No*

Nearly two years ago, I wrote my very first book review for a thriller novel called Triple Cross Killer by Rosemarie Aquilina. Since then I've done 19 others. A question I am frequently asked is if I'm being paid to do them. The response I want to give is "does it matter" or "it's none of your business." Instead I respond with a smile and say no because I'm really being asked if I'm being given money. A more honest answer is no* but I'm not aware of a speaking equivalent of an asterisk. If you know what it is, tell me!

I would add the asterisk because if you dive further into the meaning of payment, you'll see it encompasses more than just cash. You already know this. Think of how many times you've said or heard "it's the thought that counts" when you can't purchase a tangible gift for someone and instead make a phone call or send a note. The top three meanings of payment, according to dictionary.com, are (1) something that is paid; an amount paid; compensation; recompense; (2) the act of paying; (3) reward or punishment; requital. The payment I'm being asked about is a 1 or 2 - and the answer is no. The payment I'm actually getting, the asterisk, is a 3 (minus the punishment part). The payment I'm given is invaluable and no amount of money in the world could replace it.          

SIDEBAR- look up the word 'fly' - it has over 30 meanings!!

I've been introduced to dozens of fantastic books, genres ranging from romance and poetry to thriller, suspense and fantasy. Some of these are books I may have never picked up because they aren't something that would normally interest me. For some, I'm given a link to download the book at no monetary cost in exchange for my HONEST opinion about it - the review. Releasing your book, or any piece of art, is an incredibly vulnerable thing to do as it offers up a piece of yourself to the consumer. Giving it away AND asking for someone's opinion about it - that's next level!

What does this exchange do? It helps authors who often do their own marketing get greater exposure for their product and it gives me the opportunity to read and write, both of which I love to do. The review, whether mine or someone else's, also gives other readers a peek into the book beyond the author's synopsis. Anyone can read the summary to learn what a book is about, but knowing how someone responded to it can be the difference between someone choosing to purchase it or not.

Reading and reviewing also helps me with my own writing journey. I learn as much, or more, by reading than by writing. While there aren't laws or rules that dictate how to write a book, there are things that work and things that don't. Reading books, especially those that align with the kind of books I'd like to write, gives me a greater understanding of this. Writing courses and workshops are important and helpful but don't teach everything.

Beyond entertainment or writing tips, I've found inspiration in places I didn't expect to. Inspiration for both creative and personal development. Katherine Hastings is a romance author whose books I've come to love - I also adore her! After releasing The Big One in 2019, she released two novels in her Door Peninsula Passions series. In the first one, The Other Half, the main character Cassandra is in tears and thinks back to what her father used to tell her - "Cry your tears, but then remember, tears solve nothing. Instead of crying over your situation, give me three ways you can fix it."

As a person who cries a lot, this really resonated with me. It is okay to cry!! It is therapeutic to cry!! But what does it solve? NOTHING. If all you're doing is crying, nothing is changing, which means nothing is getting better. I've probably been told this or something similar before reading it in a romance novel but this was the first time it stuck with me. Do I sit down after every good cry and make a physical list of things I can do to change the situation? No. But I do spend time meditating over the situation and evaluating my options.

Yes, it takes time to read a book and write a review. And the reviews aren't always easy to write. Sharing your opinion should be easy - write what you think. I could simply write "I like or dislike this book because..." and then give a list of reasons. I don't do this though. I take a more journalistic approach and try to give it a personal angle. I want authors to know what the book means to me, not just why I like or dislike it. The amount of time I spend reading and writing a review pales in comparison to the amount of time it takes to write a book. I had no idea! And if an author is willing to share their book with me, it deserves time and attention. THEY deserve for it to be handled with care.

The circle of people that's developed around me is the greatest reward of all. I've learned no one writes alone and I've gained a network of fabulous people who welcome any question anytime, no matter how silly it may seem. Sometimes they even ask me for help, which is even more surprising. The only reason I ever wrote the first review is because I was asked to. I wasn't expecting anything in return, least of all money. I had no idea I would make any friends.

So if you're wondering if I get paid for doing reviews, the answer is no*.







The quote from The Other Half is being used with the author's permission.

