This is Our Time

When I joined the local Seniors’ Centre after retirement, I met many new women and men through the local clubs and activities. This is a place for strong, vital people who want the stimulation and surprises an active life still offers to those who seek it. They are interested and interesting.

The women are feisty. I put it down to having a lifetime of succumbing to other’s needs and demands, always playing second fiddle, and denying their own requirements and desires. Now, at this time of their life, they find themselves released from all those pressures and they aren’t going to do it anymore. This is a time for them.

The men seem chilled, calm. Perhaps they, too, are tired of life’s demands on them to support, guide, lead, be the boss, the one in charge. They are glad to release the reins of power to another. This is a time for them.

Our twilight years offer us a freedom from all the duties and obligations we have had for most of our lives. Children are grown, the nest is empty; jobs are complete, retirement beckons. This is a time for us, a time for women and men to live their best lives. We still have time.

Dance Lives In Me

The drummer in the corner kept the beat, a syncopated rhythm that began to find its way into my body. A heartbeat. Breathe in, breathe out.

“. . . 5, 6 7, 8, . . . “ the teacher called.

The dancers began picking up the beat, moving across the floor. Right foot, left foot, step, pause, step, pause. Arms extended outwards, wing-like, palms down, palms up, repeat, repeat, again and again. Upper body arching, look down, look up, see the earth, see the sky. Feet, arms, torso, eyes, caught in the rhythm, the body flowing, lost in the driving drum beat that kept us dancing. Heart, breath, body, as one.

Then suddenly, it all changed. On the next upswing my body became charged, pure energy poured out of me like a spotlight searching upwards for its mark. Its beam shot into the universe.

Judy, my teacher, yelled out, “Beautiful!”

I knew she meant it for me. She saw it. Somehow, it transformed me. My body dropped down with the next beat and as quickly as it had come, it was gone. The magic disappeared.

I stood in the corner of the room, the dance over, but my body still reverberated with that glorious experience of light where I became a conduit for a beam of energy that came from . . . where?
What just happened to me? Where did that come from?

And, just like that, I was hooked and I knew I would spend the rest of my life searching for that magic once again, hoping to find it, control it, use it to consciously express an art form that I was only just a novice in.

That day, I became a dancer.

I learned to use space, body, action, time, and energy to express my feelings and create dances and theatre pieces with movement and the body, the way an artist expresses their passion with paints and brushes, or a writer brings their thoughts and ideas to life with words.

For years, I studied contemporary dance and ballet, even for a period, classical East Indian dance. I learned a deep awareness of my body and its natural power. I learned to refine my movements, to strengthen and control my form. Through improvisation, I learned to trust the natural flow of the spirit, to allow it to find its own life within. I learned the art of choreography and was able to perform with a professional company for six years until the responsibility of a young family drew me home.

And yet, the passion was still strong. Where else but through dance can one fly or throw your energy to the stars, connect to the earth as a tree connects to the soil, and join with another’s soul?

I carried on teaching dance and performed my own works as a solo artist and with my young protegees wherever and whenever I could. I had taught dance for over fifteen years until I decided that at age 37, it was time for something different and I returned to university for a Bachelor of Education degree. I continued to perform but left the dance studio and focused my energies toward my own artistic projects and my school.

But the seeds of creativity had been planted deep and 11 years later, I was accepted to York University for a Master of Arts, Dance major. Now, once again, it was for me, just me. I continued to teach at my elementary school but dance bubbled up once again inside.

After retirement, my older body sought a new way of moving and Nia dance and conscious dance became vehicles to go deep within to my natural energy source, to find a technique that honoured who I had become. Once again, I re-visited improvisation, free flow, deep body awareness, and connection with others on the dance floor.

Today, dance continues to live within me. I am a dancer.

A Sit Spot

A Sit Spot — “A sit spot is simply a favourite place in nature (or looking out a window at nature) that is visited regularly to cultivate awareness, expand senses and study patterns of local plants, birds, trees, and animals. The practice supports mindfulness, builds routine and increases focus.” (www.wildsight.ca)

My friend/dancer Colleen Frances, introduced me to this phrase. She took a beautiful picture of me on a beach in Costa Rica before our morning dance class began, when I was just sitting alone, prayerfully, gratefully enjoying the morning sunrise. She told me that if we do this, pick a spot each day, the same spot, perhaps the same time, and then just open our senses to what is happening around us, the birds and the animals begin to expect us and things begin to happen. Things we would never have noticed if we hadn’t sat silently and expectantly are wondrously noticed by us.

