Whenever I hear someone say that life isn't black and white, I have to laugh. Well, I don't have to, exactly. I know it's a decision, like spreading grape jelly on my shirts before ironing them, or staring directly into oncoming headlights instead of stepping onto the shoulder. Not that I would actually do that, of course. I haven't ironed my shirts in years.
Whether I decide to laugh out loud or cry in quiet, the little voice in my head reminds me that both are just two sides of the same coin—a Roosevelt dime, specifically—which doesn't go very far when the time comes to buy favors from local politicians. "Caw!" says the little voice, and I can only nod and smile. I don't think laughter is an appropriate response, because that only encourages it.
Like a square wave at sea, life's binary, on-or-off, yes-or-no nature deserves an in-kind response from its participants. The frustrating palette of black and white thrust upon us by angry gods and their ambivalent overseers needn't lock us into a life of groping and bruised mouths. Just because it's too dark to find the switch doesn't mean we shouldn't go out and buy fireflies, or glowworms.