You are Art

My favorite actress is Sandra Bullock and of all her movies, 28 Days is my favorite! If you haven't seen it, it's about a journalist named Gwen who is an alcoholic. After a series of drunken mistakes, she is court ordered to a 28-day stay in rehab. Is it her best movie? Probably not, and I know it isn't her funniest. But it's my favorite because of how relatable it is for me.

I am not an alcoholic but I have been in rehab, oddly enough around the same time the movie was released in 2000. My treatment was mostly outpatient but after a suicide attempt between morning sessions at therapy, one that stopped my heart and landed me in the hospital, I was admitted to inpatient treatment.

While I appreciate irony, attempting suicide while in rehab for previously attempting suicide is one of the worst examples you can find. If you've seen the movie, you'll know Gwen's roommate Andrea attempted suicide more than once while they were there. Andrea was the youngest patient in the facility at the time and the same was true for me. Everyone "adopted" me as their daughter or little sister. She also watched soap operas - GUILTY!

When I overdosed and collapsed, the young woman who found me was another patient - the one whose drugs I combined with my own. She was on crutches at the time because of a broken leg. When Andrea is found passed out from an overdose, Gwen is wearing a boot on her leg because she jumped out the window to fetch the pills she'd previously dumped.

All of this is not a great endorsement for the movie - or rehab - but there is something beautiful about it. In the movie, each person is given a sign to wear that says "confront me if...." followed by whatever they need to resolve. Gwen is to be confronted if she doesn't ask for help. When someone completes their stay, they're given a send-off that includes everyone singing "Lean On Me." Andrea thinks this is ridiculous, and when it's her time to leave, Gwen has something special planned for her. She rallies a group of patients to act out a soap opera scene instead of the traditional sing-off! Then they each give her a sign that has something inspirational written on it. The sign Gwen makes says "Don't ever be someone's slogan because you are poetry." This is one of my favorite quotes of all time and a great reminder that someone, somewhere, sees beauty in us even if we can't see it ourselves.

I posted a picture recently of a temporary workspace I set up in my garage for a virtual writing workshop. Someone astutely observed that we have wall hangings in our garage. I never thought much about it, and anything in there is something we have no place for inside but still want to keep.

On one wall, we have calendars my dad drew when he worked for Bob and Tom at Q95 Indianapolis decades ago, all or mostly from the '80s. On another wall we have an Indiana Pacers flag, an Indianapolis Colts picture, and something my mother-in-law knitted or crocheted or something (I really don't know). The last thing is a stained glass piece my dad put together. I think it's older than me and it's heavy and very fragile. Some of the pieces are cracked and they shift a bit if you move it. It's not hanging inside because I don't have a good window on the east or west side of my house to catch good sunlight.

If you dissect a stained glass window, you'll find pieces of broken glass, rough and bumpy around the edges, that on their own aren't much to look at. If you found one single piece of glass lying on the ground, you might even throw it away. But when you pick up the broken pieces and put them together, something beautiful is created.

Set off-center and to the right is a mirror. It kind of looks like a mitten. Like the rest of the pieces, it is broken and rough around the edges. This is the only part you can't see through. The part that makes you look back at yourself. The part of a beautiful mosaic where you are the final piece.

I have a difficult time every single day wondering where I fit into this world. I am able to find beauty and goodness and worth in everyone I'm surrounded by - no matter how broken they are, and all of us are. But if we take a minute to see how all of our broken pieces fit together, we might be able to find something beautiful.

Remember - to someone, you are poetry or the final piece of a mosaic. YOU ARE ART!

Capable

Something I have struggled with for most of my life is believing in myself. I don't take advantage of opportunities offered to me or step outside of my comfort zone unless it's necessary because I am constantly convinced I'm going to fail. 

 

The first time I wrote a book review, I spent the better part of a day worrying about it. When I sent what I'd written to the author, her response was "you should do this for a living." I was blown away by the compliment, and maybe one day I'll do just that. But even with such high praise, I wasn't confident I could do it. The five or six subsequent reviews I wrote I asked her to read before I published them. It took this many times of being told I could do it before I believed I could do it. I've made it to a place where I don't ask her to review them anymore.

 

The last couple of years I've been trying to put more focus on being kinder to myself because I am surrounded by people who DO believe in me. They would never say the things to me that I say to myself. And I'd never say those things to them. I've been trying to do things for myself that inspire me and simply bring me joy, such as writing. When I find myself in situations that are new, whether personal or professional, I seek the same kind of reassurance that I did when I started writing book reviews. 