We Are Wildness (www.wearewildness.com) says the five qualities of a perfect Sit Spot are “it is close, it has nature, it is solitary, it is safe, your attitude.” Any spot can be a perfect Sit Spot, even if it doesn’t appear that way at first.

Once we’ve chosen our spot, Colleen used the phrase RAW — Relaxed body, Alert mind, Waiting spirit, to describe the mental conditions we use when we sit at our ‘Sit Spot.’

My photographer friends often use this means of getting that perfect and unique photo. Stu McCannell, a skilled wildlife photographer, told us that the birds and insects and other animal life around us have habitual patterns that we can use to get that perfect shot. The Kingfisher returns to the same perch overhanging the river or the dragonfly has a favourite blade of grass or leaf to return to. In my garden, I know when to expect the robin for its nightly bath in my small pool.

My artist friend Suzanne Dyke, loves to sit in ‘plein aire’ and paint what she sees in front of her. Sections of my books have been written after sitting, contemplating nature and my own thoughts.

Choose a Sit Spot. Visit it every day. First, just sit, in quiet and alertness, watching and listening. You may be inspired to paint that picture, write that journal entry, take that photo, or it may just relax you and fill you with wonder at our beautiful natural world we have around us. “Stop and smell the roses” as they say. You’ll be better for it.

(Photo – Colleen Frances)

Love Better

This New Year’s Day I found myself reluctant to make any big resolutions. I am such a goal-oriented person and when I make a goal, I make a back-up plan for how it will come to pass, and then I’m checking my progress along the way at specific signposts. It has often become work rather than play. Meaningful work at the time but this year I thought, “Nah, I don’t feel that driven. I don’t want to put myself through that.”

And yet, I do want to move forward as a person. This year my aim is “To Love Better.” It sounds too simple and wishy-washy but it has big output when it’s put into place. I want to increase my circle to enlarge my world and take a bigger stand in it.

I want to listen better, contact you more often, be interested and care about you. I want to be more generous in my gifts of all kinds whether that be time, finances, or material goods. I want to be braver in stepping forward to be in your life. I have learned that I don’t need to be intimidated by you, we are all equally worthy.

I want to be more aware. I don’t need to be overwhelmed by you and your life. I don’t need to solve all your problems and take them on as my own. I just need to be there for you in small little doses or in bigger, more extended ways if it feels right and it’s helpful for us both.

I want to be more attentive, watch for the moments when I can step forward — by opening a door, letting you go ahead of me in line, helping carry your packages. I want to stop turning my back on world problems and learn about them and take responsibility for them. I can’t solve them but I can take little steps to change myself and my little place in the world by cutting down on my garbage output, my use of energy resources, and contributing to causes that promote good environmental practices. I can write about world problems and offer solutions guided by others to spread the word and offer aid when needed.

I would be amiss if I forget to include loving myself in my resolution. I want to focus on good health practices, by watching my diet, exercising regularly, and taking time for mental and spiritual growth.

I want to love my God, my spiritual guide better. I want to read more, talk more, learn more, share more, pray more, listen more. I want to be open and receptive. I want to be quieter and attend to You more.

It’s already sounding bigger and more complicated, isn’t it? It doesn’t have to be. All I have to do is keep my little mantra in mind, and in every instance in my life just keep saying it, “Love better.” When I start to whine and complain and I just want to give up, I say to myself, “Love better.” When you begin to irritate me and I find myself wanting to strike back in anger with bitter words or walk away, I say to myself, “Love better.” When I’m feeling overwhelmed and know that I deserve attention too, I say to myself, “Love better” and attend to my own needs.

It can be that easy. Just “Love better.”

The Nautilus Shell

Reading Mark Nepo’s “The Book of Awakening” last night, I found this beautiful passage and contemplation of the Nautilus shell creature that with time becomes a spiral shell. As it builds a new layer, it only resides in the newest chamber, leaving the other chambers to be full of liquid or a gas to aid buoyancy.

