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While visiting Los Angeles last week, I met a charming young woman.  A blazing star. I was so touched by her effervescence that I asked her “do people applaud you for your zest and amazing energy?”

“Some people do,” she said a bit bashfully. “And some people have asked me to shut off two of my bulbs.”

Mind-boggling.

I immediately set her straight.  Why would anyone in their right mind want to dim the lights of someone who has the courage to wear her heart on her sleeve?  Isn’t it wonderful to be around someone who has a delicious sense of self? (Aside:  I forgot to tell her about her frenemy problem but perhaps she will consult page six of The Essentials of Fabulous. And yes,  I have no shame.)

Are there taxis where you live?  When you come to New York, you’ll figure out that a cab is available when the light on the top of the car is on.  When the light is off, it means the cab is unavailable.

That’s how it is with people you want to spend time with.  When their lights are on (all of them), they’re driving us out of the darkness of pessimism and hopelessness.  We can look out the window and see the sky, the shops, the people — even the lunatic who plays the guitar clad only in his underpants in Times Square.  We’re moving, going places, perhaps heading to meet someone wonderful. When someone’s lights are off, they’re busy and unavailable.  (Take the subway.)

I hope I persuaded this supernova to revel in her power to flood the room with her passion and move me to tears with her youthful joy and optimism. I hope she keeps those bulbs fully lit.  She must keep those bulbs fully lit.  Forever.

She would still be remarkable without the extra light but should we meet again, I must remember to bring my sunglasses.