Rays of Light

A place for things that bring light even in darkness. That make us think or smile. That inspire us and lift us up.

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My wonderful friend Scotty Crowe found some rays walking on Bowery the other night!

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taking a leap

When I came home the other night, I had a heavy package waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. I pushed and I pulled and I blew the house down, but I still could not get the damn thing upstairs.

My neighbor, who(m?) I'd never met before, saw me looking forlorn at the bottom of the stairs and immediately came down to help. She was so sweet and insisted that she help me carry the package all the way to my door.

I know it seems like a jump, but this tiny good deed made me think of Mother Teresa. Mother Teresa said she felt a calling to help others when she was 12, and she left her home and family at 18 to devote her life to answering that call. Talk about taking a leap! She moved from Albania to Ireland to India, picking up new languages in every new place, with literally no other motive besides to give love wherever it was needed.

Sure, helping your neighbor carry a package may not get you the Nobel Peace Prize. But I don't think it matters how small or big a gesture seems — every action we take impacts other people in ways we can't even imagine.

"Intense love does not measure, it just gives."

"Spread love wherever you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier."

— Mother Teresa

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never lose your silly

Post by my friend Leah: 

With yesterday's idiotic and unimaginably harmful words from the fascist ass in the White House in my headphones, I rushed down the stairs at my subway station just as the doors to the B were closing.

Carrying my annoyance at what I'd heard and my slow lil legs over to my surroundings, I cursed Jesse Whoever, the regular singer/songwriter on my platform, for his morning cheer.

Then an actual flood of 5th or 6th graders descended upon the platform, awash in bright colored winter wear and whimsical hairstyles. Somewhat separated by class, I watched as friends from separate groups made faces at each other, and oompa-loompa bounced to the musician's tunes.

This moment reminded me of...

the silliness of the world

the immense joy that can be extracted from what you felt disdain for a moment ago, just from a view change

that the youth already know, we just have to listen

and why I wanna devote my life to young people

And now I will leave you all with this barely legible graffiti that I was met with once I boarded the subway:

"DONT LET ANYONE MAKE $ OFF MAKING YOU INSECURE. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL + WHOLE JUST THE WAY YOU ARE!!!!"

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an ode to my subway buddy

I love how all notion of personal space flies out the window when you're on the subway. Either you're accidentally holding hands with someone trying to hold the pole in the same spot as you (meet-cute?), or you're knocking knees with the dude man-spreading too much to your right. But whatever it is, we all just press pause while we're on the subway and silently agree to accept the accidental intrusions on our personal space. It's just life.

The other night I was riding the subway home and a man squeezed in next to me with a super puffy jacket that certainly did not know the meaning of personal space. But after my initial annoyance at being squished, I kind of liked the comfort and warmth that the jacket — and its wearer — brought me. We rode in silence for 20 beautiful minutes, just me and my subway buddy (and everyone else on the train), and I grew fonder and fonder of this man on the subway who had NO idea that we were bonding.

When his stop came, I felt his warmth leave and the cold come back. The next person who sat down just wasn't the same. I missed my old friend and the good times we had together before 14th St. So — here's to my subway buddy, completely unaware that he did anything of note on his subway ride home, but a huge source of comfort and warmth and camaraderie to me, his new friend.

Love & light, Nikhita

P.S. Slightly ironic addition to this story is that I was coming back from seeing "In Transit," a subway-themed Broadway musical. 

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Photo by Kami Dimitrova

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the time we’re given

A post by my friend Kerri Aidikoff:

I religiously read NYTimes's Modern Love column every Sunday (This column could be a Ray of Light in itself for the reminder of how love perpetrates each of our lives in so many different unique ways). Two weeks ago, the column went viral as Amy Krouse Rosenthal, on her deathbed, wrote a personal ad for her husband. The article is chill-worthy. with lines like, "I mention that 'more' was my first spoken word (true). And now it may very well be my last."​ Amy's energy overcame me. I read the article several times and for days after, I couldn't stop asking myself​, "​Who is Amy?​"​ Her capacity to love was palpable​ through the article. I started researching her and my hunch was right — Amy spent her 51 years creating and spreading love. She did projects like gathering several hundred strangers to ​"​creat​e lovely​​"​. She ​chose happiness. She spread love. She made her way too short time on this earth one dedicated to creating happiness. 

Amy passed away yesterday. The ray of light is that someone who I never got the chance to meet was able to touch me and allow me to feel her love. Our energy is contagious: let us use this short time that we are here to touch as many people as possible — even the ones we have no idea that we touch.

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the borrowers may be real

Has anyone read or seen The Borrowers? As a kid, I was obsessed with the idea that while we giant humans stomp around in our houses, there are tiny people living under our floorboards in their own communities, playing out their own dramas as we play out ours. 

