​Do we really need 
excuses 
to pause 
and recognize beauty? 
No matter. 
It’s here 
whether we notice.
In full view 
of our distracted 
eyes and mind. 
An available refuge,
amid anxious chatter
to center us, 
a clarion amid the mud 
to awaken our 
slumbering souls.
Requiring so little:
rapt attention, focus
beyond our selves,
the sincerity of a moment’s
genuine engagement,
briefly excusing time. 
She offers unnameable rewards.
Simple yet profound, 
all around 
accessible, yet 
all too rarely accessed.
Like love. 
 


Alley Puddle, March 25, 2020

I love this moment in the year. The rosemary flowers are overflowing, the apricot tree is in full bloom, the pear blossoms on the way; suddenly in my long dormant yard I’m seeing all sorts of new mini-onion stalks and leaves and tiny fuchsia-colored flowers peeking up. Dandelion yellows are bursting open and the purple dead nettle buds begin to emerge. Thanks to the recent time change, the sun was still hovering near the horizon when I got home, allowing me time to clean my brush, change out of my dirty dusty paint clothes, wander into my yard and dig into real dirt. There’s nothing like the feel of soft garden soil on a not-quite-yet-spring March evening. 

I’ve been tending these beds for several years. A few years ago, after the consecutive new seed sprouts were nibbled down by critters (rabbits, groundhogs, deer), I finally resigned to putting fencing around (and for deer atop) the plots and beds. It paid off, and, as I heard no complaints, I assume the critters managed to find enough other tasty green things to nibble on. 

In response to the last few warm days the hearty kale that overwintered is now in a full-stride growth spurt. I loosened the soil around it and carefully spread the tiny pinhead-sized kale seeds. I sifted a few shovels of the compost pile onto a screen and the “harvest” provided plenty of lightweight fertile umber cover for the seeds. In another bed, I lightly stroked the soil with a hand pick, happily crumbled clumps with my fingers, and leveled the patch with my palms. The rich earth was still warm having absorbed the energy of the beautiful day. I’m not sure if the bed or my hands more enjoyed the massage.

I gently brushed the dirt to create several shallow rows and attentively spaced the beet and spinach seeds in their respective troughs. Despite not knowing what the future months will bring, there’s something very hopeful in the act of folding just enough soil over seeds, nestling them in. It’s like tucking a beloved little one in bed with a familiar blanket, as the full moon begins to wane.

It was a tumultuous previous year, full of hard work, wondrous surprises, and growth in many directions. On this balmy evening, as I sat on my rump in the grasses and plants of my backyard, I noticed a dutiful honey bee collecting spring pollen. In a familiar old cycle, as our world hurls yet again around a faraway star, the earth is into a fresh start, and a new beginning is upon us. The sun beamed a magical golden glow on everything in sight. Today, the soil in these little plots that I tend felt especially fecund, perhaps renewed by the tough year before.  Despite all the frenzy swirling about us right now, it feels full of promise, grateful. Me too.

www.johnwiercioch.com

“Transitions” 44” x 44” Mixed Media/panel
[On view April,2020 in the exhibition “Rivers, Mountains, & Magic: Embracing the Mystery” @ Alexander / Heath Contemporary, 5th & Campbell, Roanoke, VA]

Lately, navigating transitions seems the stuff of life. It may be changes of profession, expectations within one’s work, or within one’s self, or changes in a relationship, adapting to loss, moving where one lives, even adjusting to the seasons. I’m learning to accept that life is rarely static and adapting to the shifts is an unending process. 

