I have a very dear friend -- we've known each other since we were fifteen -- who is always a breath of light and happiness when I see her. We tend to fall into the same kind of chat and banter that we always have, even though we only see each other a couple of times a year. We catch up -- "How's your dad?" "What are your kids up to?"and then we just are.
Wilathi is an artist, a gardener, a healer and a philosopher. She is one of those people you love to know. And she is also one of those people who treasures her friends and family. I'm glad to be one of them.
Yesterday, Wil gave me a holiday gift. When she handed me the square-framed, lensless glasses, I didn't get it at first. She had decorated the temples and the rims, but the original rosy color shone through. I put them on, asked, "Do these make me look more intelligent?"
And then I got it.
In our twenties, Wil delightedly accepted the fact that she sees the world through rose-colored glasses. She wants to be the optimist. The Pollyana. The one who sees the good in the world. "There's already so much negativity," she says. "So much darkness. Why shouldn't we put these on to help us remember that there is also positivity, goodness and light?"
So I have my rose-colored glasses. When things seem to be too much for me, when the fact of my father's illness or the snarky reviews or the weight of my responsibilities get to me, I can put them on, and remember the good, the positive and the light. And Wil.