Resume the Stability of Tension

A couple of weeks ago I attended a seminar by my journal-writing/therapy mentor, Kathleen Adams. At the time I was at the height of my distress over my job. The idea of a whole day writing and learning more about journal techniques from 'the master' had momentarily calmed and uplifted me. Then Kay asked us to finish the following statement, "Right now in my life.."

I wrote frantically for five minutes. It poured out of me. After the writing sprint we were asked to write a sentence or two of feedback to ourselves: "As I read this I notice..." This personal feedback was what we shared with the group (if we chose). I told them that although I was calm before the write I was now a nervous wreck! I had traded a relaxed attitude for hunched shoulders and a stomach of jumping beans. Kay told me I might want to explore this in an exercise we would be doing in the afternoon.

At lunch Kay and I shared a table, and the conversation - which was intended to be about my upcoming journal workshops - became a mini therapy session. I was still shaky and Kay, being the experienced therapist that she is, asked me all the right questions. The word "loyalty" came up.

That afternoon, Kay told the group about Alpha Poems. I was already familiar with them as they were a fun portion of my workshop training. I chose to do a poem based on the word Loyalty. Here's what came out:

Limits myself, always
Open, always
Yes, never no
Attitude
Limits the way I go
Take the road to
YOU

Wanting to play some more I chose to do a poem using the entire alphabet.

Always
Bending to others
Cutting out the
Day to
Everyone but me
Favoring
Goodness
Hating
Irresponsibility
Judging myself
Knowing how
Loyalty is my
Mantra
No one is happy
Open the door
Pursue the
Quest
Resume the
Stability of
Tension
Undo the
Values
(e)Xplor
Yourself

I didn't think about what word or phrase would come next, it just happened. I didn't even know what word I was going to write until I began writing it. It is a magical thing!

Anyway, the phrase that immediately jumped out at me was the strange, "Resume the Stability of Tension." Now, I am a tense person and in my experience, that is not a good thing. I have even taken drugs for it. Hubby frequently asks me in utter frustration as he runs out of door 15 minutes before he needs to, why it has to be "so tense around here in the mornings?" I couldn't put my finger on what it meant, exactly, but I loved the sound of that phrase and had a feeling it had something important to tell me. I played with the idea in my journal, even wrote more alpha poems around it. Still not knowing how to decipher its meaning, I decided it would be my new mantra.

Then a couple of days ago, I read this in Christina Baldwin's Life's Companion:

... you need to envision a lifeline between [where you are and where you want to go]. It needs to be tense, like a tightrope, something you can walk along. The necessity for tension requires we develop a different attitude about tension: this is creative tension. Creative tension is what creates the path. When we lose tension, we wander without focus (my bolding). We have to decide over and over again to stay close to the tension, to walk the wire.

I was wandering without focus. I was trying to split myself between a job that was sucking the life out of me and the longing to pursue a writing/teacher career that was "dragging me about" (again, I quote Christina Baldwin; she *is* me). I needed to Resume the Tension (Focus) to gain Stability.

I put loyalty to my boss and my job aside and I chose to put my longing back in charge. Together we will walk the high wire of creativity - up where Potential and the Higher Self lives.

Open Letter to the Afraid

Dear Ones,

I want to tell you a story which I hope will serve as inspiration.

I quit my job this past week; wrote a letter to the Board, "effective immediately." Yes, I came into work at 9AM intending to do my job but instead spent it packing up my small office.

Was I angry? Impulsive? Stupid in this economic environment? No. No. Maybe.

No, not maybe. And let me tell you why.

I never really wanted a job - Little Lady was starting kindergarten full time, Tator was at pre-school a couple morning a week and I had PLANS. But I got afraid. Afraid we wouldn't make it through the winter without an extra paycheck. So, a year ago I found myself looking for a job and had a horrible time finding one. I then decided not to look and to trust everything was going to be OK; it was then I was given a job (story here, here and here).

Although I acted out of fear to begin with, I decided not to be afraid. I made a decision not to be afraid. Goethe says:

"...the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence [Serendipity] moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamt would come his way."

And I got a job. A job I would have created for myself if I didn't have other plans/dreams. I have learned some valuable skills, done my job well, met a wonderful new friend, supplied the family with health insurance and winter fuel...