Shapes dominate some of my paintings. Areas emerge that become specifically defined. There may be dozens of little bits, or a work may be divided into grid like sections, or a few large shapes may clamor for attention. Sometimes in our lives we manage to accumulate responsibility for a myriad of small tasks — we know what they are, find brief moments to take conscious breaths, and manage to get through a day/week/months attending to them without much room to think. At the end of such times, we look back and all those pieces have come together in a beautiful mosaic-like fashion. At other times we might get the option to arrange and order things in a regularized way, create an expected order and neatly schedule our duties and joys. In other phases of life, a few large priorities might come boldly to the fore. These times oblige a certain restraint as these issues establish the re-direction and composition of our lives. It may even be just one thing, settling in to a new home, or a tragedy, or attending to the health of a loved one, that may suddenly require all of our focus and attention. Amid these times we might crave the option to have room for the “rest” of our lives — in all meanings of the word.

Then there are those slightly discomforting in-betweens; those inevitable periods of transition. The times where we’re headed into something different, new, a moving beyond, often into an unknown or unknowable. It seems natural that we may feel apprehensive or anxious relinquishing the familiar. Complex creatures that we are, as is well documented, we crave habits to such a degree, that sometimes even when a situation is not joyful or unhealthy, we may still resist change. 

When I am painting, at a certain point a dialogue develops with each work. It’s unpredictable if this connection will evolve quickly or take much meandering, effort, “conversation.” Sometimes I can sense it developing, but it’s a subtle and challenging thing to hover in that space — both aware of the moment yet not self-consciously thinking about it. This painting began as fluid, flowing shapes. In responding and revising it, the colors and textures assumed a voice. But within the process, perhaps because the goal was less defined—or perhaps because the flow of the process itself became the goal—the shapes slowly dissipated and the textures became the prominent element. 

At one point, I added dozens of small colored linear marks, like stitches in a quilt, woven across the surface attempting to tie it together. Perhaps this was my effort to control the discomforting vagueness, the transitional arena that was this painting. A desire to order and define a “direction by demarcation” during a period of uncertainty about where it was headed. As an artist I’ve long felt most confident as a draftsman speaking with calligraphic lines, so it’s been one of my personal challenges to discover what happens when I let go of this skill. Ultimately, in this painting, the stitchery became an underpinning, the color still sets the tone, but both were overtaken by hundreds of little notes of texture. So it is.​

And so it has me wondering: Despite the value of content and importance of organization, if the texture that we create and communicate daily in our lives, our intention and tone of voice and the presence of our being WITHIN our actions, is all that really matters in creating a harmony that we might share with others.

Joining VisionsHeaven and Earth
Even though it’s warmer than I wish (our new climate-changed winter) as January comes to a close, the colors and forces and faces of the season are familiar. I took a long walk this evening and got reacquainted with an old friend, the Roanoke River. Another old friend, Tom, died this week. He let go of life, and, with great atheistic enthusiasm, was resolute in his conviction this life was all we have, so when he “departs” waste no money on preachery, no precious energy on prayers, and shed no tears regarding saving his “soul.” Essentially, remember him fondly and move onward. 

He was already in great pain when his beloved pet cat Ruby, with him two decades, was killed by a car in front of his home in October. A few of us were concerned it might throw our cancer-ridden, battling-yet-still vital friend into a downward spiral, that he might “check out” on his own volition. Police happened upon the dead pet scene and a kind police woman, seeing Tom struggling to dig a hole to bury Ruby in his garden, insisted she would take care of the digging and he should just take it easy and not get worked up. Telling him “People sometimes get upset and aren’t real aware of themselves when such things happen.” This man who had endured a terribly tough, physically abusive childhood, who’d escaped to the US Army (as a closeted gay man, no less) and then lived in West Africa in a hut on an island off of an island and suffered many illnesses there, then rubbed shoulders in NYC & SF with uber elite wealthy, and walked among the poorest of the poor, and had seen and endured so many things, told me: “Well, I was just fine digging a little hole. As far as I was concerned, dear Ruby was gone the minute she expired in the street. Now all I was doing was putting the dead body of a cat into the garden for the worms. I really don’t know what all the fuss was about.” 