Nepo uses the Nautilus as a metaphor and lesson for our own lives: “…live in the most recent chamber and use the others to stay afloat. . . Can we internalize where we’ve been enough to know that we are no longer living there? When we can, life will seem lighter . . . only time can put the past in perspective, and only when the past is behind us, and not before us, can we be open enough and empty enough to truly feel what is about to happen.”

As hurting, wounded humans, we carry our pains and traumas around as added baggage that weigh us down and affect our daily lives in negative ways. Would that we could leave the weights of our stings and distress behind and move ourselves forward into our new lives, like the Nautilus, using our past tribulations to hold us up rather than hold us down.

How we do that is not easy. For me, research, reading, talking to others, listening to others, journal writing, quiet contemplation and meditation, walks in nature, and prayer all help me to internalize my life journey and then step back with the lessons I’ve learned to move in a positive forward direction. “Be here now” is a mantra that is built on our past experiences by not denying our past but not being weighed down and led by it.

Margaret in the Mirror – A Short Story

“Look in the mirror and what do you see?

All the faces of who I used to be.”

Barbara Heagy

Margaret looked into the bathroom mirror as she did every morning. She ran her fingers through her hair, eased out the tangles. Picking at the corner of her eye, she rubbed away the sleepiness of the night. As she leaned in to the mirror, she flexed her lips to check for stray pieces of food caught in her teeth. Stepping back, she glanced down for a moment and then back up to greet the face in the mirror. She struck her pose, her best look. Turning her face slowly to the right, then the left, she examined the small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. “That’s okay, they’re my smile lines,” she told herself confidently. The same smile lines curved down from either side of her nose to the edges of her lips. As if to prove it to herself, she smiled once at the reflection. And that’s when she noticed it.

A little spark, a twinkle in her eyes, a flash of mischief, looked back at her. Her silly, get-into-trouble three-year old face was still there, looking for the next amusement that would send her into high-pitched giggles and squeals of delight. She stuck her tongue out at it. No wonder she enjoyed her little grandson so much. He gave her licence to let the little girl out once in a while, to romp and play and be enchanted by the simple pleasures of life once again.

She took one step back away from the mirror and looked past that little girl to another reflection. This time a young girl, an almost woman, stood shyly in front of her. Margaret could see the bloom on her cheek, the tightly closed lips afraid to say the wrong thing, the averted eyes edged with long, curling lashes, that cautiously looked up at her, then quickly looked away again as they made eye contact. Margaret knew she still lived inside of her. Every time Margaret was faced with a new social situation, a new challenge at work, the insecure young girl appeared, telling her she just wasn’t ready, didn’t know enough, wasn’t capable of grand achievement.

Margaret stood a little taller, pulled herself erect into the whole woman she knew she could be. She looked again at the reflection. This time, she saw a grown woman. A woman about to be married. A woman who loved and knew she was loved. The face was rounder, the lips fuller, the eyes shone in confidence. It was a sensuous face, a glowing face, a face that was about to embark on a new journey with a man who loved her. Margaret could see the future in that face, full of promise, children, and new adventures. Margaret smiled at the reflection. It, too, was still a part of her.

But then she eased herself back into her own form. She stood a little less at attention, relaxed into the older body that was hers that morning. She looked back intently at the mirror.  The face she saw this time was even fuller, a little saggy, a few more wrinkles than she had first admitted to. But the eyes were calm, all-knowing, all-accepting. She was proud of that face – proud of every gray hair on her head, proud of every crease on her cheek and forehead. She was now a mature woman, a woman that was an accumulation of all her life experiences. A woman that had lived a rich, meaningful life; one of joy and pain, sorrow and celebration, and a full acceptance of it all. None of it was lost. It was still all there, reflected back at her from that beautiful face in the mirror.

Eramosa Eden Support

http://www.eramosaeden.org/

Eramosa Eden is a spiritual retreat centre for renewing body, mind, and spirit and, for the last five years, it has been an important place for me to replenish and inspire me as a writer, author, and photographer. They now need our help.

Over the period of five years, I have attended full-day writer workshops where I was given opportunity to meet with other like-minded people, to build a community of support and encouragement and to write freely in the variety of settings, both indoors and outdoors, in this beautiful and inspiring place. The rustic buildings, the cedar forest, the bubbling river are all conducive to creating an environment of peace and creativity.

For two years, I was happy to be part of the River Writers group that met bi-weekly in the rooms and buildings of Eramosa Eden where my writing skills and creativity were stretched and stimulated. How wonderful to have such a place to bond together with other creative and talented writers and authors.