... and figured out that my other Plans/Dreams were not about to let me give up on them.

Ten months later Plans/Dreams have become Reality. I am officially a published writer and a certified journal-writing instructor. While I plugged along at my ever-increasingly dream-thwarting job I knew my decision to stay there was one of fear - fear of success.

So, a week ago, after a invitation to be a guest on a local TV show to talk about journaling and a positive meeting with the director of a holistic wellness center where I will be teaching, I drafted an email to my boss telling her I must follow my passion. I gave her a departure date of July 2. I saved the message in my drafts to send when I felt sure of my decision.

Last Tuesday I went to work to discover everything had changed. While the tension in the office had been extremely high over the last month as a controversial change in administration was anticipated, the accountants swarming over everyone's files was it for me. I had bigger and better things to do. I was poised on the edge of something great, afraid to jump, and here was my shove. Although a seemingly hasty move to resign "effective immediately," my decision was rewarded immediately.

Serendipity stepped in.

The very next day Hubby and I met with the director of another wellness center and found instant warmth and acceptance (Serendipity has a thing going for Hubby right now too). I also had two phone calls resulting in more teaching engagements and an email letting me know I was to be published again.

And all this just two days after the Writer's Refuge (a.k.a. my office) had been completed!

I have dreamed of being a writer, a freelance "something" for many years. I never thought my journal writing - which I would never admit was real writing - would one day become my career. And while you may say I am jumping the gun to say that it will be my "career," I am envisioning it, I am thinking positively, and I know good will come of it - it may look different down the line, but it will still be good.

So, Dear Ones, Be Not Afraid.

Think Positively.

Dream Big.

Envision your future.

Believe in You.

Believe in your Dreams, no matter how unreal they may seem at the time.

And most importantly, make decisions based on Authenticity not Fear.

Tell 'em Goethe sent you.

Get a room!

I am writing these words while sitting in my very own room - actually my own building! I am surrounded by nothing but my own things, not a plastic truck, baby doll or dirty dish in sight to remind me of all the other trillion things I "should" be taking care of. Most importantly, is it QUIET. Yes, I know, I am THE luckiest woman ever! But I have been manifesting this one for a long time (if I dug out some old journals I could prove it to you but you'll just have to believe me on this one).

The converted garage in our yard was a disaster: smelly, dirty, and just used for extra storage.

YUK!

But now, I am beyond pleased to present (drum roll, please)...

~ THE WRITER'S REFUGE ~

I have dreamed of having a "patio" like this for a long, long time. And as I am always saying, if you dream it, it will be. It still needs lots more flowers (preferably geraniums) but I must be patient.

Just out of the picture on the wall next to my table is a picture of Anais Nin, my muse. There is also a photograph of two chairs by my wonderful and very talented friend, Amy. It inspires and makes me happy to surrounded by beauty, creativity, and talent.

This is Hubby's chair next to his beloved craft and homesteading books...
I think he deserves a little corner for himself too.

I have to give Hubby huge thanks! He tore down the rotten walling in the back and then jeopardized his lung and brain functions by painting. What dedication to my dream! I won't show you pictures of upstairs. It is still disgusting... orange shag carpet and all! At some point that will become Hubby's space.

I am having a hard time keeping the kids out, they don't understand a mother's need for space and quiet. And how could I ever explain without making them think they are not loved? I read (or heard on NPR?) somewhere about a woman whose mother would tie a ribbon on her office door when she was not to be disturbed. The child felt rejected not understanding that her mother had other responsibilities besides loving her. That resonated with me. So now that I am no longer working out of the home I am going to try to only come here when they are at school or camp. When they are home I will hopefully feel less pulled by my need to write because I will have had real time to fulfill that desire. I can refill my "me" tank, then have the energy to put on my other hats - housewife, wife, mother.

Today I need this space. My emotions are spinning this way and that. I am elated. I am scared. I am feeling vulnerable. I am relieved. My next post will explain all.... please stay tuned.

The house in my head

There is a little house, a tiny house, with a big wicker chair on its little porch. Baskets of geraniums sway in the breeze. Inside the door there is another chair, this one overstuffed with books piled on its ottoman. In the winter, a small, round woodstove makes it cozy. The desk is large, empty, and inspiring.

This house sits in my back yard looking beautiful, inviting... and mine.

But not real.