Well, recently I've been seeing a lot of rats in the subway. Weird segue, right? Stay with me (or close this email now, while you still have the chance!). Anyway, I always like to think about the rats living out THEIR own dramas, in their little rat communities under the subway. The teenage rats probably get so angsty and mad at their parents, who just want them to come home at a reasonable hour and not stay out so late rummaging through garbage with all the other teen rats. "Can you at least text us when you're going to be late, Carl?" the rat mama would say. "I saved this piece of cheese for you all night!"

Naturally, I did some digging into the social lives of rats, and get this — they ARE pretty social! They show signs of empathy — in an experiment one rat saved its captive friend and also saved a piece of chocolate for him (?!?!), they play fight when they're adolescents just like Carl the rat, and mothers sometimes communally nest and raise their kids together.

I know this story isn't about humanity per se, but it's cool to think about the insane amount of people and creatures in this world that are living parallel lives to us. It makes me feel less like a giant human stomping around, and more like one of many, just coexisting. Love & light & rats,Nikhita

P.S. As a bonus, I also discovered that 1) www.ratbehavior.org exists and 2) a way to win in a rat fight is "to deliver a bite to the subordinate rat's rump."

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lizzie’s literal rays of light

Post by my friend Lizzie Horne:

I live right on the 4/5 train. If I ride it up to the Brooklyn Bridge station and lazily cross the platform to the 6 for one stop, I'm to work in about 35 minutes. As many do, I often dread being stuck underground for those 35 minutes every morning. I try to find solace in political podcasts and dancehall playlists, but I still feel pretty trapped (and even anxious) when I'm down there each day. Recently, I realized that if I'm willing to forgo sitting on the train and to get myself in motion, I can switch to the Q at Barclays and get to work in about 25 minutes instead — seemingly worth it to be down there a little less. What I didn't realize, though, was that the Q is a treat, not only because it moves at the speed of light (okay, you know what I mean), but because it takes you *outside*. Out of the underground. Into the outdoors. Over the Manhattan Bridge! Since the day I tried that commute, I haven't looked back. Now, instead of wallowing in claustrophobia and annoyance, I've found myself getting legitimately excited to hop on the train. Because I know that once we creep out of the DeKalb station and travel about a minute, I'll get clear skies, rain, snow, views of Manhattan, a glimpse of Brooklyn in the background, cars passing by, a moment where a song will perfectly align with what's happening, sunshine bursting in the windows — literal rays of light. It only lasts about three minutes. But the sheer joy and excitement those three beautiful minutes out of the subway tunnels bring me might make them some of the best of my day.

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dogs are awesome, pt. 2

Photo and post by Ben Gellman:

Two and a half years ago, my best friend Julian traveled from Michigan to Ohio to pick up the love of his life – a tiny, strange, perfect baby pug whom he named London.  Now, all my friends will tell you I'm NOT a dog person (cats 4 life, tbh).  But very quickly after meeting London, I started to question this. Whenever I came to visit Julian, the sweet boy would pounce on top of me and lick my nose. One night, a fire began when Julian and I were asleep in his apartment; London pounced on me to let me know, and we were able to put the fire out. London has literally saved our lives.

A couple months ago, it was discovered that London had more trouble breathing than your average pug. The sweet boy would only be able to take walks of about a block each, and would have to sit on the porch for up to five minutes before collecting himself and coming back into Julian's apartment. Julian had to send the sweet little man to surgery last week. From what I hear, London's face in the hospital was very puffy, and he seemed so sedated and sad. But today, I got a text that London was safe and sound back at Julian's place, healthier than ever.

I may VASTLY AND FOREVER prefer cats (and humans) to pups – but I must say, thinking about London's return put a big smile on my face, and made the world light up for a moment.  

See London back in action below!

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here, on the edge of the world

This story starts in Taormina, Italy, a tiny town in Sicily and a breathtaking place that I never dreamed I would visit. But there I was, the luckiest person in the world. The thing about Taormina's main square is it literally feels like the edge of the world. Anywhere you look there's just water and sky, and you're standing on a balcony overlooking all of it. 

We were about to leave the square when suddenly a crowd of children, each with a balloon in their hand, started streaming out of the church nearby. With a little bit of herding done by their parents, they made a huge circle in the square. I just stood there, hoping what I thought was going to happen was going to happen. The children recited a Hail Mary prayer three times, and just as the last "Amen" was said, a white balloon escaped. And then — they all let go. Balloons filled the air, left the square, and climbed above the mountains surrounding Taormina.

I don't know why I thought of the balloons today. The children were so innocent, standing at the edge of the world, with their balloons and their prayers. I hope we can all be a little like them, facing the unknown with boundless joy and love (and balloons). 

Love & light, Nikhita

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"For love's sake, we must never stop trying to know the unknowable."

Sue Klebold, mother of Dylan Klebold (one of the Columbine shooters).

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“Your daughters will be grateful for the work of women in my generation."

