So this was my view on the subway coming home from Manhattan last Wednesday evening. With sweltering humidity above ground one of the few shelters from the oppressive heat for those without shelter is the subway. And this man was one of several reminders to me throughout that evening of how truly blessed I am and how easily I forget that. It also gave me pause for thought on how readily we judge others by superficial standards; really in how readily I assess people with meaningless parameters cultivated by living in a society where outward appearance drives our social interactions. Earlier in the day a man most would have turned quickly away from based on his physical appearance

and odd manner of speech actually made it possible for me to catch my train and make it into the city by giving me the change from his pocket to pay the parking meter. And he was happy for me to give him pennies in exchange. While I do believe as a woman I must be able to assess my surroundings and make good judgments about my security I also believe I can be a little more thoughtful about how I make those decisions. I can be a little more generous to those that may seem different than I am and a little more patient in my interactions with those who may appear to "have it all" but may be "living lives of quiet desperation". For what I have learned is that not only do we make assumptions about people who may look like this gentleman, but we also tend to do the same about those who look the part of perfection.

Why Van Gogh Matters...

"Painters — to take them only — being dead and buried, speak to the next generation or to several succeeding generations through their work.

Is that all, or is there more besides? In a painter's life death is not perhaps the hardest thing there is.

For my own part, I declare I know nothing whatever about it. But to look at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots of a map representing towns and villages. Why, I ask myself, should the shining dots of the sky not be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France? If we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. One thing undoubtedly true in this reasoning is this: that while we are alive we cannot get to a star, any more than when we are dead we can take the train."

~ Vincent in a letter to his brother Theo , July 1888

I remember with great fondness the first time I approached the original Starry Night housed in the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. I had loved the whirly swirly landscape by Van Gogh from an early age. Something about the violent fluidity of the night sky and earth over which it reigned captured my youthful imagination. That was before I set eyes upon the masterpiece, when I finally saw it up close and in person I knew I was in love. Van Gogh's passionate expression of the beauty and glory of the countryside after evening has swept over it continues to thrill me to this day. I was and still am awe struck by the transfer of emotion by artist on to canvas and the manner in which it projected outward and then imprinted into my own spirit. Since that day, many years past, there has never been a doubt in my mind that viewing Van Gogh's work is a spiritual and sacred experience. That he never saw success during his life but continued to paint with prolific passion until his suicide in July of 1890 shows the depth of the artist's desire to create and contribute to his world. The significance of his contribution to not just the art world but the world in general can be seen in the way his life, not just his art, is the subject of novels, movies, and scholarly research. There is something magnetic about the tortured soul looking out at you from the myriad of Vincent's self-portraits. There is something moving in reading the insights and struggles of the deeply sensitive Dutch artist expressed in letters to his greatest supporter and brother, Theo. Even 120 years later the brilliance and tragedy of Vincent Van Gogh touches me deeply and teaches me about the fragility of human existence.

"How can I be useful, of what service can I be? There is something inside me, what can it be?"

"The happiest moments my heart knows are those in which it is pouring forth its affections to a few esteemed characters." - Thomas Jefferson

Recently I have been analyzing the various forms of friendship I have been fortunate enough to experience. Some relationships offer love and support, patience and frequent acts of generous giving of time and self. Others swoop in and out like hummingbirds to a honeysuckle and provide the opportunity to learn patience and understanding that no two people are alike, hence no two friendships are alike. There is a quiet beauty in both dynamics when the effort and sincerity are at the heart of the relationship. There are some who quietly spend there lives devoted to intimacy with like minded individuals, making themselves open to being truly seen as they are as well as truly seeing those they love for who they are. There are some who thrive on the exhilaration of pulling friends out of the muddiness of life but protect themselves from the threat of messiness bleeding into their own. There are some that offer the hand of friendship while secretly manipulating the friendship for their own purposes. While others have taken bricks and mortar and walled themselves in to prevent any harm from coming in, unknowingly blocking out the greatest nutrients for growth. I have been and had a friend that fell into one or all of these categories.

Tonight, I was reminded of the beauty and pleasure of being in the company of those I can be completely myself with, warts and all. There is a joy in having the pleasure of a great meal while conversing about the vicissitudes of life, philosophy, and the new Harry Potter movie. There is a heart warming significance to having people you love and respect and generally enjoy being around make it clear they feel the same way. There is a sweetness in the laughter of good friends as they reminisce over the ridiculousness of life, and a glow that illuminates the darkest corners of one's inner being when one feels the sincere bonds of unrestrained mutual affection. To have such friendships I am truly blessed indeed and I look forward with anticipation in being the kind of person who can develop and strengthen the types of friendships that will be for the benefit of all. What recent experience has taught me is that the best kind of friend is never stingy in their expressions of appreciation and love, never withholding of their friendship out of a sense of fear or self-preservation, but overflowing with good will and a spirit of approbation. This is my challenge to myself to be more aware and diligent in my efforts to be such a friend as I have been truly blessed with.