Colorful Therapy

Behold–a lovely coloring book for adults that my sister included in her latest care package to self. I’ve actually disliked coloring for most of my life because I find that the little amount of intellectual simulation it tends to yield for me is not worth the amount of time it consumes. Hence why I never color my own drawings–I just can’t be bothered. However, I found the elaborate and meticulously constructed ink drawings strangely compelling. My sister had included a set of Fineliner pens in the package and I ended up devoting several hours to coloring the cover and title page.
To my surprise, I found the act of coloring each little leaf and flower intensely therapeutic. There was no pressure for me to create something utterly new and original; I didn’t have to puzzle my tired head about what to draw or waste energy getting annoyed with self for my inability to produce something that was “good enough.” All I had to do was make pretty colors happen and cover my index finger with lots of bright little ink stains.
Coloring this lovely book with music blaring in the background has allowed me to decompress in the safety of my home at 2 or 3 in the morning when I can’t bring myself to go to bed. It is a much safer alternative to my late-night solitary walks that take me all over the city, armed with nothing but my keys. The only downside is that the patterns tend to suck me in completely and induce me to leave behind a host of important tasks left undone. Be that as it may, I’m quite glad to now have access to some colorful therapy that requires no money or intense soul-searching into all the depths of my flawed little self. Many thanks to my lovely sister for the present.