Rock and roll culture made drums a man's territory, but long ago the drummers were women. In the ancient cultures of the Mediterranean and Middle East, as well as parts of Europe, before patriarchal Christianity put its stamp on everything, the divine feminine was worshipped in rituals led by women frame drummers. Then, the female body was a holy thing, rightly worshipped for bringing the life of humanity into the world. The goddesses of ritual were feminine beings writ large, the macrocosmic expression of the spectrum of female experience and possibility, and both women and men worshipped them.
In time, women were disavowed as holy beings and shamed for an original sin: the dispensation of self-awareness, the encouraging of self-knowledge. Childbirth, no longer holy or honorable, became our "burden" and its blood and pain our "punishment" (imagine, we were sold that lie, we fell for it! That the miracle of Creation, itself, moving through us in service to Life is a punishment!). Our deep connection to the tides of nature and our temperament for healing were criminalized. Men led ritual, and women who continued to practice the worship of the feminine, and all that she represents, were harassed, publicly humiliated, imprisoned, tortured, and killed in the most atrocious ways.
That history lives within us all.
More and more, I see women reclaiming the divine feminine, and more and more I see them doing it to the beat of a drum. Admittedly, I am one of those women. I've always been excited by drums of every sort: frames, kits, hand drums, drums of every type, size, and sound. The tone can be visceral, commanding, trance-inducing, alluring, enticing, awakening, and transportive. The beat of the drum resonates throughout the entire body, a pulse-beat, a universal tempo to which we all respond, willingly or otherwise. Though I have no training on the drum, I have a natural sense of rhythm that encourages me to converse with it. I often turn to the drum when I feel that there is so much to say that nothing can be said. The drum speaks for me when I falter. I put my hands to it and the sound reaches back into my body and my psyche, and further informs the conversation. I sit or stand, drum positioned between my thighs, and play until I am quieted, until my hands are no longer moved by the creative, expressive force so mysterious and beautiful, until being alive in this body once again feels like an honor. The drum banishes fear, shame, expectation, deception, and woe, just turns it to dust and sets it on the wind. The drum plants my feet beneath me and affirms my courage.
More women should drum. Drumming is good for us: for our hearts (synching the drum's beat to that of our most precious organ); our throats (saying what we cannot or do not say with our voices); our imaginations (dreaming our world into being); our psyches (healing the scars of history, both personal and collective). Our vitality and integrity is our gift to the world, and the knowledge and exercise of this reality makes women extraordinary beings.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Fall
It astounds me how interconnected the seasons are, how shifting into one so profoundly calls up the other three. I am feeling the urge, as I do every fall, to lie down like a leaf in the deep forest, where no one treads, and become the soil. Just lie there as the fall deepens and turns to winter, as the snow comes and then piles up, foot upon foot, until spring awakens me again to the wonder of sunlight, warmth, and greenery.
The prospect of weathering another winter is wearying, yet I must prepare for it. Part of preparing for winter is preparing for spring. I was raised (I use the term loosely) in a California farming town in the San Joaquin Valley- that wide, fertile swath of land that joins Southern and Northern California. There, then, I was unaware of the seasons; though they, of course, occurred, the changes they brought were on a much milder scale than here in Western Massachusetts. There was less urgency, less need for the average person to weatherize their psyche.
I moved to Western Massachusetts in the winter of 1994, a record year for ice storms. I owned no parka, warm sweaters, hats, gloves, boots- no winter gear whatsoever. People told me that I would need to become a "snow bunny" to enjoy living here and to that I thought, "Fuck you." I longed for the beaches of Hawai'i, pined for the sheer cliffs, grand volcanic mountains, towering waterfalls, massive bamboo forests, and warm, wild ocean. I was miserable.
As the years passed, I acquired the appropriate winter gear that, at least, allowed me a modicum of comfort in a season I despised. Slowly, I began to accept that this is where my life was taking place, whether I liked it or not, so I'd better get with the program or I was going to become a bitterly unhappy, damaged person. I don't remember when I began to see myself as part of this ecosystem. It was years into living here, certainly. For so long I considered myself a foreigner, but at some point it dawned on me that adaptation was all that I had on my side.