Vigdís Finnbogadóttir

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it's pronounced Vigdís Finnbogadóttir

Recently I was reading about historic women's strikes around the world, and saw a bunch of stuff about this huge strike in Iceland on October 24, 1975. 90% of Iceland's women went on strike, and the country felt it. Five years later, Iceland elected the WORLD'S first democratically-elected female leader. Can we just take a second to feel that? Vigdís Finnbogadóttir is her name, and she credits the strike for her victory: “I would never have been elected in 1980 if it hadn’t been for the women’s day of action." Another woman said, “I remember it very clearly, standing there with my mother, fighting. I can still feel the crowd and the power that was there." Delving further into Former President Finnbogadóttir's life, I found out that she used to be a theater director, and now — at 83 and with 16 years as president under her belt — she runs a school of foreign languages at the University of Iceland and co-created the Council of Women World Leaders (I need to see at LEAST 10 of you on this email in that council within the next 20 years, thanks). 

But what really caught my eye is what she said at the end of an interview a couple years ago. “Your daughters will be grateful for the work of women in my generation." 

And I think she's right. I owe everything to the work of women before me, and I — we — will have to work our hardest to make this world fucking great for our daughters. 

This ray of light ends with an activity. Close your eyes, think of any strong woman in your life, and thank them.

Love & light, Nikhita

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is this too dramatic

Every morning I get off the F train at Broadway Lafayette and take the exit on Houston to get to my office.

I've tried everything to maintain my cool when I get to that exit — meditating on the subway, pumping up the music in my headphones, thinking about literally everything else in the world besides the unmoving crowd I'm in that's pressing up against me. But my heart rate still rises when I'm there, and I can't help closing my eyes and wishing we were out as we slowly slug (is that a verb? We are slug-like) toward the exit. But the other day I was in Times Square, the most calming and spacious of all the places (lol). I started to walk through the crowd, expecting my breathing to quicken and stress level to rise. But instead, this weird and wonderful thing happened. Everyone in the crowd seemed to click into place. It was like we all were one well-oiled machine, working in sync with complete strangers to keep ourselves afloat. I felt so peaceful and strong, watching faces go by that I do not know — that I might never know — but feeling like we were working together to make sure we were okay. 

Love & light, Nikhita

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she is the literal embodiment of joy

Photo and post by Kami Dimitrova:

The small, but powerful rays of light in the photo above are students from a pre-school in Negril. I was lucky enough to meet them while assisting a video crew on a week-long trip to Jamaica. Negril was one of our last stops. We stayed in an Airbnb owned by Angela Eastwick, a woman from New York who moved to the Caribbean for love. SIGH. She's lived in Negril for seven years and has since started her own tourism company, runs an Airbnb in her backyard and has two beautiful kids, one of whom attends this school. (He's the one peeping out in the very back, just the top of his head. He couldn't fit in my carry-on and also that's stealing but he was very cute). 

She brought us to the school so we could meet the students and take some photos. As soon as we walked into the classroom, faster than lightning, ten rays of light ran toward me with full force and hugged me tighter than I could've ever imagined. Correct. That happened. I nearly lost my balance. It took me a minute to even realize what was happening. I looked down and saw a sea of shining faces, with smiles so big they made their eyes squint. Instant, generous love. My heart swelled with happiness. I asked Angela why they were so affectionate. Did their teacher tell them we were coming? She said that's just how they are. She said every time she visits the school, she's greeted with the same vibrant and filling joy. They just love to spread love. 

It's the small stuff, folks. Hug someone today, it goes a long way. <3

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my heart almost burst

I don't even have an arc to this story — just a shit ton of joy. When I walked into the office in the morning, the room was empty and so, so serene. I sat down squarely in the sunlight, because why not, and set up my computer and coffee. After that I'm not sure what happened... but I think over the course of this morning the sunlight seeped into my soul.

For the rest of the day, the sight of my friends brought me the most unbelievable joy!!!! I can't even explain. Every time I saw Nora, for example, (shoutout to you Nora), my heart exploded into a million tiny pieces of love and joy at this beautiful person that has come into my life in only the past year.

It was a completely normal day, except for my strange love outbursts at the same people I talk to every day. I just still can't believe how I got so lucky to have met every one of you — I don't know what brought us together or if our meeting was a random coincidence, but you make me better every day. So thanks for that.

Love & light, Nikhita

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those shining eyes

I watched this TED talk by Sue Klebold, the mother of one of the Columbine shooters, Dylan. The point of this is not to tell you to watch the TED talk, although if you want to I highly recommend it (particularly just the last 2 minutes).

Sue came onto the stage and bared her soul, despite any doubt or fear of judgment. She talked openly about mental health and the importance of always listening and not just assuming that someone is okay because they seem outwardly fine.   As the talk went on, I could not take my eyes off of Sue's eyes. They were blazing, imploring, resilient, vulnerable... so full of grief and forgiveness and love and pain. Pain — she mentioned later that some people think she doesn't have the right to pain. But pain is part and parcel of what makes us human. We ALL have a right to pain, including Sue. And I know it's not the sunniest ray of light, but it does remind me that whatever our story, our language, our political views — we all feel pain in some form or another. It's what makes us, us. I'll leave you with Sue's closing line — "For love's sake, we must never stop trying to know the unknowable."

Love & light, Nikhita