We had a new front door installed late last fall. As the weather was too cold for painting, we deferred that until spring. Now that the weather is warming, we need to decide on the colors for the outside and inside.

We were happy with the exterior color of the old door, so we chose a color that is close to the old one. Easy.

The inside choice, not as easy. There's the light colored tile on the floor, a mix of colors: cream, tan, some gray or blue. The wallpaper, which will come off one of these days, is brown with an orange tint. We want to avoid those.

Soon, we have close to a dozen paint chips pasted around the door. The light in the foyer isn't bright, so it's hard to discern subtle differences among the colors. Does that one have a hint of blue or is it green?

For several days we survey the chips, morning to night, as we walk by the door going up and down the stairs. We convene at the door to discuss the nuances. Is that blue? Green? Too much yellow? Move that chip down close to the tile. How does it look now?

Slowly we realize we're looking for the perfect answer to a choice that, in the grand scheme of life, doesn't really matter. Once we've picked a primary hue, the myriad variations don't matter. Any will work. A few days after the door is painted, we'll stop seeing the color as we go up and down the stairs.

Choosing the color of a door is a good metaphor for many decisions in life. We seek the "perfect" answer, putting all the options under a microscope, stressing that the best choice is not obvious and we might make a bad decision. Fortunately, most decisions are not life or death, and the outcome quickly fades from memory.

Best to realize that early in the decision process and follow the advice quipped by Yogi Berra: