Typically, I’m engrossed in my laptop when I visit the local coffee shop, but today was different. Two young girls caught my eye, radiating the vibrant hues of youth—one donned a bright pink shirt, while the other flaunted electric blue pants alongside sneakers the color of fresh grass. Their animated chatter transported me back to my teenage years, a time when I was clad in blue jeans and a black top, and colors seemed to overflow in my life.
As I listened to them, memories flickered like snapshots from my past. I recalled my carefree days before college, before I embarked on a career, and before I became a wife and mother. Back then, I wandered through shopping malls with the spirit of Ferris Bueller, embracing life with the mantra that it moves quickly, so I should pause and explore. I would breathe in the scent of new clothes I couldn’t buy, dreaming of the future while visiting a purple jacket I had on layaway. Those were the days filled with possibility.
Now, as I navigate the middle years of life, I reflect on the milestones that have come and gone—choosing a career, marriage, home ownership, and raising children. My focus has shifted to my sons’ interests, and while I have the means to buy more, the luxury of leisurely shopping has slipped away. I found comfort in the simplicity of black, a staple color for many women my age.
I gazed out the window, trying to remember the last time I wore red—the color my mother always insisted looked fantastic on me. I recalled a pair of red sneakers from college, a chic red blazer I wore during my early career in Boston, and the ruby dress I wore to an office holiday party that led to a date with a charming guy who quipped, “Can I have this dance with the lady in red?”
Gradually, I stopped embracing bright colors, opting instead for neutrals unless I was on vacation, feeling lighter, or in the right mood. That mood shift was telling. Life’s challenges, from parenting dilemmas to losses that hit closer to home, had cast a gray shadow over my wardrobe.
Looking back, the signs of this color fade were apparent. By the end of my 20s, my once vibrant reds had been replaced with the occasional colorful shirt or scarf, gradually muted further during the early motherhood years when practicality took precedence: black, white, gray, beige, and that little black dress dominated my closet. It became a convenient routine.
Driving to my younger son’s basketball game that afternoon, I recalled something my mother said weeks earlier when I visited her in the countryside: “I’ve been wearing brighter colors lately,” she mentioned, “You won’t believe it’s me.” Intrigued, I asked about her new style. My mother, in her 60s, had favored black, brown, and burgundy for as long as I could remember.
“Just wait until you see my closet,” she said with pride.
Upon visiting, I discovered her wardrobe brimming with vibrant shades. “Are you going on a trip? Or perhaps you have a date? What happened to my mother?” I joked. She laughed and replied, “No, just thought it would be fun to add some spice.” Perhaps after years of hard work and raising my siblings and me alone, this was her way of rediscovering herself. She had even taken up hiking and embarked on long road trips—activities I had never associated with her before.
That night, after the game, I stood in front of my closet, staring at the rows of neutral clothing, pondering what had happened to the adventurous teenager who once rode horses and dirt bikes. Here I was, over 20 years later, faced with a closet dominated by muted colors and realizing that I had spent my 30s more focused on reasons not to try new things rather than exploring what was possible.
That week, I carved out an hour for myself at the mall and returned with a cabernet-colored blouse, some purple running shorts, and an emerald-green cardigan (which I made sure not to wear together).
The first day I wore the cardigan, a friend complimented me at the bus stop, saying, “You look amazing!” It was also the day I accepted an assignment I had initially feared might be too challenging. That evening, my husband remarked, “That green looks fantastic on you.” I couldn’t help but wonder how I must have looked before. Was it the color, or was it the feeling I experienced while wearing it?
Months later, I revisited that question when a priest donned in a deep amethyst robe delivered a unique perspective on Christmas. Rather than recounting the story of Jesus’ birth, he spoke about how every birthday is a celebration of the years someone has illuminated the world. Sitting on that hard wooden bench, I contemplated the dullness often associated with aging and questioned whether our light, like our health, must inevitably fade, or if we could keep it shining through our choices.
Since that day in the coffee shop, much has transformed in my life. I pursued graduate studies, spent a week in Peru with my family distributing shoes during a volunteer trip, and even ventured out dancing with friends again. Throughout this journey, I learned that paying attention to the colors I wear (even when I opt for black) serves as a reminder to embrace the possibilities life has to offer.
Green has now become my favorite color to wear. I sported it during my first half-marathon, a challenge I took on to show myself—and my sons—that if we’re lucky enough to grow older, life provides us with countless opportunities to thrive.
In Summary
The article reflects on personal growth through the lens of color in one’s wardrobe, illustrating how choices in color can mirror internal feelings and life experiences. By revisiting the vibrancy of youth and embracing bold hues, the author discovers a renewed sense of self and possibility.