I was riding in a car with a friend a few days ago when the topic of our conversation took an interesting turn, and I learned something new. Rumor has it, famous painter Vincent van Gogh used to lick the tip of his paintbrush in order to achieve the perfectly fine point he was looking for, a point which allowed him to create the indescribable masterpieces that live on to this day.

Unfortunately for Van Gogh, at the time of his craft, the residue of paint which he licked from his brush was based in lead. Every time Van Gogh created a masterpiece, he poisoned a little more of himself until finally, he was lost to the world forever, leaving behind the legacy of his art.

Since hearing the story of this man and his work, I have continued to wonder whether or not, at any point, he knew. Whether or not he realized that to achieve what he so desperately desired, he would be required to forfeit his life. Whether or not he reached a point just before falling over the brink of sanity where he had a choice.

Whether or not he was afraid. Whether or not that mattered to him at all.

Did Van Gogh’s passion outweigh his life so transparently in his mind’s eye that there was no question? Is there anything in this life for which I could say the same?

Van Gogh’s expertise and brilliance of craft are not questioned.

He died for what he loved, and what he loved long outlived him.

Perhaps he saw clearly his options and favored only one.

We are each given one life to live. Our time on this earth is finite, no matter what fills the space from our birth to our death. So perhaps Van Gogh figured that if he was to go out, he would go out with a bang and not with a whisper. He would rage, rage against the dying of his light, making sure he lit the path for those to come with his works and his life. Perhaps Van Gogh decided that to live longer and to leave nothing would be worse. So he worked smarter. Perhaps he decided his life would not be diluted by fear but would be dense with every opportunity that he could possibly seize before his time was up.

Even if these trails of perhaps are nothing more than conjecture, this is the responsibility Van Gogh passes on to dreamers. The charge he lays upon the shoulders of the passionate. The hope he instills in those who will have the courage enough to wish and to try.

Van Gogh took a path of suffering. He chose a life of most resistance and did not look back. He earned his way to his finish line, and what he gained has been respected and honored long since he passed. His story is one my own cannot let go. I

cannot idly waste time and overlook opportunities when the example of someone who gave their life for what they believed in looms overhead.

Van Gogh is not the first, nor will he be the last. He is one step in a ceaselessly cascading staircase of individuals who fought for their passions with every single day that they had. And they did so not for recognition’s sake - Vincent van Gogh was as unknown in life as he is known in death. They pursued their passions for their passions’ sake. And thus, their passions soared beyond their imaginations.

So I offer to you, dear reader, the same charge I hope to take up myself. The charge of Van Gogh. Live loudly, boldly, vibrantly, and without excuse. Pursue your passions for their own sake and do not hesitate when the time comes. Do not be sidelined by fear, by doubt. You will no doubt have to suffer, so make your end goal worth the strenuous journey it takes to get there.

You have one lifetime to live. Make it count.