My photography club, Into Focus Photography Club, which meets monthly at the Evergreen Seniors Community Centre, enjoyed a stimulating and productive day at Eramosa Eden taking photos of the natural beauty that abounds in this special place.

I, for one, would hate to see this veritable treasure of nature, creativity and spirituality, be lost to another cause or development. It has been an important part of my own growth, not only as a writer and artist, but personally, it has been a quiet retreat of beauty and replenishment, a place to renew my body and soul.

One need only to wander the rooms and the forest to see how important Eramosa Eden has been to many others who have dedicated their time, materials, and efforts to creating beauty in this magical place. Many have left behind a piece of themselves through paintings, weavings, and other creations, all as an offering of gratitude for what has been given to them.

The world needs places like Eramosa Eden. They act as sanctuaries of peace and creativity, places where one can get away from the maddening pace of our regular lives and replenish and stimulate our minds and senses in a quiet and beautiful natural setting. Can you help? Write a letter of support “To Whom It May Concern” and address it to Gloria Nye at glorianye@gmail.com

New Places, New Friends

Traveling not only give us the opportunity to see new places and experience new things, but it also brings new people into our lives. These people add special meaning to a vacation and many of them may remain friends long after the vacation is over. On my recent trip to Kauai, Hawaii, I met several wonderful people who I made immediate connections with.

The first connection was made after a church service in the lovely village of Hanalei. The pastor at the historical and beautiful Wai’oli Hui’ia Church was warm and friendly and eagerly invited any newcomers to stand, announce our names, and tell the congregation where we came from. The members of my family were the only ones who were Canadian.

After the service, a woman approached me and introduced herself as Carol Ann.

“My husband Michael and I are from Ontario too!” she said as she enthusiastically pumped my hand. “We love Hawaii. It’s such a special place.”

Later we ran into them again that same day at a slack-key guitar concert we went to and, this time, we spent a little more time chatting and we took a picture of the two of us for remembrance. We exchanged e-mails and said it would be wonderful if we stayed in touch once we returned home to Canada.

A few days later, my family was in the village of Kapa’a and, upon arrival, we each went our own way to do some shopping. I stopped in to a ladieswear shop called Tropical Tantrum. It was a feast for the eyes! The racks were full of tie-dyed and batik dresses and other clothes and accessories, each one original, each one bursting with colour, each one temptingly beautiful. I was drawn to one dress in deep purple jewel tones, spotted with soft turquoise butterflies. It reminded me so much of Tom, my deceased husband and our special relationship with butterflies. It wasn’t cheap so I decided to go for lunch and think about it. It didn’t take long. After lunch, I immediately returned to the store. This time the clerk, Charlene Wolfe, and I struck up a conversation. I told her about being a widow and that’s what drew me to the dress.

“I’m a widow too,” she said, “but I have remarried.”

I told her my husband’s name was Tom.

“That was the name of my husband too,” she exclaimed.

We both marvelled at the coincidence and I left her my business card and told her about my book “10” and my blog.

Little did I know, later that day she checked out my book on Amazon and was able to read a preview of the book. It told my introductory story of finding dimes everywhere and how the number 10 played such an important part in Tom’s and my life. At the end of the day, she had to count the $300 float and, lo and behold, she found it to be two dimes short. She was astonished at the synchronicity of it all. Barb came into my store two times, we both are widows, both our husbands’ names were Tom. I have to tell her. She immediately tried to call me, then text me but I wasn’t answering. (I wasn’t using my phone on this holiday.) As a last resort, she e-mailed me at the address on the business card.

The next day, my family had gone on a river cruise in the morning but stopped at Kapa’a for lunch. My brother Peter, his wife Sharon and I decided we wanted to try out a shrimp place so we dropped my sister Audrey and her husband Ted off and headed back to the restaurant. When we returned to the heart of the downtown area, it was very busy and parking was at a premium. We circled around once and then finally found a spot – right in front of the Tropical Tantrum Store. Who was in the doorway, talking to her husband, but the beautiful Charlene. She was shocked to see me!

“I’ve been trying to get you all day. Ed, this is the woman I was telling you about,” she said to her husband.

She eagerly shared her story and we both marveled at the magic of it all.