 

I have found that if I give myself a little bit of grace and kindness, I am very capable of doing things. It often just takes a moment to pause, breathe and quiet the noise. The noise that I've created. The noise that is just that - noise. If I can get through that, I can hear the words others say to me, and listening to those words instead of the ones I tell myself gives me the kick in the ass to go try something. I love words and think they hold a great power, whether said internally, read or heard from someone else.

My phone background is a screenshot of kind words from a friend that I can read anytime. Maybe that sounds ridiculous but it's one small thing I can turn to - and see many times daily - when I need a little reassurance. To complement my background, I recently purchased a bracelet from MyIntent.org. These are not mass produced and you can get any word - YES ANY WORD - you choose pounded into the charm. I learned about this company months ago from a life coach and wanted one immediately, but I didn't want to choose just ANY word. I wanted a word that was meaningful to me but not one that was too easy. I was looking for a word that would be challenging but not intimidating. And with the bazillions of words there are, it seemed daunting to find ONE. 

 

After some contemplation, I chose the word CAPABLE. This is a word that is a reminder of a lot of things - that I can succeed, that I need to be kind to myself and try, that I am surrounded by other people who believe in me. But most of all, it reminds me that I AM CAPABLE. And so are you!!

Karaoke and Writing

While dancing around in my kitchen and singing to Pandora, I had an epiphany about how to best describe my feelings about where I am as a writer. It happened somewhere between Debbie Gibson's Out of the Blue and Cupid's Cupid Shuffle.

The first memory I have of doing karaoke in public is when I was 17. It was 1996 and I drove my car across the city to a mall to see my crush - a radio DJ named Rob Blair. He was doing a live broadcast/fundraiser for Jerry's Kids to help the Muscular Dystrophy Association. Part of the event was karaoke, and Rob and I sang When I Fall in Love by Celine Dion and Clive Griffin. I don't know why we chose that. Rob was not in love with me and what I felt for him was nothing more than infatuation. He knew I was fond of him though and he kind of enjoyed it. But, that's the song we picked and it was awful and now I have a nice memory!

I'm 40 now and can't think of a year since then I haven't done karaoke. For 23 years, I've gone out more times than I can count with different groups of friends and sang my heart out. I have a few go-to songs that I perform - Honey, I'm Home by Shania Twain, I'm Movin' On by Rascal Flatts, And Then He Kissed Me by the Crystals. When I have my best friends with me, we do Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations. I've done Sir Mix-a-Lot, Madonna and Divinyls. I haven't done Celine Dion since I was 17 and that's better for everyone.

While I may have learned a few karaoke "rules," one thing I haven't done is gotten much better at it. I cannot carry a tune and I know it. I continue to do it because I love it. Music is one of my most favorite things in the world, and karaoke is a time to get out and have a few laughs with friends. I'm not the worst singer sometimes, but I know I'll never be the best. It's easy to sit in a chair and sing along with your friends. I know the lyrics to the song I choose. I know the melody. And I've usually got some liquid courage in me. But when I grab the microphone and the focus is on me, my level of confidence takes a dive.

My history as a writer goes back even further than 1996 but, for me, the two are similar. The first piece of writing I remember sharing with anyone was very simple - demographic information. It was the late '80s. I sat in my bedroom and, in my best penmanship, wrote my name, address and phone number. I wrote my mom's name, my dad's name and my sister's name. That doesn't sound like something to be remembered, and sounds even less like something anyone would want to read. But the next part was about a man who soon after became my stepdad. I wasn't sure at an age of less than 10 what to call a man we lived with that wasn't yet married to my mom. I knew he wasn't my dad but I thought the terms boyfriend and girlfriend were reserved for teenagers :)

I pondered and wrote, finishing the piece, and ran into their bedroom to show them. They read aloud softly and quickly and stopped when they reached the bottom of the page. They looked up at me and then continued to read slowly "My doo doo butt's name is Dennis Burke." I don't know why I wrote that, and don't remember knowing then why I wrote it. We all got a good laugh out of it and a nice memory, and I think my stepdad kept it until he died.

