To Coloring Books for Adults and the Adults Who Love Them

This has become something of a movement--intricate patterned pages, colorless and complicated. 

Followers call it “meditative” and “stress reducing.” They are finding their inner 5-year old and handing her crayons, colored pencils and markers, sometimes using them all on the same picture.

The appeal is clear: low tech tools, actual paper. Nothing digital. It is as close as many of us come to working with our hands. Maybe there’s a focused desk lamp. An old wooden desk with drawers on either side. Maybe a CD of ABBA is playing in the background. Maybe a record.

You make it seem so easy. The image created, all you have to do it is fill it in. No rules: roses can be blue. People can be green. Birds can be orange. The whole mandala can be teal.

But I will not be joining you and your crayons. I did not notice the day when I would never be required to color anymore for school or holidays, but I wish I had. I would have celebrated and marked it. Maybe once a year have it as a little holiday. My favorite, right after Thanksgiving.

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that coloring was downright stressful. The lines. Cross over one and it ruins the whole picture. Try to fix it and it just gets worse: the mouse’s foot is suddenly larger than it’s head or the roof of the house touches the sun. The colors are supposed to make the image more beautiful, make it a complete experience, but I like them black and white. Approachable. Clean. Uncomplicated.

Which is really to say I’m grateful you exist. Grown-ups coloring pages in coffee shops, hanging them on windows like stained glass. I watch you as I read Pippi Longstocking.

We all find our way back.