Can you remember the first time someone asked you what your favorite color was? Neither can I. But I have kids and people are constantly asking my five-year-old what her favorite [animal, color, food] is. Now, I’m not a philosopher. I’m a work at home mom with big dreams and big hips, but I'm also pretty smart, and recently I’ve started asking myself, “What is the deal with FAVORITES?!”
According to google, “favorite” means, “preferred before all others of the same kind.” That means when you have a favorite [something] that’s all you get-- ONE. FAVORITE. It’s a superlative. You can’t go higher or do better than “favorite.”
I used to love asking people what their favorite [fill in the blank] was. And if they asked me, I was always prepared with some absurd answer--favorite animal: hammerhead shark; favorite color: mauve; favorite food: gummy bears; favorite holiday: Shark Week. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. I didn’t want to have the same favorites. I wanted to be unique. There was no way in hell you’d catch me admitting that I really like blue and dogs and hamburgers. Nope. No way.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that I am different and I didn’t even have to try. It’s not the exclusion of the popular things that makes me quirky, but it’s the inclusion of some really unpopular things. I really love bats, for example. Dr. Pimple Popper? Yes, please. Leopard print leggings? Is there any other color, I ask you?!
Anyone who is married will probably agree that marriage includes constantly getting to know the person that you thought you knew better than anyone. My gorgeous husband, Etienne, likes to ask me what my favorite [whatever] is. This has been a “thing” between us for years, and he was getting really good at memorizing my favorites.
Remember how I used to love asking people their favorites? Well, over the Christmas holidays one year, my brother-in-law and his then girlfriend came to visit us. (She left our house as his fiancee and is now his wife, but that’s another story). We took a trip to the Grand Canyon and we were stuck in the car for hours. Since it was my first time meeting her, I thought it would be fun to get to know her a little better. We played a game I made up where everyone in the car had to guess the other people’s favorite [thingamabob].
When Etienne guessed all my favorites more accurately than I did, I had to take a mental step back.
Favorite food: Thai curry
Favorite animal: peacock
Favorite holiday: Easter
And it went on and on. He had correctly memorized all my answers, and given them with confidence. The problem was, some of them had changed. And I guess I forgot to remind him to run his updates.
That’s when I realized that when I declared something as a favorite, somewhere in the cosmos, it got recorded and I was locked into that choice forever. If Easter is my favorite holiday and I say it out loud, it can never be undone! Well, what happens when I have that year when I realize I’m actually part vampire and my heart is frozen? I can’t betray Halloween just because I love Easter, too!
Anyone who knew me in middle school knew that my favorite color was pink. My backpack was pink. My notebooks were pink. I painted my freaking room pink. I even purposely found a pen with a pink fuzzy pom pom on top so I could be like Cher on Clueless. I was married to pink. I had her name and our wedding date tattooed on my left buttcheek. It was forever.
And then I changed.
And my favorite color changed.
When I was in Interior Design school, I realized that all colors are so wonderful (except McDonald’s yellow-- BARF) that I could never choose just one. I determined that black was my favorite. Black-- the combination of all colors. It’s not just black, but it’s the representation of the entire spectrum. In a way, that was my first step on this new path of anti-favorites.
Not long ago, Etienne asked me what my favorite movie was. Unlike my teenage self who would have quickly and confidently answered, “A Beautiful Mind,” “grown up” Florence had to consider, until, eons later, at last I said, “I don’t know.” I rattled off a list of several that I love: Amadeus, Slumdog Millionaire, Nacho Libre, The Ring, but each of them was just as wonderful as the last.
Then it hit me: I don’t believe in favorites anymore. I like too many things. I can’t choose just one! When we were playing the favorites game on our Grand Canyon trip and my husband had said Thai curry was my favorite food, it was because I had told him years ago, very explicitly that Thai curry was my favorite food! Guess what? I forgot about that. That day in the car, thirty-five weeks pregnant, all I could think about was the forbidden fruit-- sushi. But wait. Can’t I love Thai curry and sushi? Don’t forget charcuterie, pizza, Indian food, gyros, tacos and a good ol’ turkey sub with mayo and American cheese.
I had to tell Etienne about this philosophical rebirth. “I won’t choose favorites anymore. I can settle on a top five, maybe six? But I will no longer choose favorites. I just like everything!” Mr. Methodical didn’t seem to quite grasp the gravity of what I was saying, but to me it meant everything. Not choosing favorites means that I no longer have boundaries on what I enjoy. I like it all and I’m open to letting anything else that speaks to me into the hierarchy of enjoyment. Just like I could never choose a favorite child because each of them has brought a new stanza to the poetry of my life, not choosing favorites expands me, so I will no longer choose favorites.
Although, when I lived in Italy, I tried a Golden Delicious apple for the first time. That is my favorite apple and I don’t care if the gods of favorites know I said it. That’s not going to change.
I think…
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