I remember, in the moment, being so proud of what I'd written and being able to share it. I'm happy to say I've written more interesting things (I think) since the late '80s. In 5th grade, I was in a small group of kids of divorced parents and wrote a short story. It was called The New Kid on the Block - no, it wasn't about boy bands. It was about a boy who recently moved away with his mother and he was struggling to find friends in his new neighborhood and school. I think it was 6 or 8 pages long. I don't have it anymore but know that I wrote a sequel too!

In 6th grade, I wrote a paper about getting stuck in a highchair in a pizza joint after a trip to a haunted house. My teacher wrote 'amateur' across the top and I still have no idea how it was meant to be interpreted. I wrote poetry throughout middle and high school, and I have a stack that's poorly written and mostly dark. I started keeping a journal in college and took an etymology class because I love words. Several years ago, I wrote a children's book called Colors of the World that I self-published. I sold a few dozen copies, mostly to family, and I have a copy of it on my children's bookshelf. The story is mediocre at best and the art is just plain awful.

In 2018, I wrote my first book review, and last year, I finished the first draft of a novel. Looking back over my writing timeline, I've certainly come a long way from demographic information and "doo doo butt." I don't doubt my ability to write - that's the part I know I can do. I am reasonably intelligent. I can spell well and I've always gotten an A in grammar. But it's the "grab the microphone" moment and my confidence is tanking. I need to do more than write if I want to become an author. I need to tell a story, and that's the part I can't do.

My novel, for now, is put on hold and while I hope to one day pick it back up and get it published, I don't know that I ever will. Maybe I'm not meant to be an author any more than I'm meant to be a singer. I'm trying but struggling to accept that fact, and maybe it isn't true. But instead of focusing on the "what if I never..." part of it, I'm going to put my energy into the parts of writing I know I can do. Simply because, just like music, I enjoy it and I'm not ready for the journey to end.

My Squad

It's become sort of a fad recently for everyone to have #goals of any kind - couple, fitness, squad, etc. You name it - everyone's got an ultimate version of something they're seeking, or maybe they're fortunate enough to already have it. I like to march to the beat of my own drum and the few times I follow the crowd, it's more like lagging way behind. I'm never doing what's in style, cool or hip.

But if I had to pick one #goal I'm proud of, it is my squad.  A ton of people are quick to say "I'm here any time," or "you can call me day or night." The number of people who truly mean it though, at least in my life, is a lot less than a ton. Probably so much less that I can count them on one hand.

I have three great women in my life - my sister Debbie, my cousin Becky, my cousin Amanda - who truly are my best friends, and I really can call them any time. Day or night. Crying or laughing. Mourning or celebrating. Offering help or seeking advice. I can guarantee we are not #squadgoals for the rest of the world. I can also guarantee we don't care. We love us and I wouldn't change it a bit.

As kids, I remember us putting on our best dresses with matching hats at Easter and hunting eggs around our Aunt Ellen's yard; playing rock school on the steps in front of our grandparents' house; making music videos in Becky's garage; fighting over who got to butter toast in the morning after a sleepover at our grandparents' house - it's my turn; decorating bikes and strollers for the 4th of July parade; fearing Uncle Bob for no real reason; reserving movies at the video store under the name Billie Jean King and being accused of lying - we weren't; asking Uncle Den to sing "If I Only Had a Brain" one more time; and I could go on and on.

Year after year, we'd gather at our grandparents' house on Christmas Eve. The adults would sit around the living room as we performed the Christmas story. I think Debbie or Amanda always read the book and the rest of us played various roles. After that, we'd put on our Christmas clothes and walk to St. Mary's for midnight mass. My most vivid memory of the church was the huge cross hanging on the wall. I'm not lying. It's enormous! And I think the figure of Jesus might be bigger than he actually was. 😂 Why is it so big? I remember sitting in the pew near the front and just staring at him.

Our times together have transitioned from playing with dolls and tossing rocks in the crick to weddings and having babies. We're all grown up now, according to our birth certificates, and our bond has grown as much as we have. I still get made fun of for not being able to correctly pronounce "meow" when I read the Three Little Kittens aloud. They all still get teased for stuff too, but they don't know I'm writing this so I'll let them share at their discretion!

We have daily text messages full of sarcasm, wit, and F-bombs. We have stories of stupid things we did when we were drunk. We have parenting and relationship questions. We perform Build Me Up Buttercup by the Temptations at karaoke like no one you've ever heard.

I love these women and all the special memories we've made together. I can't wait to see what the next 40 years hold for all of us.