Now, with each seasonal shift, I watch myself, I observe the shifts that happen within me and see how they mirror what is happening without. My son exclaimed, two nights ago, "It's 7 o'clock and it's as dark as midnight!" Indeed, the night comes sooner and falls darker than it did mere weeks ago, and with that darkening I watch my mind shift into a deep introspection, I witness myself preparing, mentally, for the long, cold season of darkness.
Because I live in a New England farming community, where we are so subject to the seasons, I have come to see myself akin to the flora and fauna surrounding me, I have come to identify with both the farmer and the crop. The farmer, in fall, is pulling the very last good food from the field and storing it for winter sustenance. In winter, the farmer has plenty of time to ponder, plot, and plan in preparation for spring's planting. "What will I plant in spring?" the farmer is thinking, and, in a way, those "seeds" have been planted.
Like the farmer, I find myself drawing in my late harvest, choosing what will sustain me for the winter and what I should discard. I am acknowledging that winter, that season of fallow fields, is coming very soon and preparing myself to meet its demands. Here, winter demands that we submit to its will. Yes, we can find ways to play with its snow, its intense cold, the ice that forms on the ponds, but these are still a submission. Winter wins.
As fall deepens, I recognize that winter will, once again, have its way with me, and ask me to decide what seeds I will plant in spring, grow in summer, and harvest again next fall. One season can never stand alone.
Today, I watch the gray and white clouds move swiftly across a blue sky and feel the forest calling. I want to walk for hours, until I can walk no further, then lie down like a leaf and merge. I don't want to face winter standing, I don't want to have to be so strong.
The prospect of weathering another winter is wearying, yet I must prepare for it. Part of preparing for winter is preparing for spring. I was raised (I use the term loosely) in a California farming town in the San Joaquin Valley- that wide, fertile swath of land that joins Southern and Northern California. There, then, I was unaware of the seasons; though they, of course, occurred, the changes they brought were on a much milder scale than here in Western Massachusetts. There was less urgency, less need for the average person to weatherize their psyche.
I moved to Western Massachusetts in the winter of 1994, a record year for ice storms. I owned no parka, warm sweaters, hats, gloves, boots- no winter gear whatsoever. People told me that I would need to become a "snow bunny" to enjoy living here and to that I thought, "Fuck you." I longed for the beaches of Hawai'i, pined for the sheer cliffs, grand volcanic mountains, towering waterfalls, massive bamboo forests, and warm, wild ocean. I was miserable.
As the years passed, I acquired the appropriate winter gear that, at least, allowed me a modicum of comfort in a season I despised. Slowly, I began to accept that this is where my life was taking place, whether I liked it or not, so I'd better get with the program or I was going to become a bitterly unhappy, damaged person. I don't remember when I began to see myself as part of this ecosystem. It was years into living here, certainly. For so long I considered myself a foreigner, but at some point it dawned on me that adaptation was all that I had on my side.
Now, with each seasonal shift, I watch myself, I observe the shifts that happen within me and see how they mirror what is happening without. My son exclaimed, two nights ago, "It's 7 o'clock and it's as dark as midnight!" Indeed, the night comes sooner and falls darker than it did mere weeks ago, and with that darkening I watch my mind shift into a deep introspection, I witness myself preparing, mentally, for the long, cold season of darkness.
Because I live in a New England farming community, where we are so subject to the seasons, I have come to see myself akin to the flora and fauna surrounding me, I have come to identify with both the farmer and the crop. The farmer, in fall, is pulling the very last good food from the field and storing it for winter sustenance. In winter, the farmer has plenty of time to ponder, plot, and plan in preparation for spring's planting. "What will I plant in spring?" the farmer is thinking, and, in a way, those "seeds" have been planted.
Like the farmer, I find myself drawing in my late harvest, choosing what will sustain me for the winter and what I should discard. I am acknowledging that winter, that season of fallow fields, is coming very soon and preparing myself to meet its demands. Here, winter demands that we submit to its will. Yes, we can find ways to play with its snow, its intense cold, the ice that forms on the ponds, but these are still a submission. Winter wins.
As fall deepens, I recognize that winter will, once again, have its way with me, and ask me to decide what seeds I will plant in spring, grow in summer, and harvest again next fall. One season can never stand alone.
Today, I watch the gray and white clouds move swiftly across a blue sky and feel the forest calling. I want to walk for hours, until I can walk no further, then lie down like a leaf and merge. I don't want to face winter standing, I don't want to have to be so strong.
