Draw a boundary around everything that’s possible and you’ve described your gamut. Perhaps it’s your identity, perhaps your fate. Two colors, sixteen, two hundred thousand, sixteen million, whatever. This is called depth, but it’s really just the surface. Push against it, does it push back? Does it stretch? If so, enjoy a bit of freedom. Do some jumping jacks. Open Photoshop. Fly to Mars. Live as long as you like. Get born maybe.

Why share? We’ve all got our own little house on the spectrum—mine’s a little greener, a little different, a little more me. The grass across the boundary looks greener, but it’s not this green. I’ve got my freedom. I’ve got freedom as broad and as deep as an oil slick.