Hang on to Your Stupid

I've watched Days of Our Lives for a large portion of my life, probably close to 20 years. Is it stupid? Probably. Could I live without watching it? Of course! But because we all have guilty pleasures, we all know that beyond these superficial, seemingly meaningless things lies something special for us, even if it makes no sense to anyone else.

Because it airs in the middle of the day, it often gets interrupted with breaking news, usually political. When this happens, I wait about five minutes and if it continues, I shut off the TV. Last year, it was interrupted for the sentencing of Larry Nassar and I almost turned it off, but I didn't. If you don't know who he is, Google him. He's not worth my time/blog space.

The reason I didn't turn it off is because of the presiding judge. She had an attitude and a charisma that I immediately envied. I knew at that minute, I wanted her in my life. I wanted to be her friend. She is Judge Rosemarie Aquilina and she is a BAD ASS!!!

I wasn't sure how I'd go about starting what I hoped would turn into a friendship and honestly, I didn't know how to even say her name yet. 😂 But that's the magic of the internet - you can find just about anything you want. So I looked her up and found her on Twitter. I learned that she wrote a book called Triple Cross Killer. I bought it and started reading it immediately. I hadn't read a book in about five years and it only took me a couple of weeks to get through.

During the course of reading it, I exchanged a few messages with her about the plot - I thought she was trying to make Santa bad! But he's not 😉

When I finished reading it, she asked me to write a book review. I had never done this and wasn't sure where to even start. I asked her multiple times if she was serious and she was. So I did it...after I read several websites on what it is, how to do it, what it needs, etc. After I wrapped my head around the fact I was even communicating with her. After I spent way too much time overthinking it. And after I had convinced myself I couldn't do it and she assured me I could do anything.

I sent it to her and she approved and commented I should write more book reviews, maybe even for a living. Since then I've written probably a dozen, and I started down a path I never expected myself to find myself on. Last week, I typed "THE END" on the first draft of my very first novel. I've always enjoyed writing and for a long time, dreamed of writing my own book. Now I've done it. It might be trash. It might not sell. But I did it. And I honestly could not have done it without her.

Her faith in me has never wavered. She's never told me I couldn't do something. She's always encouraged me and has given me advice about writing and about life. From the first message I sent her, she's been kind, funny, honest and humble. She is a true gem and is someone I am more than happy to call a friend and mentor.

About a month ago, I purchased a ticket to a book talk she was doing in Detroit. I reserved my Airbnb in Windsor, Ontario, Canada and that's where I'm sitting now. I chose Windsor because it was cheaper than anything I could find in Detroit and I wasn't going to drive the four hours home at night alone. I've never been to Canada and the house I'm staying in is only 15 mins away (in theory) from where the event took place. Oh and the next time I'm at the customs station, I want to flip the script and ask them the questions.

Anyways - I got to meet her!! I got to hear her talk about her passion for writing. I got to listen as she told about where her inspiration for her stories comes from. I got to learn a little about her writing process. I got to sit in a room with her. I got to ask her a question. I got to hug her. This magnificent bad ass woman who interrupted my soap opera last year. A woman who I quickly admired and who has now become a friend.

Maybe watching soap operas is stupid. Maybe sending a tweet or message to a complete stranger is stupid. Maybe driving four hours to meet someone and have them sign a book that you have three copies of is stupid. Maybe having three copies of the same book is stupid. It's not the only book I have three copies of, by the way. Maybe I'm stupid.

But I'm also happy. So I'm going to hang on to the stupid as long as it makes me happy.

Take the Time. Ask the Questions. Have the discussion.

DISCLAIMER:
This blog contains some sensitive and intimate information. The part about my past reveals a lot. The part of the story about my friend is not detailed and is being written with her permission. If you are in my circle of friends and know her, do not publicly name her. If you don't know who it is, don't ask. I'm not telling.

***

Almost daily, stories are coming out about sexual assault. Assaults on babies, young children, teens, adults and seniors. Some with a single victim, some with hundreds. We can share the horror, the disgust. We can feel frustration, rage and sadness. We can comment with "why didn't s/he tell," "why didn't they report sooner," "how did no one know." We can wonder how a predator can prey on so many before anyone finds out. I say the same things. I ask the same questions. I share the same feelings. It's sick. It's sad. It needs to end.

