The sign on the café wall was clearly meant to be lighthearted: “Don’t Cheat. Pick a Chocolate to See How ‘Difficult’ You Really Are.” Below it was a tidy display of chocolates, each labeled with a different flavor. What should have been a quick choice felt more reflective than expected. After a long, tiring week, even a small decision carried weight. Each option seemed to suggest a different version of personality, turning a simple moment into quiet self-observation rather than a joke.
I eventually chose the most straightforward option, chocolate fudge. It was familiar and uncomplicated, without any attempt to stand out. Sitting by the window, I noticed others making their selections as well. Some laughed and compared choices, others smiled thoughtfully and moved on. No one appeared to take the sign literally, yet many seemed momentarily reflective afterward. The experience wasn’t really about difficulty, but about recognition—seeing something of ourselves in what we naturally reach for.
As I ate, it became clear how often people label one another the same way flavors are labeled. Words like “too much,” “too guarded,” or “too emotional” are often used when someone has depth that isn’t immediately understood. But every chocolate on that display had a purpose. Some were rich and meant to be enjoyed slowly, others were bright and balanced, and some offered simple comfort. None were wrong or excessive—they were just honest expressions of what they were.
By the time I left the café, the sign felt less like a game and more like a reminder. Being called “difficult” often simply means having layers shaped by experience, time, and care. Like chocolate, people aren’t meant to appeal to everyone in the same way. We are meant to be appreciated by those who value what we offer. Sometimes the most meaningful choice is allowing ourselves to exist as we are, without trying to be simpler or easier to explain.