Sometimes at night I put a glowing orb on my nightstand and stare at it as it changes colors. (The color-changing orb is the goofiest thing, I swear. It cost maybe $3 and I’ve had it for years). I get so absorbed in the brilliant cobalt shade of blue that when it begins to fade and morph into the next color, I am literally sad to see blue disappear. And then as blue gives way to green, I fall in love with the green. I am fickle.

Now I’m dreaming of summer and wish I was sitting on the grass at Lake Ann watching my kids playing with the dog. But I’m only allowed a moment’s reverie. The colors of the orb are fleeting. I want to capture the smell of green grass before green disappears and morphs into purple.

As I feel about colors in the orb, Prince felt about creative inspiration. He believed you must capture inspiration when it strikes, and act on it. In Paisley Park, he built a world around him that supported his work 24 hours a day. Every room was wired for sound — including the bathrooms. There was literally no way for inspiration to escape Prince. He had it cornered. And when it came, he worked as hard as he could for as long as inspiration stuck around. When it was done, he rested. Knowing that Prince lived his life that way, watching the orb, I released purple and watched as it morphed into love.