Friday, July 13, 2012
The Metaphor of Dance
As a lifelong writer of journals, poems, short stories, and long letters, I have found metaphor to be a comforting companion. Allowing one idea, image, symbol, experience to stand in for another helps me to be a person with a flexible mind and an open heart- the kind of person I enjoy being. Throughout every day, I find opportunity to reach into my experiences of past and draw into the present lessons learned from them. Maybe this is what wisdom looks like? I don't know. I can see, though, that as I mature, I have this well-spring of deep experience which feels like solid ground beneath my feet, and I find this comforting.
I dance. A lot. With a group of extremely kind and supportive people. Lately, I have been finding that what serves me in dance also serves me in other areas of my life. For instance, initiating dance movement from my core allows me to be more centered and balanced, and infuses my movement with greater strength and purpose. Allowing my limbs to follow the movement of my core muscles translates into more fluid, satisfying, beautiful dance and helps me connect with my partner more openly, because I am grounded in my own strength and bodily intention.
Something beautiful which is growing from the development of core strength and sensitivity is the ability to transition easily between "leading" and "following," something that I have found challenging in both dance and everyday life. Reading circumstances, trusting my senses to perceive accurately, and fluidly responding with one or the other role is something that I am learning through dancing with partners, and this burgeoning ability is finding a place off of the dance floor, as well. I no longer have to be dominated by my hyperactive drive to control, to lead, for I am finding trust in my own body's ability to respond to the cues it is receiving. Following is not a passive activity, in dance or otherwise! It requires physical and mental engagement, muscle development, and a willingness to get intimate with my inhibitions.
Dedication to dance is like cultural immersion. The more I dance with other, more experienced, dancers, whom I consider the Denizens of Dance, the more facile I become with the non-verbal language of balance and counter-balance that dance instills and demands, and the more a part of the human culture of dance expression I realize I have always been. In dance, I feel at home- in my body, in my emotional expression, in the company of people who, like me, find joy there. Dancing with others is an exploration of the boundaries of body, mind, energy; most often, I find that there is little that separates me from you. To find this on the dance floor tells me that I can find it anywhere I put my body.
So often, I catch myself ossifying into a state of isolation and individuality. Certainly, there is a time and place for boundaries, but possessing the ability to see through those boundaries and acknowledge that our true state is unity, that we are all made of the same matter, shimmering with the same impulses, feels important to me. I don't want to make myself so singular that I cannot see myself in everyone else I encounter. Ultimately, I am no different from any other human on this planet and dance allows me to see this so frankly. When I move onto the dance floor with another person, and we engage in the tension that exists between our two bodies, I imagine that I have been given the opportunity to jump out of my body and into theirs. I want to feel their bodily impulses move through me, and so I allow myself to be led, to feel my partner's core expressions as a physical roadmap: here is where we are going. I can't know where we are going before I set out, though. I have to just get right with myself at the outset and accept that for me to get anywhere I will have to pay attention to where I am. When the music ends after such a dance, I find myself feeling immeasurably peaceful and full of joy. Moving through space in synch with another person's body is so freeing and so beautiful. It moves my heart to the point of awe.
My entire life, I have dreamt, literally, about dance. I dream about flying an awful lot, also, but that is another story. In my dance dreams, I possess abilities that I have not yet realized in my waking life: I soar, I leap, I turn, I possess muscular acuity that my waking self has never known, and I choreograph the most beautiful dances for myself and others. Sometimes, I long to sleep just to dream these marvelous realities into being. In my dreams, I possess no self-limitations, I am unabashedly alive with dance. As I move more deeply into this undertaking of dancing with others, I am consciously challenging myself to summon up this dreamlife dancer that is me, to tap into what my unconscious knows about how to dance while I am awake. The limitations that I possess are of my own making, in all areas of my life including dance. Dancing with others lately, I see that I can have what I want: free body, free mind, bodily and emotional connection, happiness. It all comes to me in that place, and if it is there, it is available wherever I am.