So I’ve been reflecting on this a bit since Tom died two days ago. Callous as this may come across to some, I find great comfort in his view. Wrapped within his hatred of religious institutions was his love of integrity, and within his “onward” phrase was a push to not waste the moment before us. Sadness was real, natural and acceptable, but not to be something that debilitated one. Far worse was to be trapped within an unsatisfying or miserable life. Which he’d been determined and successfully avoided for his last 50 years, and, I assume, was what he felt encroaching upon him these last months. So his departing was sort of his ticket off the misery train before it had carried him too far.

"...sadness is good. May sadness be a bond for you with humanity. May sadness connect you to life. Life contains difficult times and life has beautiful times. This is a complete image, and you can't live a human life without all these aspects being part of it. This is a kind of myth that you could avoid all painful parts and just have the pleasant parts. This will certainly never happen. People keep wishing it would never happen. So the fact that it hurts and you feel sad, think of it as really helping. Consider it growth, sometimes it's what growth looks like. "  ~~ Pema Chödrön

This evening I crossed the bridge over the river and cast my eyes at the water. I was struck by the resonate beauty of the currents and the rich, nuanced colors, framed by golden grasses and the leafless silver, umber, and red tipped branches. As I walked on along the Greenway I found myself pulled off the paved trail, down to the river’s bank. I felt magnetically drawn to the water’s edge, pulled to be immersed within it once again, as I’d been for weeks as last summer turned into fall. I wanted to step into it today, let it float me off, forget the notion of trying to control anything, release all my concerns. I was ready to bounce against some rocks and let those flows twirl me. This evening part of me wanted to again wordlessly nod at the herons, let life flow through me, float on my back and gaze unthinkingly at the clouds. But just as in the summer, this was not entirely about finding a distraction. I felt energies. The water was clearly more forceful today, and the power of those hypnotizing currents only made its invitation more appealing. As I crouched on the bank and took in the rhythms of the powerful torrents, I also sensed a kind of merger, a losing of my self within them.

“If you can live with the sadness of human life (what Rinpoche often called the tender heart or the genuine heart of sadness), if you can be willing to feel fully and acknowledge continually your own sadness and the sadness of life, but at the same time not be drowned in it, because you also remember the vision and power of the Great Eastern Sun, you experience balance and completeness, joining heaven and earth, joining vision and practicality.”  ~~ Pema Chödrön​

Earth and heaven. Tom would laugh heartily at the notion he is now “wearing a robe and sandals on some cloud in the sky.” He was more of the Mark Twain “Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company” type. Likely he’d be annoyed even to hear anyone exclaim he was once again with his beloved Ruby. But I do think he might accept that each of their bodies were now feeding other life, and that the circle and flow of energies was continuing onward, just as he had admonished me to do. I think too, that he would encourage us not to accept any BS, from others or from within our selves; to be authentic and true. To be as soft-spoken or loud or assertive or gentle as you can, but most importantly be honest; be genuine, be real. Don’t give in to your fears and don’t suffer fools, or snobs, or posers whose projected insecurities and cowardice will eat your soul. Live and savor the incredible, complex beauty that is everywhere in front of you at every moment, because we’ve only so much time, to appreciate, to share, to BE.

A Sharing Space

Sometimes things get labeled and defined in ways that obscure a deeper, more meaningful value. I needed a place to use as a gallery to display a recent body of artwork.  I’ve a background installing art museum exhibitions, running a cooperative gallery, and showing my work in other settings, so I knew I could make the right space work. I found a location and was pleased with how I was able to present the paintings. But the magic ingredient, the catalysts that really alter the dynamic in the gallery, are the people. 

I’ve spent time sitting in galleries since I was 20 years old (gallery monitor was my first art museum role). It was usually a quiet time to take in the art, read, reflect. The more mature me of today notices other things, like how the visitors’ unique energies transform a space. Each brings their own special aura, and these in turn interact with the works displayed and as significantly, with the others folks there at the time.  

