Luxury.

Page I tore out of The New Yorker as a goal and reminder.

I think luxury is relative. Walking out of the Boston MFA a few hours ago, a friend asked me how I felt about the day I'd just had. And I could only think of how LUCKY I am.

I'd spent the night with a good friend near Harvard. Had a lovely catchup brunch at IHOP with another friend. Then got to see the Degas exhibit that I'd been looking forward to since i'd read about it in The New Yorker a few weeks ago.

I feel so lucky. It's a luxury to travel and see friends and enjoy art. After reading (other) New Yorker articles about life under Qaddafi and girls who commit so-called "honor suicides" in the middle east caucasus region, I felt so lucky. To have had access to a world-class education. To be ALLOWED to have an education. To freely travel. To wear whatever clothes I want to. To be able to see whatever art without the filter of a government censor.

Some ppl might think I'm satisfied with too little. But I'm just grateful for the amazing situation I've been born into and the life I'm able to lead. It amazes me how being born a female in today's world can still mean a lifetime of second-class citizenship in some places.

And regardless of gender, there are still countries where something as taken for granted as travel or freedom of speech of artists is still elusive. And even in the US, there are ppl who don't have the financial means or freedom of physical movement and independence to travel as they'd like.

So on so many levels, I feel lucky to lead such a luxurious life. The luxury of travel. To luxury to see friends. The luxury to appreciate art.