This house has been in my head for many years. It is my "room of one's own," which Virginia Woolf tells me I must have. For me it symbolizes freedom, peace, and my dream of being a Writer.

My husband has been promising me for years that one day he would build me my little writing house. But now he doesn't have to...

In the back yard of the house we purchased a year ago is a two-story building. It used to be a small apartment but city zoning does not allow it to be rented. This loss of family income is my personal gain. Although it is far from the quaint, geranium-festooned cabin in my head, it is an empty space - a place to write in peace and order, where things stay put and not one stray pink sock is to be seen (I can dream, right?).

This weekend has been deemed Operation Mamaneedsaroom. The camping, skiing, and Christmas supplies will be carried to the second floor, the carpet cleaned, curtains hung, desk and books moved in, and pictures hung on the walls. My desk. My books. My pictures. My room.

Then the children and husband will be locked out.

Edited to say: Hubby's at Home Depot right now buying the new door lock with which he himself will be locked out. Makes my heart sing!

Standing on the edge

Ever feel like you are on the precipice of your dream?

I use the word "precipice" deliberately. My stomach is churning, I feel shaky, I might throw up. I am about to hurl myself into the unknown - pushed by forces stronger than me. I see my dream out there - can touch it even - but the initial leap is terrifying. Funny how getting what you want can be so frightening. Someone wrote once (Sarah Ban Breathnach, I think) that success is often scarier than failure.

But I must have faith that once I jump I will not crash on the rocks of failure below.

No, I know, once I gather my nerves and strap them to my back they will miraculously transform into creative energy. Passion. The universe/spirit will then acknowledge my confidence, my belief in myself. It will lift me and I will soar.

Let's Talk About Me

I had no patience with the children's antics tonight, and while I would like to turn to a glass of wine for solace, the bottle is dry. So, here I am hunkered over my laptop instead. Writing is my drug of choice and thankfully I don't have to put on a bra to go out to get it.

But, unfortunately, my bottle is also dry and I need to borrow a blog topic. This one is from Noble Savage: visit her - she's a working/writing mother who is intelligent, opinionated, and funny.

Here goes...

15 years ago today I would have been:

• Finishing up my thesis for my History Honors Degree (comparing the fashions of Renaissance and Victorian Europe... don't ask when I thought I would use that in real life.)
• Living at home.
• Driving around in a 1984 Subaru (the first car I purchased with my own money) with the license plate "Yeovil."
  

10 years ago today I would have been:

• Suffering through the death throes of a seriously wounded relationship.
• Living in a large house with two exotic dancers (not by choice).
• Working in the Trust Department of a bank but actively searching for something less boooorING.
  

5 years ago today I would have been:

• Fighting off fire ants and casserole-bearing church ladies in Mississippi after moving there a month earlier.
• Loving being a stay-at-home mom to 15-month Little Lady after leaving the Youth Orchestra where I had worked as Marketing Assistant for the last five years.
• Wondering what the hell I was doing 1,500 miles away from my parents and four seasons.
  

1 year ago today I would have been:

• Celebrating the first anniversary of being back in Vermont and two months in our own home.
• Walking from home to the coffee shop, library, book store, and park.
  
• Finishing a course in Children's Literature.
• Beginning a instructor-certification course in Journal-Writing.
• Laying out a program for a local theatre group.
  
• Starting Tator in playschool for two mornings a week so I could write...(ha! laundry had a way of ruining that plan.)
• In disbelief that Little Lady was finishing pre-school and headed to Kindergarten in a few months.
  

This year I am:

• A certified instructor of Journal to the Self through the Center for Journal Therapy.
• A published writer... finally!
  
• Working part-time in a 45-female-only gossip tank (there are two males but they sit there quietly enduring the catty-ness) and wondering every day if I'm crazy not to leave well enough alone.
• Writing whenever, whatever I can and trying to make (and stick to) writing goals.
• Attempting to overcome my "impostor syndrome" and schedule journal-writing workshops.
  

Today I:

• Actually got up early enough to write in my journal before the kids woke up.
• Walked to work.
• Endured another (extra) gossipy-catty-entitled-employee day at work (and I admit I was part of it).
• Did a Walmart diaper run (why are boys so hard to potty-train?).
• Talked to/got emails from three people interested in my workshop.
• Am watching American Idol (Adam, that should have been you!).
  