On our last day in Kauai, I dropped my family off at the airport so they could catch their 11 a.m. flight to Oahu. I, on the other hand, was returning to Canada on a much later flight, so I kept the rental car for the day and headed off to Kalapaki Beach in the town of Lihue.

At the end of the day, I was sitting at a picnic table under the trees so I could watch the beach scene and enjoy the scenery and people. One by one, locals started dropping in to sit at and near my table. One of them introduced herself, Monica, and said that she had just finished her work shift as a bus driver and every day she and her friends came down to these tables to just enjoy the sun, some cold beers, some music, a bit of food, and each other’s company. I ended up spending a wonderful two hours with these friendly locals and felt totally welcomed into their group. When I left, I made sure I took a picture of them so I could remember them.

One of them, Raymond, said, “I have something for you.” He dug into a box in the back of his truck and handed me a beautiful purple sarong. “To remember us by,” he said.

Each of them gave me a hug before I left and Monica called out to me as I was walking away. “If you’re ever here in Lihue again, drop in. We’ll be here.”

I smiled and told her I would be sure to do that.

Sitting in the boarding area at the Lihue Airport, I found myself sitting beside a woman and her husband. We got talking and found out that we both were retired teachers, and both our names were Barb. She and her husband had cut their vacation short due to an illness. They were flying back to Vancouver, then Calgary. We exchanged emails. I think of Barb and her husband often and hope they made it home okay.

My final new friendship was totally unexpected and I never did find out her name but we had a very special time together. The five hour flight from Lihue to Vancouver was a red-eye flight. The lights were turned low and most of the passengers slept for the duration. That, at least, was the plan. A few hours into the flight, I was awakened by a baby crying somewhere in the seats behind me. It was wailing, totally distraught, and would not be comforted by its mother at all. One by one, people started waking and lights were turning on. The flight attendants stopped at the parents’ seat and offered assistance but to no avail. The baby kept screaming and was getting more and more wound up. The staff decided to give us some beverages and snacks and for a while, we all were preoccupied with that, as the baby continued to cry. I felt so sorry for first, the baby, as it was so frantic and would not be comforted, and secondly, the parents, who I was sure were trying desperately to comfort their child but nothing was helping. The situation was getting tense. I thought, “Somebody needs to help them. Maybe I can do something.”

Very gently, I approached the parents and said, “Can I help in some way? I’m a gramma. I’ve held a number of babies in my time. Can I hold her? I don’t know if it will help but I’m willing to try.”

The mom looked at her little girl in her arms and said to her, “Do you want to go with this lady?” and, lo and behold, the little girl reached both arms up to me to be held.

I took her into my arms and just started walking up the aisle, shushing the little girl with comforting sounds, stroking her head of golden curls, and singing soft songs to her. I stopped up at the top of the aisle and just stayed there, rocking her and singing to her, as she slowly stopped crying, and began to gulp air in giant hiccups as she settled down. Bit by bit, she relaxed more and more, until I could feel her weight getting heavier and heavier in my arms. Slowly I shifted her to a cradle hold and just continued to hum soft lullabies to her. As she fell deeper and deeper into sleep, the flight attendant asked me if I wanted to sit down in the front seat which was empty. I told her I better not as every time I stopped rocking her she would wake and  whimper.

“Would you like a blanket?” she asked.

“She’s pretty hot. She got so worked up. I think she’s okay,” I replied.

She asked me, “Do you know the family?”

I shook my head and said, “No, but I know what it’s like to be holding a baby that won’t be soothed. I can only imagine what that momma felt like, so I stepped in to help.”

The flight attendant shook her head. “Wow. You’re a baby whisperer.”

Finally, I felt the baby was deep enough asleep that I could return her to her parents. Slowly, sidling sideways down the aisle to seat number 10 where they were sitting, I leaned over and gently put the little one in her mother’s arms. She immediately woke up and began to cry, reaching up to me, not wanting to leave my arms. I smiled and took her back and she instantly stopped crying.

“I’ll just sit here behind you in this empty seat,” I said, “and we’ll let her sleep.”

And that’s what I did for the next while until we entered air turbulence and we were told we should all buckle up for safety. I returned her to her parents and she woke out of a dead sleep and began to cry again. This time I just leaned over her, uttering soft shushing sounds and stroked her hair and forehead. She stopped crying every time she heard my voice, so the parents began to imitate my actions and voice. By this time, the plane was bouncing around quite erratically and I decided I better get back to my seat. The little one kept crying but not as badly and we knew that we were very close to landing.