Of course I enjoy receiving insights from people, and their very personal responses. There have been several visitors who mentioned being surprised by the feelings evoked, many have admitted wiping their eyes, some referred to feeling embarrassed about tearing up. For me, there’s no need for embarrassment, in fact I see this as a great compliment. When art can move us to connect to our feelings, and further, a setting has allowed them the room for these to be expressed, I feel it’s fulfilling a crucial role. In my view we are overly fearful of our emotions and desperately in need of healthy outlets in which to attend to them—and I would add, accept them and not instantly try to “fix them.” As one of my heroes, Brene Brown puts it: great courage requires great vulnerability.

This unfolding interaction has been an unexpected joy to witness and experience. I have met new friends, reconnected with old ones, and watched strangers bond through the conversations amid the art. While I greatly appreciate sales of my work, for me, this magical alchemy is in many ways more important. If I can contribute to people discovering buried feelings, recognizing our interconnection within the natural world, or bridging with each other, my role as an art maker is utterly complete. Observing and being part of these new bonds has been a delight and very fulfilling experience.

In addition, I’ve been able to share in the diminishing art of direct, non-digitized, fully exposed tone of voice, read-the-body-language conversation. Hearty ones abound in this space: the last few weeks have included serious brainstorming about how to bring back a successful city jazz festival with a highly respected jazz musician Lenny Marcus; discussions about the creative process with an eloquent and published poet Gyorgyi Voros; the importance of recognizing how humans fit within the “more than human world” with an environmentalist/author Rick Van Noy; the lost appreciation for hand-lettered sign fonts with a former skilled practitioner William Saari; how musical progressions translate into color nuances in a painting with a brilliant young artist/musician/philosopher Miguel Carter-Fisher; the challenges of being the first gay couple to adopt a child in Virginia Cole Gordon; the experience of ecstatic dancing and the courage involved in allowing oneself to truly BE one’s self Clarissa LaFountain; and dozens of other profound, playful, small and big topics we all encounter traveling along this woolly game of life. I relished and will cherish each and every one of these!

[I feature the folks in these three photos only because I happened to take their photos and generally didn’t interrupt moments with other visitors during the many wonderful encounters.]

 “Juice” Juicepoet Smith the impressive man in the doorway is a fixture in downtown Roanoke, an anchor for so very many folks, and easily one of the hardest working people I know,. He can be physically imposing but reserves that for certain circumstances (he’s a bouncer, one of his many jobs) and he’s also a sensitive, extraordinarily sincere person with an amazing attitude about life. In addition he’s a refined, seriously hard-working slam poet, and treated us to one before he ran off to attend to another errand. It’s perfectly fitting that he’s got Ali on his shirt, as he’s become a great inspiring friend to me.

Joyce Crowder, (who I regret is barely visible in the right side of the photo) drove from over an hour away just to come by and see the show. We’d never even met, and she’d only seen my art on FB. She quietly wandered the space and patiently took in almost every work. She was so quiet, at one point I thought she’d left without me noticing. But in fact, she’s was trying to avoid being seen wiping tears. We hugged and within moments, we had the warmest conversation and the more I learned about her, the more I admired her, a stranger, then a FB friend, now become dear. She worked for many years as an animal control officer, loves the outdoors and spending time on the water, is a fabulous devoted mom, and a huge supporter of live music in our region (primarily at The Harvester performance center, a great music venue that’s also over an hour from her home)! 

Gina Louthian has been a fast friend for years—a dedicated teacher and art maker, she has been a supportive spirit for me and I’m sure hundreds of others for decades. We share a knowing about what’s significant and important in life that transcends words. I love her art and am so grateful she’s in our region positively affecting young lives in her day job and guiding adult workshops in her after hours time! Mostly I’m happy she’s in this valley and in my life as a stalwart friend. Not surprisingly, the magic was flowing, and Gina found connections in Joyce’s home town, and Juice knew Gina from some interactions several years ago! 