Next year I hope:

• Not to be working outside the home.
  
• To have a regularly-scheduled workshops and plenty of word-of-mouth advertising.
• To be more comfortable with submitting essays and queries.
• To have time to write (and actually using it to write).
• To have more readers on my blog (and maybe making money off it).
  
• That Hubby is settled in a job he really loves (and that we don't have to move because of it).
• To be balancing motherhood and me-hood better than I am now.
• Have the money to re-do our kitchen, build a sunroom, and fix up the "guest house" (converted garage) to make it "The Writer's Retreat" (and pigs might fly).
  

In five years I hope:

• To be Joanna: Freelance Writer and Certified Journal Therapist.
• To have a real group of friends.
• To be a (contributing) part of this community.
• That both kids are happy in school (but not participating in every extra-curricular activity).
• That I don't have three children.
• That I'm aging graciously and that my 40s are the new... ME!
  

Weekend or End of Rope?

Good bye! Have a good time at C's house!

Thank god, I mumble as I turn back to the house and my family drives off. Oh, come off it, don't judge me, you'd be happy too.

I look around my kitchen: the counters are scattered with dirty dishes, the floor sticky, soggy cereal in a bright orange bowl on the table. The toy room.... don't even look in there. Papers are piled on the den table and various toys and inside-out clothes are on the floor and couch. Winter coats, yet to be put away for the season (you never know when you are going to need them around these parts) are filling and falling off the pegs in the hallway, while boots, skates, gloves, and hats overflow from the bin, which, in a fit of organization I had put there to contain the winter necessities. Clothes in various stages of clean are busting out of the laundry room while the washer and dryer continue to chug away at their endless duty. The kids' room looks like a library and teddy bear factory collided, and the office (MY writing room) has more baskets of laundry than this blog has complaints. My desk has pans of sprouting seeds in the place where my laptop should sitting sprouting words instead.

Later today, I have to work - yes, on a Saturday - at a fundraiser. Last night I made a casserole (and I hate to cook) and ran to the grocery store for emergency vittles for said fundraiser. All I want to do is stay in the house and make it habitable again. Then I want to sit here and WRITE.

I think I ran out of hours at, "I have to work."

I can't do this anymore. My job, although I have cut my hours, is sucking the life out of me. I am not meant to be sitting behind someone else's desk listening to a co-worker barking orders and opinions to anyone who will listen. My "job" is to be everything that I have the potential to be. I am wasting my time for a lousy paycheck when I could be using those hours to pursue and excel at a writing and journal therapy career. Every minute that I spend eating donuts at a 5-hour management team meeting is a minute I could be spending on something that brings me joy and fulfillment.

When you consider buying masks to cover your children's faces for fear of pig-sty flu, it might be time to dedicate more time to cleaning. When your blog visits you in the night begging to be paid attention, it might be time to say no, I will not work this weekend. And when you are crying because that essay idea you had has vanished along with the 4th cup of cold coffee drunk while madly filling the dishwasher in the 2 seconds left before you have to leave for work, it might just be time to slow down, take a breath and say, "what the hell am I doing?"

And when someone at work decides you no longer need your own desk because you only work 18 hours, it might be a clue that it is time to leave all together.

If I am going to listen to my own advice about manifesting dreams and thinking positively I must do what I love. Magic happens when you pursue your dreams. Ignore them and you will not be happy.

Now, that I have gotten that off my chest, I must be back to sweeping up cat litter and stuffing four people's worth of snow attire into an already bulging closet.

P.S. I have so much more to write about the trip to England... please, stay tuned... and thank you, "Followers" for following!

Channeling my inner Madeleine L'Engle

While journaling yesterday I discovered I have an inner Madeleine L'Engle. When I picture the author of 'A Winkle in Time' and 'Circle of Quiet' (my favorite) I see a comfortably-sized lady in a African-style moo-moo, lots of large, clunky jewelry and a laissez-faire attitude about housework and bedtimes. I don't know if I have her pegged exactly but this image of her has taken residence in my soul.