Once we landed, we all disembarked and I thought that was the end of the story. Imagine my surprise, as I headed to my new boarding area for the final jaunt home to Toronto, I saw the family off to the side rearranging carry-on items.

The mom smiled when she saw me and said, “There’s your friend.”

As they walked off in front of me, the little girl looked over her mother’s shoulder and locked eyes with me. As they turned the corner to head off to their boarding area to Edmonton, I gave a final wave to my new little friend — a most precious one.

So — two weeks in Kauai, many new friendly encounters, and good memories. Travel offers us not only a change of scenery but an opportunity to form new bonds and widen our circle of friendship. That alone makes it so beneficial.

Flying Lesson #1

Flying Lesson #1                                                                                Barbara Heagy

Come fly with me.

Oh, I don’t think so.                                                                                                                                                                                      

            I can’t do that.

Yes, you can.

Just step close to the edge

And let go.

No. I’m not made for flying.

            I’m heavy, clumsy, aerodynamically unsound.

            Birds are made for flying,

            Not me.

It’s all in the attitude.

If you feel light and free,

You will be light and free.

Come. Let go.

No. It’s not natural.

            I am not a flier.

            Supernatural powers would

            Have to be involved here.

We are all fliers

If we let ourselves be.

We are all meant to soar

High above the limitations

We set on ourselves.

But I’m scared.

            I would be alone.

            What if I begin to fall?

Trust me.

You are a flier.

You are meant to fly.

It will be as natural

And effortless and easy

As it is for a bird that steps out on a branch

and casts its body into the breeze.

But you have to believe,

And you have to stretch out your wings.

Gather up your courage

And jump.

You will not be alone.

The wind and the air will be your companions.

Well, if I’m meant to fly

            Let me not be

            As loose things

            Tossed about at the whim of the wind.

            Dust and leaves and dandelion seeds

            Are not for me.

            I want to be as sure as

            The goose in its yearly migration

            About its destination.

No,

There are no guarantees.

But I can promise you this;

The world of flight

Will be full

Of wonder and surprises.

You will find freedom

And new strength

As you glide

And soar and swoop

Over unknown worlds.

And you will be

More than you ever dreamed you could be.

You sound so sure of yourself.

I am.

You make it sound so easy.

It is.

Now, are you ready?

Let’s F L Y . . . . . .

Writing for Healing – A Response Poem to Rumi

Back in June, I attended a writing workshop with Kat McNichol called “Writing for Healing” in Eden Mills. As one of the quick writing prompts, I wrote a poem Not Me.  It was written in response to the poet Rumi’s poem Not Here.

When the poem was introduced to us by Kat, I had such a negative internal response that I decided I should just deal with it in a written response. The result, created in five minutes, showed me the level of anger and weariness I had in dealing with the grief of my deceased husband and love of my life.

Kat asked if she could publish the poem in her online newsletter. Check out the poems (Rumi’s original and mine) and other stories by clicking on the link below.

A Response to Rumi

And by the way — if you have a chance to take a workshop with Kat McNichol, do it! She’s a fabulous teacher. There is another ‘Writing for Healing’ workshop coming up in October. Check for details at  www.dreamerswriting.com.

A Response Poem to Rumi’s Not Here

Not Me by Barbara Heagy

Oh, Rumi.
I do not want to hear this right now.
Don’t speak to me about bravery and sharp
compassion.
I have had howling hurt
And it sucks.

I have stood strong and full of courage.
“Turn and face the lions,” I said.
But the lions’ roaring pains my eardrums.
Their carnivorous breath makes me faint.
Their overpowering size tires me
As I pace the cage with them.

Copper and gold are not for me.
I have accumulated a treasure house of
such so-called riches.
Give me sun.
Give me breath.
God, give me pastrami.
Anything but more of your precious metals.

I am not half-hearted.
I am empty-hearted
Facing your sizzling ovens that shape the soul.

Empty-hearted, holding back,
I am now just well-enough and getting by.

Your challenge has depleted me,
Frozen my thoughts into debilitating ideas of
“I can do this.
This will be good for me.”

Well F’ you, Rumi.
I walk away from this challenge.
I’ve given at the office, thank you.