The Gift of Kimbo

I spent the better part of this morning with a good friend, someone with whom I can be myself, for better or worse. Kim is a delightful and nurturing woman, dedicated to her own growth and a light-bearer for others who are fortunate enough to find themselves within her sphere of influence.

She came to me from Oregon two years ago, an art educator who made the courageous decision to return to school in order to pursue a doctorate degree at Montana State University. We connected immediately, being of like mind and temperament, and have become oases for one another. This weekend it was I who made the call, in the hopes of fending off an incapacitating vegetative state and, as luck and friendship would have it, she was eager and willing to meet for morning tea.

Conversations between Kim and I are always meaningful and restorative; we openly share ourselves and gratefully receive the other. It is with this dear friend that I can safely shine a light on the darkened corners of myself and with whom I feel more beautiful and ageless than a starry Montana sky. Today was no different: I started out confessing over chai in a coffee shop and ended up rejoicing on top of Peet’s Hill, basking in the warmth of sunlight and unconditional friendship.

I wish I had more friends like Kim; she is a kind and loving soul who affords me occasions to be kind and loving in return. These are the marks of a true friend, I think, to bring out the best in us and then to hold the mirror that we may see our own beauty and light.

The Gift of the Eye of the Beholder

It happens that, after you've searched every inch of the interior corners and crevices of yourself and are yet left wondering "Who am I?" you suddenly become aware of the people in your life and their ideas of who you are. You bump into the acquaintance who had once marveled at your genius in improv class and you see the spark of admiration still in her eyes. You reread an email from the friend who encouraged you to pursue your dream, the dream you thought would certainly die unrealized because you, in fact, had no real talent. With new eyes you see the glimmer of a reality made manifest in the words written and offered up not only in friendship but in doubtless honor of the truth. And then you begin to see yourself through the eyes of your friends and lovers and with respect and even awe you behold, at last, the answer to your question.