On the outside I am a jean-wearing (no, NOT mommy jeans, mine are boot-cut and come nowhere near my natural waist, thank you), anxiety-ridden, not-so-much-fun mother. I don't know how to play and baskets of laundry piled in my office can send me into a frenzy. I don't have the patience to do much with my brillo-pad of hair other than stuff it away at the back of my head or put more on my face than a swish of bronzer and a dash of mascara. I do "do" jewelry - my hands feel embarrassingly naked without the oversized rings I prefer, but I frequently forget to wear the many necklaces and bracelets I angle for each birthday and Christmas.

But inside there resides a different woman. This woman wears long, floaty skirts, with boots in the winter and sandals in the summer. She has bangles up her arms and huge wooden ear-rings peeking from beneath her wild hair. She raises early to walk with her large dog and comes home to a tidy, sunny, beautiful, antique and art-filled office where in perfect serenity she writes all morning. She laughs easily and plays in earnest. In her sun room she dances with abandon to Indian and African drum music.

I have had this authentic person inside for many years, I just didn't know she had Madeleine for a muse.

Being authentic doesn't always go over so well when you've forgotten the cupcakes again for your daughter's snack day because you've been writing since 5AM. But through my journal I do hope to introduce and forge a relationship between these two selves. I truly believe if I can envision the life I want I will make it happen. My inner Madeleine peeks out sometimes when I am dancing with my children to a Bollywood video on YouTube or when, on a (rare) special night out I reach for the long skirt and complicated shell and bead necklace. This is the authentic, slightly eccentric me who Sarah Ban Breathnach urges us all to recognize and become one with in her book 'Simple Abundance.' It will take a little coaxing to get her out, she is a little shy right now, but I am working on her.

Mama got a byline

Two days ago there was a 8x5.5, unevenly folded, two-stapled magazine in my mail box, it's light lavender cover showing a pregnant mother earth holding up the sun and moon. I don't usually subscribe to such "hippie" mailings but I was particularly excited to have this publication show up at my door. Before I had even broken the tape seal I was jumping up and down in anticipation of what was inside.

And there it was... on the very first page!

My essay, my name: my first published work.

I don't care one bit that I was not paid or that it isn't in a full-sized glossy printed somewhere bigger and more important sounding. I actually love the fact that my first published essay is in a zine, lovingly put together in a small town just over the mountain by people who know people I know (I even know one of the other authors through my former job). I don't care that the number of readers will be tiny compared to those of the big "shinys." My only care is that I am on my way - to where exactly, I don't know, but I am on the path I have envisioned for myself for over a decade. And I sincerely thank the editor of Mama Says for giving me a leg up.

In March 1997, I wrote in my journal:

When I peer into an undated future (maybe 10 years)... I see myself in my own home, married... I never think of myself working [outside the home], no I'm writing... in a sunny room with birds singing outside the window...

Well, here I am twelve years later writing at a big desk in a sunny room (well, it would be sunny if this wasn't Vermont in mid January, and granted, I am only home from work today because my children are full of the ague). And next to me pinned to my cork board is the little magazine opened to a page with the title, "God and Condoms" with my name printed right below it.

I truly believe in manifesting your dreams, especially in writing. So many things have fallen into place for me because I had visualized and wrote about them first.

I have put in writing many times before my hope of becoming a freelance writer (and I am kind of partial to those paying types of jobs, please) but I am visualizing it here and now for you all to share (bear with me, s'il vous plait). I also have a new dream brewing.

OK, it's 2014. It is actually sunny in my sunny writing room. My children are at school (because in this dream they are never sick and preventing me from working) and I have a deadline for an essay I'm submitting to Brain, Child (my 5th one for them). This evening I will be walking over to the studio I have created in our converted garage to teach a journal workshop.

There's my mini dream. My nose is pointed down a path. I don't know the twists and turns the path will take but I know I will get somewhere good in the end.

Just a quickie

No, not that kind (get your head out of the gutter).

No, this is just a quick, boastful post to say...

I GOT PUBLISHED!

In Mama Says (this is the link to their blog, not the zine itself). My understanding is it is just a small Vermont publication, but I don't care. You have to start somewhere, right? and a homegrown zine in my own state is as good a start as any. It is an essay on talking to my children about God and religion. I can't wait to actually see my name in print.

And, on another happy note: It is official... I will be teaching a journal workshop at the end of February. I will be listed on the Writer's Center website with bio and everything (not that I have much of a bio).