In the space where I dance, amongst this ever-windening group of people, there exists a remarkable degree of acceptance of one another. I have seen people break wide open and sob on the dance floor, heard spontaneous wails, cries, animal sounds, and songs erupt from the mouths of fellow dancers, witnessed people moving in ways that wouldn't appear much like dance to the average observer, and generally been privy to a vast spectrum of human expression. I am accustomed to a high degree of emotional intensity- I realize that my intensity threshold is very different from many people's- and even I have been startled at times by the rawness of what people reveal to one another at the dance. And I am affirmed by this witnessing, I am humbled by the trust- in themselves and in me- that is shown by the members of my dance community, I am inspired to allow myself to drop into the whatever lurks, lingers, hunkers, slumbers, swims, darts, dashes or dwells within my psyche when I am in this stunningly safe environment.
Lately, I watch myself carrying into the world what I have found on in the dance and I am grateful for the power of transformation, the power of metaphor. Dance is awakening qualities in me that I want to share with the world, so when I feel challenged I pause and summon up the dance floor where I have seen that the strength of my core's intentions is expressed by the rest of my body; fluidly moving between the active states of leading and following makes me a more flexible, responsible person, which in turn allows me to move out of my habitual state of isolation and extreme individuation and engage in synchronistic flow with others from whom, on the most basic level, I am no different; recognizing and disabling self-imposed limitations is a constant possibility; and the safe and vast expression of emotion is fundamental to well-being. Time and again, the practice of dance and its many lessons, so easily transferred to my everyday life, lifts my spirits and fills me with joy.
I dance. A lot. With a group of extremely kind and supportive people. Lately, I have been finding that what serves me in dance also serves me in other areas of my life. For instance, initiating dance movement from my core allows me to be more centered and balanced, and infuses my movement with greater strength and purpose. Allowing my limbs to follow the movement of my core muscles translates into more fluid, satisfying, beautiful dance and helps me connect with my partner more openly, because I am grounded in my own strength and bodily intention.
Something beautiful which is growing from the development of core strength and sensitivity is the ability to transition easily between "leading" and "following," something that I have found challenging in both dance and everyday life. Reading circumstances, trusting my senses to perceive accurately, and fluidly responding with one or the other role is something that I am learning through dancing with partners, and this burgeoning ability is finding a place off of the dance floor, as well. I no longer have to be dominated by my hyperactive drive to control, to lead, for I am finding trust in my own body's ability to respond to the cues it is receiving. Following is not a passive activity, in dance or otherwise! It requires physical and mental engagement, muscle development, and a willingness to get intimate with my inhibitions.
Dedication to dance is like cultural immersion. The more I dance with other, more experienced, dancers, whom I consider the Denizens of Dance, the more facile I become with the non-verbal language of balance and counter-balance that dance instills and demands, and the more a part of the human culture of dance expression I realize I have always been. In dance, I feel at home- in my body, in my emotional expression, in the company of people who, like me, find joy there. Dancing with others is an exploration of the boundaries of body, mind, energy; most often, I find that there is little that separates me from you. To find this on the dance floor tells me that I can find it anywhere I put my body.
So often, I catch myself ossifying into a state of isolation and individuality. Certainly, there is a time and place for boundaries, but possessing the ability to see through those boundaries and acknowledge that our true state is unity, that we are all made of the same matter, shimmering with the same impulses, feels important to me. I don't want to make myself so singular that I cannot see myself in everyone else I encounter. Ultimately, I am no different from any other human on this planet and dance allows me to see this so frankly. When I move onto the dance floor with another person, and we engage in the tension that exists between our two bodies, I imagine that I have been given the opportunity to jump out of my body and into theirs. I want to feel their bodily impulses move through me, and so I allow myself to be led, to feel my partner's core expressions as a physical roadmap: here is where we are going. I can't know where we are going before I set out, though. I have to just get right with myself at the outset and accept that for me to get anywhere I will have to pay attention to where I am. When the music ends after such a dance, I find myself feeling immeasurably peaceful and full of joy. Moving through space in synch with another person's body is so freeing and so beautiful. It moves my heart to the point of awe.