The radiant couple are Luisa Bartel and Gisela Pacho, old friends who came to the gallery together. Gisela is of Spanish decent by way of Cuba and then Detroit, my hometown. Beyond Motown, we’ve shared the rolling journey of life as friends for a decade now. She is earnest, articulate, kind, insightful, and fun-loving. The kind of friend with who you can talk about the most serious issues yet manage to always laugh when you get together. It’s a treat and an honor to know her. I’d never met her lovely friend Luisa, who’s family is from the same province in Spain (even though they met here in Roanoke, where they both worked as interpreters). I find it it so engaging to talk to people who were not born in America. Luisa quickly sensed what I was after in my art, got to the core of several of my works, and gifted me with her compliments and thoughtful questions. 

Lastly, a photo of a fellow who will remain anonymous, but whose genuine childlike expressive enthusiasm for the paintings had me beaming. We all might aspire to be so uninhibited! 

Thank you to the very many “undocumented visitors” (including intrepid folks who came out for the Closing Reception last Friday amid miserable weather) and for all the terrific, supportive conversations over the last few months that helped me grow, made sharing my work such a rich experience, and encourage me to “keep following my heart” on this path.

“Ebbs and Flows” 24” x 24” mixed media/panel

I love the river near my home — everything it represents, and IS. The way it physically and metaphorically reveals the unceasing flow of life. The way it offered me a refuge during challenging days. The way dipping my toes in the cool waters eased my hot, worn body on floats, and the bird songs and subtle rippling sounds soothed my mind. The way surrendering to the gentle flow encouraged me to accept life’s currents. The way it offered my being room to breathe, allowed my imagination the space to wander, and my spirit to be replenished and rise. I will ever be grateful to Anna Robertson, who nudged me by example to immerse myself on simple inner tube floats on the Roanoke River through my hood. It replenished my soul, profoundly deepened my relationship to my home, and was one of the joyful highlights of the year.  

I really enjoy making paintings. I love taking life in and allowing the energies to reveal themselves in a work of art. I consider myself a conduit in this process, and see it as a great privilege.  Although it may sound a bit hokie, I also like participating in the best parts of this tradition of making beautiful things, which I trained in and have studied and appreciated for nearly 40 years. 

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans” ~ John Lennon 

Like anyone my age, life tosses us unexpected circumstances that redirect the plans we’ve made. Life ebbs and flows. Several chunks of time (sometimes for years) during those decades I chose to set my passion for art making on hold a bit rather than feel stressed trying to have it compete with other places needing my energy.  Mostly toward what I feel were good reasons and responsible priorities. 

Besides, I’m reflective but not one to look back on life with regrets (seems a waste of  precious energy). The last few years some responsibilities have eased; among other things, my son has blossomed and is happily into his own career. These have spurred me to delve back into art making without feeling I was compromising other things.  While I continue to run a business full time, I try to remain aware having time outside of that work these last few years is a great luxury. 

“Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone's soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.” ~ Rumi

Stick around long enough on the earth and eventually ever more friends and family pass. Some folks may be indifferent to this; I’m not. Beyond a loved one’s transition, the grieving, and possibly attending to their loved ones, an indirect affect is that it wakes me up to our limited time and interactions with others. I really try not to squander either. We all have to decide what this means, but for me it distills to trying to be a positive force, keeping authentic, true to myself and others, being of service where I can, and sharing others’ burdens and my own joys. 

To me, people in few professions epitomize this as well as caring and dedicated teachers—I’ll even venture that those in America’s public schools are in many ways challenged to hold their center even more than others. So it’s a confluence of wonderful things when a painting I’ve been fortunate enough to help bring into form, about a subject that profoundly moved me, displayed in a space I was able to establish and share it, is chosen by some dear trusted friends who ARE long time teachers for purchase to adorn their warm home. 

