for motivation to arrive fully formed. We wait for inspiration to knock politely. We wait for life to brighten itself while we stand there holding the same paintbrush we refuse to dip.

But vibrancy is not passive.

You don’t stumble into vivaciousness by accident. You pursue it. Sometimes awkwardly. Sometimes badly. Sometimes looking deeply uncool.

You add music to a silent room.
You wear the color that feels like “too much.” You crack a joke that may or may not land. You dance a little, even if the rhythm is questionable.

Especially if the rhythm is questionable.

Psychologically speaking, meaning doesn’t descend from the heavens. We construct it. We assign it. We notice it into existence. Our brains are meaning-making machines, but they need raw material.

Beige gives us nothing to work with unless we decide otherwise.

So we put on bright lenses. Not because the world suddenly deserves them, but because we do. We choose to look for texture. For contrast. For moments that hum instead of whisper.

We pursue vivaciousness the way you pursue a good spice blend: experimentally. Imperfectly. Willing to ruin a few dishes along the way.

And yes,  sometimes the day is still bland. Sometimes the effort doesn’t take. Sometimes you do the metaphorical dance and no one claps.

That’s okay.

The point isn’t constant joy or forced sparkle.

The point is agency.

The realization that life doesn’t have to hand you color for you to live in it.

You are allowed to add your own.

A little mixture.
A little pizzazz.
A little jazz.

Because the bland around us is not a verdict. It’s an invitation.

And if you look closely,  through those bright-colored lenses, you might notice the beige was never empty.

It was just waiting for you to bring the hue.