My entire life, I have dreamt, literally, about dance. I dream about flying an awful lot, also, but that is another story. In my dance dreams, I possess abilities that I have not yet realized in my waking life: I soar, I leap, I turn, I possess muscular acuity that my waking self has never known, and I choreograph the most beautiful dances for myself and others. Sometimes, I long to sleep just to dream these marvelous realities into being. In my dreams, I possess no self-limitations, I am unabashedly alive with dance. As I move more deeply into this undertaking of dancing with others, I am consciously challenging myself to summon up this dreamlife dancer that is me, to tap into what my unconscious knows about how to dance while I am awake. The limitations that I possess are of my own making, in all areas of my life including dance. Dancing with others lately, I see that I can have what I want: free body, free mind, bodily and emotional connection, happiness. It all comes to me in that place, and if it is there, it is available wherever I am.
In the space where I dance, amongst this ever-windening group of people, there exists a remarkable degree of acceptance of one another. I have seen people break wide open and sob on the dance floor, heard spontaneous wails, cries, animal sounds, and songs erupt from the mouths of fellow dancers, witnessed people moving in ways that wouldn't appear much like dance to the average observer, and generally been privy to a vast spectrum of human expression. I am accustomed to a high degree of emotional intensity- I realize that my intensity threshold is very different from many people's- and even I have been startled at times by the rawness of what people reveal to one another at the dance. And I am affirmed by this witnessing, I am humbled by the trust- in themselves and in me- that is shown by the members of my dance community, I am inspired to allow myself to drop into the whatever lurks, lingers, hunkers, slumbers, swims, darts, dashes or dwells within my psyche when I am in this stunningly safe environment.
Lately, I watch myself carrying into the world what I have found on in the dance and I am grateful for the power of transformation, the power of metaphor. Dance is awakening qualities in me that I want to share with the world, so when I feel challenged I pause and summon up the dance floor where I have seen that the strength of my core's intentions is expressed by the rest of my body; fluidly moving between the active states of leading and following makes me a more flexible, responsible person, which in turn allows me to move out of my habitual state of isolation and extreme individuation and engage in synchronistic flow with others from whom, on the most basic level, I am no different; recognizing and disabling self-imposed limitations is a constant possibility; and the safe and vast expression of emotion is fundamental to well-being. Time and again, the practice of dance and its many lessons, so easily transferred to my everyday life, lifts my spirits and fills me with joy.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Student Life
In the fall of 2011, I embarked on the journey to a new career. I had to begin at the beginning, so I researched local colleges and universities which specialize in my area of interest and decided on Bay Path College, a small, women's college in Longmeadow, MA. The enrollment process (including financial aid) was painless, as the administrative staff is composed of a team of well-informed, can-do ladies who practically handed me the money to make my education possible. In the last days before starting classes, I learned that I had not turned in all of my medical forms, so I spent my first week of classes running around from doctor's appointments to medical labs, making a slew of phone calls to connect my college with the information they needed to approve me as a healthy student. It was an error I will not be repeating.
Adjusting to campus life was hard. At first, because of the difference between my age and that of the rest of the student body, I felt out of place and awkward. Walking around campus was like walking the gauntlet, with hundreds of curious eyes trying to figure me out. Getting myself from one class to the next, budgeting my time thoughtfully, and remembering how to most efficiently learn a giant body of new information all proved challenging. A few weeks in, though, I finally found my stride and began to enjoy the entire process. The connections being made between the various subjects I was studying were exciting; not confined to my mind, the "AHA!" moments were visceral.
Because I had not previously studied American Government, the Constitution become the central point of all learning I did last semester, as it factored significantly in not only that class but in my Introduction to Law and Violence and Non-Violence In North America courses, as well. Becoming more aware of our country's constitution immediately caused me to more highly prize the freedoms that document has awarded me, while making me a more politically aware person. I better understand the process by which our legislation is made and more clearly see the need for greater oversight of our legislative body; we, the people, need to demand more of Congress! Also, I began to understand why there is debate between those who view the Constitution as a living document, the language of which must be interpreted via the context of contemporary society, and those who cling tenaciously to the linguistic intent of those who framed the Constitution asking, "What did the Framers mean when they said..." I learned more about the American Civil Rights movement than I have ever known and feel privileged to live in a society that produced people of such magnanimity as the leaders of that movement were. Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, via his judicial authority and great personal conviction, forever altered the course of race relations in America. His contribution to our society could never be overestimated. Examining the amendments to the Constitution, I was deeply moved by the fact that people just like me fought long and hard to widen the scope of language that was too vague at the time of the Constitution's creation. Due process of law and equal protection under the law, made the supreme law of the land via the 5th and 14th Amendments, are the foundation of our legal system. Imagine life in civil society without them. Without doubt, learning about the Constitutional foundation of the law illustrated clearly how necessary it is to fight to protect the very rights the Constitution gives us and affirmed for me my purpose for studying law.