A heartfelt thank you to Mike Scott and Theresa Bell, your support and friendship are  invaluable and allow the flow of vital life forces to continue. ❤️🙏

“On the Horizon Looms a Terrible Beauty” 12” x 16” Mixed media/panel (On view in “An Open Hearted Journey” — final Saturday, January 25, 10AM - 3 PM)

We’ve all encountered storms in our lives. Sometimes we can see them coming, others hit us unexpectedly. Sometimes they knock us down even when we thought we were prepared. Sometimes we race to evade them, other times we walk into them head-on. Such events are inevitable because part of the great beauty of life is its continuous transformation. How we respond is the key to whether we grow or are diminished, but the sea of life is ever rolling. And following every storm comes a calm. 

There’s a tale in the New Testament about Jesus walking on water. When I was young this was “painted” to me simply as being a miracle (the point of which, I suppose, was ostensibly to impress future followers with his great god-like powers?). Like so many things misunderstood when young, to me now it clearly was meant as a memorable metaphor and never intended to be interpreted literally. This is what myths of all spiritual traditions do—they offer us memorable imagery and stories to help us better direct our journeys forward. 

Though indirectly, I feel this passage from a wise Sufi, Hazrat Inayat Khan, gives that tale above a more valuable context and understanding:

“Many seek protection from all hurting influences by building some wall around themselves. But the canopy over the earth is so high that a wall cannot be built high enough, and the only thing one can do is to live in the midst of all inharmonious influences, to strengthen his will power and to bear all things, yet keeping the fineness of character and a nobleness of manner together with an ever-living heart. To become cold with the coldness of the world is weakness, and to become broken by the hardness of the world is feebleness, but to live in the world and yet to keep above the world is like walking on the water. There are two essential duties for the man of wisdom and love; that is to keep the love in our nature ever increasing and expanding and to strengthen the will so that the heart may not be easily broken. Balance is ideal in life; man must be fine and yet strong, man must be loving and yet powerful.”

Tuesday over lunch, I was gifted by a visit with some friends (Cole Gordon & Clarissa LaFountain) who wanted to see an exhibit of my art work. They were complimentary in the comments they offered about my art and writing, for which I’m very grateful. Naturally many creatives (artists, musicians, film makers, and poets) inspire me. Yet I’ve always been drawn toward folks who integrate their desire to grow or spiritual goals into their daily life.

I’ve since been thinking about that lunch chat, and the hearty decisions they both had made in their lives. They graciously offered supportive words about my artwork and writing and great questions. I shared my belief in trying to bring the concepts of honesty and openness into the creative process, and my desire to incorporate being vulnerable, following my heart, and living courageously into paintings. But I was struck by the paths each of these two modest friends have taken. It’s no surprise that both of these giving people are also devoted parents, and that each has cultivated a wide community of friends. 

Specifically, what struck me is that while I am nudging these ideas into my art, these two extraordinary people have embraced and LIVED within the consequences of their goals and noble concepts! My admiration kept returning to their very courageous choices:  the life-changing, life-affirming, and incredibly gutsy actions they each took. Through much personal effort they both managed to lay solid foundations amid challenging circumstances. They walked ahead amid storms where others might have run for shelter, and for years now have continued the work to grow (while  taking on and adapting to still other changes). 

Our valley (like, I suspect, many communities) is filled with profound journeys taken by amazing, unassuming people—through their genuine sharing I was again reminded that I only need to make the time to listen for stories of courage to be revealed. Significantly, both of these friends have retained open, compassionate hearts, despite challenges and set backs; without compromising honesty, each continues to spread Light. I’m in awe, and so very honored to know them both. Such friends lift my spirits and my own aspirations.

​I don’t know any stats about the upcoming generations, but I DO know that the younger folks I know are wonderful. Despite the many global issues which (I feel) my generation largely created and will be leaving them, I’ve found them to be extraordinary. I could easily go on about my son and his partner, or my nieces and nephews, but to emphasize my point, here are two couples of no relations I recently had the great delight to have visit me. 