I believe the life of my dreams is beginning to unfold. Ironically, it is happening at the same time as my day job, my dream job, is becoming a bit of a nightmare. It seems serendipity is poking in its nose making sure I am fulfilled and feeling appreciated at a time when I could be feeling far from it. And I have more proof of this.

Even though I am tired from work, battling children and housework, I have started singing again. Like Agnetha from Abba, I could sing almost before I could talk and I have been singing alone or in a group my whole adult life. My highest achievement was singing with the Vermont Symphony Orchestra chorus, which I had to leave when my unborn child insisted on sleeping on my lungs. Since then, I haven't sung much at all (which I will also blame on my children). But recently I joined a church choir that has an amazing reputation and an even greater repertoire. A few weeks ago after the performance of Messiah, the soloist approached me and hugged me because she, amazingly, remembered me from my VSO days (over 6 years ago). She told me she remembered I had a beautiful voice and was glad I was singing with Rip (the incredibly talented director of the church choir). I don't know where this will lead but I'll keep singing and wait to find out.

I tell you this, not to boast, but to prove my point: DO WHAT YOU LOVE... you WILL have success!

Waiting for the serendipity to stir

I realized I hadn't said much about serendipity or positive thinking lately. Since I started the job that was the result of a serendipitous event, life has become kind of run of the mill. Despite having not worked (out of the home) for 4 years I have slipped back into the routine and mindset of being in an office as if I just returned from a extended vacation. Thankfully this job has yet to stress me out like my last "real" job where I had publication deadlines, front-of-house crowd control issues, and the pressure of being a new, working, breast-pumping mother.

Even so, I think I'm a little down. I had finally started writing - or at least got my head in a place where I was (truly) ready to start - and now I'm wrestling The Schedule. I have marked up my planner until it looks like the departure board at Logan airport, blocking out every hour with this chore, that errand, appointments, work, and writing. But then that errand takes an hour longer than it should (due to the rice having been moved from aisle 4 to aisle 13 and pizza dough apparently no longer made) or a staff meeting and work project running over time, shrinking the scheduled writing time from three hours to one (which, of course, means no writing).

I'm glad I'm working and I especially can't wait to write a grant. Plus, we definitely needed the extra paycheck to get through this heating season. But I also feel that maybe - once again - I have put my own dream on hold. Did I do this on purpose; subconsciously sabotaging myself because I was getting too close to actually doing what I have dreamed of?

When you no longer have an excuse to fall back on, the responsibility of a dream can loom large and scary.

I think I have stopped thinking positively and looking for serendipity because my life has become, well, normal, and a normal life - boring life - doesn't foster spiritual thoughts. But I'm pretty sure that's where I'm making a mistake. If I did start thinking more positively about merging my working, mothering, and writing lives into a more do-able, less scary whole, I would most likely start to see the serendipity stir.

Serendipity

Something amazing has happened.

The universe saw that I, despite the Fear, was working toward my goal of becoming a writer and journal-writing teacher/therapist; believing in myself and my abilities. I cannot tell the whole story yet as nothing is official.

I have been trying hard to believe in what some call "manifesting" for many years. Long before the book The Secret hit the scene, I had read the same thing over and over: if you do what you love, success will come, the universe will align in your favor... Marsha Sinetar, Julia Cameron, Sarah Ban Breathnach; they've all said it and I've seen it.

I have been journaling for years so I have written evidence that when I have made decisions based on my dreams, not my fear, eventually - the good is not always immediately apparent - the road has turned in that direction, seemingly through no imput of mine... serendipity.

Take, for example, my family's crazy, asinine decision to move to Mississippi, of all places. We quit our jobs, rented out our house and hauled every last one of our belongings 1500 miles south to go live in a swamp. Why? Because we were both unhappy in our jobs (I wanted to be writing or least doing something more creative), we were sick of our drafty shack of a house, and I wanted to be home with our new daughter. Three years later, I am here having pursued various artistic ventures, and continuing to do so. I had to leave home to understand my true dreams and to trust them. To know what I truly wanted in life. And my husband? It worked for him too. He now has a Master's degree and is enjoying a new career.

We've moved back home now; another step out into the dark but one that yielded - and continues to yield - more success.

We took risks - a step away from stability, the known, the rut - and we have been rewarded with a new stabilty. Fulfillment.

Serendipity.