I started my second semester a few weeks ago. I'm taking six classes, four of them legal studies. At this point, they are all reinforcing one another so well that I cannot remember in which class I learned what. All that matters is that I'm getting it. We don't sit around committing theories and statistics and vague hypotheticals to memory. We're just jumping in and doing it. In my Business Law class, we've been divided into groups of three and each group is going to start a business. By doing this, we will take every step together and learn about the legal principles guiding and present in the business world. In Introduction to Litigation, we are, as a class, constructing a civil litigation case which we will see to its resolution. In Legal Research and Writing, we are doing just that- researching cases, writing briefs, drafting letters, etc. Being directly hands-on makes all of the work more real- I'm not just a student, I'm a burgeoning Legal Assistant! The transformation is wondrous.
Dedicating ourselves to constant betterment is incredibly rewarding. Not satisfied to rest on the laurels of my past achievements, I feel challenged to, always, unearth the best of myself and transform what I find into a gift which can be of some service to others. It is this process which gives me a true sense of purpose and fulfillment, something I feel truly privileged to exercise.
Adjusting to campus life was hard. At first, because of the difference between my age and that of the rest of the student body, I felt out of place and awkward. Walking around campus was like walking the gauntlet, with hundreds of curious eyes trying to figure me out. Getting myself from one class to the next, budgeting my time thoughtfully, and remembering how to most efficiently learn a giant body of new information all proved challenging. A few weeks in, though, I finally found my stride and began to enjoy the entire process. The connections being made between the various subjects I was studying were exciting; not confined to my mind, the "AHA!" moments were visceral.
Because I had not previously studied American Government, the Constitution become the central point of all learning I did last semester, as it factored significantly in not only that class but in my Introduction to Law and Violence and Non-Violence In North America courses, as well. Becoming more aware of our country's constitution immediately caused me to more highly prize the freedoms that document has awarded me, while making me a more politically aware person. I better understand the process by which our legislation is made and more clearly see the need for greater oversight of our legislative body; we, the people, need to demand more of Congress! Also, I began to understand why there is debate between those who view the Constitution as a living document, the language of which must be interpreted via the context of contemporary society, and those who cling tenaciously to the linguistic intent of those who framed the Constitution asking, "What did the Framers mean when they said..." I learned more about the American Civil Rights movement than I have ever known and feel privileged to live in a society that produced people of such magnanimity as the leaders of that movement were. Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, via his judicial authority and great personal conviction, forever altered the course of race relations in America. His contribution to our society could never be overestimated. Examining the amendments to the Constitution, I was deeply moved by the fact that people just like me fought long and hard to widen the scope of language that was too vague at the time of the Constitution's creation. Due process of law and equal protection under the law, made the supreme law of the land via the 5th and 14th Amendments, are the foundation of our legal system. Imagine life in civil society without them. Without doubt, learning about the Constitutional foundation of the law illustrated clearly how necessary it is to fight to protect the very rights the Constitution gives us and affirmed for me my purpose for studying law.
I started my second semester a few weeks ago. I'm taking six classes, four of them legal studies. At this point, they are all reinforcing one another so well that I cannot remember in which class I learned what. All that matters is that I'm getting it. We don't sit around committing theories and statistics and vague hypotheticals to memory. We're just jumping in and doing it. In my Business Law class, we've been divided into groups of three and each group is going to start a business. By doing this, we will take every step together and learn about the legal principles guiding and present in the business world. In Introduction to Litigation, we are, as a class, constructing a civil litigation case which we will see to its resolution. In Legal Research and Writing, we are doing just that- researching cases, writing briefs, drafting letters, etc. Being directly hands-on makes all of the work more real- I'm not just a student, I'm a burgeoning Legal Assistant! The transformation is wondrous.
Dedicating ourselves to constant betterment is incredibly rewarding. Not satisfied to rest on the laurels of my past achievements, I feel challenged to, always, unearth the best of myself and transform what I find into a gift which can be of some service to others. It is this process which gives me a true sense of purpose and fulfillment, something I feel truly privileged to exercise.
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