Jameel McMillan and his family drove to Roanoke over the holidays to visit his family. I first met him when he just a curious cute teen, starting high school at PHHS, a classmate of my son, over a decade ago. He went on to be my son’s first college roommate, and we’ve all stayed lightly in touch. A bright engineer, he now works for the US Navy and though not 28, already has spent time across the world to work on ships in Japan. So it was a surprise and honor to get a message from him, asking if he might arrange for his family (and his sister) to come see my art exhibit. Even more so when I learned he specifically wanted to do so because his stepdaughter had a strong interest in art —he felt it might be helpful for her to meet an artist and see work in a different context. Naturally I was delighted to do so. 

Jameel and Emily have only been together a few years, married even less, so they all have had to make a lot of adjustments as they created their “new” family. As he shared, he happily went in with eyes open, but basically has been on a steep learning curve going from being a single bachelor to parent of a precocious young girl in a very short time. Essentially, in my view, in a time when some like to emphasize the opposite among young people, he’s a stalwart example of someone who has courageously “stepped up” and graciously taken on big responsibilities. Beyond caring and kind, he’s self aware and so sensitive to his role (and incurred boundaries) in relation to his stepdaughter’s father. It warms my heart to verify that the smart and fun-loving young teen I once knew is now clearly an outstanding young man and father. 

Having been a parent with shared custody, I can relate to the many delicacies, nuances, and challenges of caring for a sensitive and aware child sharing two sets of parents. They may understandably become withdrawn or cautious, especially around people they do not know. I’ve taught young people just a bit too, so I was considering this as I waited in the gallery for their arrival. As I waved them in from the sidewalk, prepared in my mind to find ways to ease the nervousness of us all— a young girl and her mother were meeting someone they literally had never met—Leyna raced in first (without nudging) and all but leapt into my arms with a big hug! She exuded such confidence, trust, and joy that she instantly erased any concerns! We carried on famously for another hour. It was obvious that Emily and Jameel (and her father) are doing very many things right in building a solid foundation upon which Leyna will blossom. To me they’re shining examples of their own generation nurturing the next as well.

Yesterday I was graced by a visit from my friends Christine Lockerby and Miguel Carter-Fisher. You can sense by their glance at each other their sincere love. Again, I could write several paragraphs about what I admire in each of them. I met Miguel when he was a toddler, the son of a graduate school classmate, and then we had no contact whatsoever for thirty years. In one of those incredible unexpected gifts life offers us, I reconnected with him when I learned that his father, my friend, had died over two years ago. From the moment I met he and Christine, I was taken by their thoughtfulness, sensitivity, compassion, and insight into every topic we discussed. Their respect and love for each other glowed then, and I am so very happy to have attended their wedding last fall. They’ve already experienced so many challenges and weathered several storms, and through grit and reflection and integrity, gotten stronger and wiser and, most uniquely, more expansive and loving.

I love engaging in conversations with people younger than me that push me to keep up with their deep thoughts! And they both do so in humble and gentle, honest, yet non-defensive, non-arrogant ways. They are realists; concerned about issues in our world, and striving to best apply their many talents because they earnestly want to help create a better world. Yet they also recognize the importance of self-care and balance. They don’t always agree, yet understand fully how to share their views in respectful ways that clearly reveal their admiration and respect (and deep love) for each other. They can sharply analyze several art forms (film, paintings, literature, music) dive into philosophical realms, and yet retain a self aware earthiness, even playfulness, that is refreshing and so often lacking in folks so brilliant. It was such a treat and great gift to spend several hours with them, and even more so share in a visit to the home of one of my mentors. 

I highlighted these two couples but could list several other young friends, (from physical therapists to baristas to yoga instructors to hair stylists to engineers to produce stockers to writers to software designers—I hope you all know who you are!) each of whom is impressive in their unique talents and integrity and outstanding character and desire to serve others and improve the larger world. To read the fearful media headlines one may get the notion the future looks bleak. I find that to engage with and listen to and consider the future through these young folks, found everywhere, it looks and feels bright indeed.
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