Colour of a Decision

A Blur of Colour

It’s like water – colourless.

It has no essence of its own, yet it assumes a massive identity in the instant it comes into existence. This identity is reflective even, reflecting off the outcome that follows the decision – reluctantly living off the apparent glory of the repercussions of a decision.

The point where we are at the gateway of the decisive point is the one where we spend most time.


Not because the doors won’t open easily or because we are busy searching for the key to open the door – the inexpressible dread of seeing what lays beyond keeps us expectantly occupied at the gateway.

The outcomes eventually reveal themselves in kaleidoscopic colours. Often harsh colours – so strong that they reflect hard on the decision itself and presumably give the water-like decision a borrowed hue. We then think of decisions in black and white, pink and yellow, or a psychedelic combination that allows us to recognise the decision more than the outcome. A decision becomes a good decision or bad.

Is there ever a bad decision, or a good one for that matter? What tools do we, if at all, employ when we are at that daunting gateway – waiting to push open the door? Intellect? Reasoning? Statistics? Emotion? A combination of these? Do these give a colour to the decision? Why is the decision coloured when what we are judging is really the outcome? Isn’t it just that an outcome is either undesirable or acceptable?

How can a decision get a colour or quality at all? To build on a thought by Milan Kundera in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, if we live that single moment of decisiveness uniquely and just once, how are we ever to know the goodness of it? It is not relative – we have no basis to compare with a historical event, neither do we have a future event to better the decision.

We could reverse a decision, as we often do, yet that isn’t true either. An oxymoron at best. We can only open doors to a one way street. It is another gateway that we stand at and it is a new decision altogether. The context of the gateway is now very different. It is only another decision in its colourless state waiting to be victimised by the colour of the new outcome.

Our eyes aren’t trained to see colourlessness.


6 thoughts on “Colour of a Decision

  1. That is an amazingly poetic treatment of metaphysics you’ve got there 😉

    Assuming certain Quantum Physicists are right about the “Many Worlds” hypothesis, then there is never a decision you haven’t made. In another world, you opened a different door, took another path, opened a new gateway.

    What does that do to “values”, if in another world I am a rapist, and in another I am a saint? If in fact I take “every option” that there is?

    And does knowing this console us if we do wish we could reverse a decision?


  2. ==Imugi:
    Thank you! 🙂
    I was first exposed to the ‘many worlds’ theory through ‘The Bridge Across Forever’ by Richard Bach. He mentions something similar – that at every decision the world splits in two – and we do live an alternate (and therefore infinite) lives.
    I don’t have an answer for the rest of the comment (as yet). I am inclined to believe that values still hold some value – but I am not sure how 🙂
    Reversing a decision, I guess, still holds true – for we still tend to live in that one world that “we” experience. Reversing a decision has physical considerations and implications, rather than meta-physical ones.

    Even in that case – won’t we be using the same eyes? Or is it a new us?


  3. “I am inclined to believe that values still hold some value – but I am not sure how”

    I think you are right…maybe because we only identify “me” with the “world” I am in?

    But is that identification arbitrary?


  4. ==Jols:
    Well said 🙂 still doesnt address the question of colourlessness… 😛

    I guess for most – that is the only world and therefore the only identification. Therefore it is actually the most discrete identity possible.

    If all have the knowledge of many worlds – then the identification becomes redundant.


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