The sign on the café wall was clearly meant to be playful: “Pick a Chocolate to See How ‘Difficult’ You Really Are.” Beneath it sat a neat display of chocolates, each labeled with a different flavor. What should have been a quick, casual choice turned unexpectedly thoughtful. After a long, draining week, even small decisions felt personal, and each option seemed to hint at something deeper than a joke.
I chose the simplest one—chocolate fudge. It was familiar, comforting, and didn’t try to impress. Sitting by the window, I watched others make their selections. Some laughed and compared flavors, while others paused, reading the sign twice before deciding. No one seemed to take the message too seriously, yet many walked away quietly reflective.
The moment wasn’t really about difficulty, but about recognizing patterns in what we naturally prefer. As I ate, I realized how often people are labeled the same way those chocolates were. Words like “too much,” “too reserved,” or “too sensitive” are often used when someone has layers that take time to understand. Yet every chocolate on that display served a purpose.
Some were rich and meant to be savored slowly. Others were light, balanced, or reassuringly simple. None were wrong—they were just different. By the time I left, the sign felt less like a gimmick and more like a reminder. Being called difficult often just means being complex. Like chocolate, people aren’t meant to appeal to everyone. We’re meant to be appreciated by those who understand our flavor.