Pointing a finger at one person and and making them responsible for the act itself is easy to do. In a movie, the main character gets the awards, the spotlight, and the publicity. But there are a lot of people behind the scenes who've contributed to the film's success. And in cases of sexual assault, especially where the number of victims bleeds into the hundreds, the behind the scenes crew holds a small percentage of responsibility.

In the highly-publicized Larry Nassar case, allegations first surfaced in the 1990s. No one investigated. No one believed. No one listened. And by the time someone finally did listen, 20+ years later, the number of victims was well over 100. But even with the publicity, and the documentaries and the countless Google search results about this case, if you are someone who has never been affected, either as a victim or as the friend or family member of a victim, it is easy to dismiss the amount of trauma that can be experienced from an assault. It's difficult to understand how anything at any time, even years later, can be a trigger. There is no way for someone who is not a victim to completely understand but when we take time to listen, we can get a little bit closer.

My knowledge of the amount of damage that can come from a traumatic experience is limited. While I know people who have been sexually assaulted, I never have been. But I have been shoved off of a bed for refusing sex. I have been sexually harassed. And while neither of these experiences caused me any real trauma, they have taught me to be empathetic and have shaped my attitude about sex and relationships. I believed after the first incident if I refused sex, I'd lose a friend. I thought if I refused sex, people would walk away from me. I believed if I refused sex, I would be in danger. And after the harassment, which was not a one time incident, but one that continued for two years, I believed no matter how kind or persistent I was, it didn't matter. I believed I was doing something wrong by telling someone I didn't want to be with them intimately. I believed at some point I would have to submit. No one should feel like this. No one deserves to feel like this.

Up to the point of entering college, almost having sex was as far as I'd gone with anyone. My quest continued to find where I fit in the world and college only made it more complicated. All of those thoughts about sex circulated through my brain day after day. It was then that I decided, at age 20, to have sex for the first time. My partner was gentle, patient and put no pressure on me. But it hurt. Badly. It wasn't what I'd imagined sex to be at all. After the first time, it became less painful and I almost started to enjoy it. I say almost because at the forefront of my mind was the thought that if I stopped having sex with him, the relationship would be over. I believed this was the only reason he cared about me and paid any attention to me. I believed this to be the only reason anyone would pay attention to me, and that was all that I wanted. Attention. Because sex wasn't something I really enjoyed, I'd drink myself into a complete haze beforehand. I started down a lengthy path of drunken one night stands. I am not proud of this. But I am also not ashamed of it. I got lucky that all of my partners were clean. I got lucky that no one ever assaulted me. I got lucky that it taught me something.



But I have a friend who is not as lucky. She was in an abusive marriage once. Physical abuse. Sexual abuse. Emotional abuse. Financial abuse. And while she's able now to tell her story without shame, her pain is not gone and she is not done healing.

We were out with a group of friends last month. After dinner, shooting pool and a few drinks, we all went back to one couple's house to play games. Everyone was up for just about anything and a few of us suggested Poker. My friend halted the idea almost immediately. It wasn't because we weren't playing for real money. It wasn't because she didn't know how. It was because it was a trigger.

She explained that in her previous marriage, her then in-laws played Poker frequently. And while those nights may have been filled with laughter and good times, that game makes her mind travel back to a place in her life when she was taken advantage of. A time when she was hurt intentionally. A time when she was controlled and scared. A time when she was a victim.

A friend of ours responded by saying we could start playing and if she felt triggered, we could just stop. That seems like a reasonable thing to do, and there is nothing wrong with this suggestion. But it's not that simple. She and I tried together to explain that sometimes when someone gets to the point of being triggered, it's already too late. In this situation, a potential trigger was something she could avoid. Admittedly, the conversation was much too short, and while neither of us are sure he still completely understands where she was coming from, the few minutes we spent discussing it opened the door for future dialogue.


Fixing this epidemic is going to take a lot of time, a lot of open and difficult discussion and a lot of listening. Everyone needs to be willing to participate in the conversation. People who don't understand cannot be afraid to ask questions. Those who do understand need to be willing to answer the questions. No one can force anyone to share their story before they're ready. No simple, quick conversation will give anyone a complete picture of what the post-trauma from these experiences looks like. But if all of us can start listening, be patient and be willing, then we're moving in the right direction.