THE GOOD OLD DAYS!

Dear Friends,
This evening, I realized that the few tricks I had up my sleeve to make me feel good have all reached the expiry date, just like my Advil. Back in the good old days, a haircut or a new shade of lipstick went a longer, much longer way! Was it because of my attitude of gratitude, or my lack of sophistication?
Nowadays, every little thing that didn't use to bother me before, exacerbates me! Shall I blame it on wisdom, state of jadedness or Bill 115?
Since, after spending $$$ on my new progressive eyeglasses, I'm still waiting for the excitement to kick in every time I encounter a mirror, I've decided to declare myself - depressed!
I absolutely refuse to buy another self-help book (maybe in March, I'll buy Deepak Chopra's, Super Brain) because the saleswoman in my local bookstore has already given me "the look!" Thus, I decided to do some "hometherapy" and revisit Lili's Gratitude blog. 
On January 31, 2012, a year ago today, I inform my readers that my modest gratitude "log" had turned into "Lili's Gratitude" blog on internet! The print is large and the narrative irritably cheerful, hardly recognizable. Should I still be proud of myself? Yes, I should! Should I still be excited? Yes, I should! Should I still be grateful? Yes, I should! 
But - I'm not, anymore! Accepted and filed!
What have you accepted and filed today?

Allow Me to Turn The Tables!

Dear Friends,
As the long greyish workday led to a disappointing dinner with my older son, I came home in tears. Before I had a chance to lick my inner wounds, I hit my leg against a stool and allowed the physical pain make me cry harder. Then, with an icepack on my Tibialis Anterior, I suffered through Steve Paikin's discussion with a small group of Ontario teachers, defending their honour against Bill 115.
Topics of discussion? Money, private sector vs public sector, ever growing concern for taxpayers!
I got so mad at the questions and most of the answers that I forgot all about my other pains. 

EVERYTHING IS ABOUT MONEY! I yelled at my unsuspecting TV screen. 
The world doesn't go around on good wishes anymore! If it's not about money, why does the government cry "Money!" all the time? Furthermore, who mismanaged the money? I didn't create the deficit, I spend my money to help the private businesses! 

Comparing public sector to private sector is like comparing risk-free low-interest Government Investment Certificates to high-risk high-interest Bay Street-style investment. Of course when the market crashes, my GIC looks enviable! However, when Bay Street hits big, it leaves me in the dust. 

All this noise about the suffering private sector, makes me wonder how many teachers are supporting a private sector casualty.
Economy is bad, they say! Teachers had it so good. It's payback time! To be honest with you, I can't see it! The Canadian government increased it's aid to Mali by $13 million. Right and left, people are fundraising, donating, sponsoring, spending. Every restaurant in my neighbourhood is full of patrons. And, stores are not giving away their merchandises yet.  
Let's bring out the violins for the Taxpayers - the victims! What do people think, teachers are diplomats, exempt from paying taxes?  
I wish only once, someone would turn the tables by starting the conversation with "Yes, it is about MONEY! What is't about, for you?" Unless saint, monk, yogi or working with lepers in remote villages, do not need to apply! Accepted and filed! 
What have you accepted and filed, today? 

Thou Shall Not Compare!

Dear Friends,

Daily commuting on foot, in the bitter cold, and writing report cards so soon after progress reports, make me wonder about my life choices!
Had I not expanded my horizons and moved into a larger unit in a building with swimming pool, (that I've not used in a long time), I could've retired!
As the Sunday-evening blues are settling in, I get up to gather dozens of work samples, scattered on every surface of my "roomy" apartment. I've spent the weekend agonizing over my students' academic skills. Does little Johnny compute at a 'B' or a 'B-' level? Does Suzy merit an 'A' for Writing, or shall I leave her at  'B+,' or bump her up to an 'A-'? And, does little Sammy really deserve a 'D+' in Reading?
I can easily write about my students, effortlessly describing what they do and recounting what they say. However, I struggle over giving marks or checking qualitative boxes. 
I remember while ago, on Oprah’s Life Classes (naturally), I heard Iyanla, a spiritual life-coach, say to the audience that comparison is an act of violence. I must admit, since we mostly compare upwards and end up feeling bad, (like me comparing myself to Jennifer Lopez), her statement kind of sat on my heart, as we say in Farsi.
Tonight, as I'm shoving the overly revisited papers into plastic bags to take back to work, to justify the given marks, I feel a bit “fraudish.” In my heart, I believe assessing young children against a “norm,” no matter how well standardized, is robbing them of their individuality - three times a year! 
Alas! Reality, Spirituality and the Education System, are not cut from the same cloth - accepted and filed! I am a hypocrite - accepted and filed! 
What have you accepted and filed today?

P.S. Perhaps, I misunderstood Iyanla. Self-comparison is an act of violence, not rushing children out of their developmental stages to meet certain expectations! 

Dual Personality

Dear Friends,
So it happens that I, a "Feminist Rebel," with potential to become a Social/Political Rebel, moonlight as a Fashionista! 
According to Caroline Myss, my obsession with aging and gaining weight secures me  a seat in the Fashionista archetype. And, who would've thought that my grey hair screaming "Look at me, I'm unconventional!" is also screaming "Look at me, I'm making a personal fashion statement!" I thought I was just being cheap and lazy!
Oddly enough, neither the Rebel nor the Fashionista places me in the classroom, where I've been working - happily - for the past twenty-three years.
Since conservatism and conformity are two strong pillars of the public education system, I must have become a teacher by accident. Unless, somewhere in my psyche, I fostered the notion that being an educator should entail some envelope pushing. 
I'm sure if I look closer, I'll find a trace of myself in other eight archetypes as well. However, at the present time, between protesting anything that doesn't look 'right,' and looking good while doing it, there is no room for further personal growth! 
Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today? 

Rebel in Search of a Cause

Dear Friends,

I’ve become a firm believer in the Buddhist proverb “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”  
This afternoon, while browsing in a bookstore, my eyes fell on Caroline Myss’ latest book, Archetypes: who are you? Since I had read about it in her interview with Oprah, I felt compelled to walk over and honour our acquaintanceship! 

Although I was more attracted to the words Queen/Executive on the cover, the word Rebel, in red print, kept winking at me! So, I bought the book - my second self-help book in less than a month!

No one can accuse me of taking my enlightenment lightly!

I skimmed through the major characteristics and behaviour patterns of each archetype, chanting "Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who am I, after all?"
Laughed out loud at the Athlete! Skipped The Advocate. Didn’t fit the profile of The Fashionista, The Spiritual Seeker or The Visionary. Deliberated on The Caregiver, but then discarded it as ‘have been.’ Regretfully, had to give up The Artist/Creative prototype - too many references to playing a musical instrument. The Intellectual could've been a possibility; however not enough emphasis on middle-aged discoing! For a vulnerable, stripped teacher, devoured by Bill 115, The Queen/Executive archetype proved to be very big shoes to fill. 
Finally, I stopped teasing myself and allowed Chapter Ten to carry me away! 
I wish Miss Myss had thought of combining Rebel with Entertainer - that would've fit me perfectly, like an Italian leather, Armani glove! 
However, Rebel sounds about right. Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

Backpacking in the Dark

Dear Friends,
I always believed I was born to work with children, so did my father, my instructors at the faculty of education, and a few good friends. Even my students (well, a good number of them) think I'm a 'cool' teacher. However, almost at the end of my teaching career, I'm beginning to doubt my choice of path.
Regardless of my recent contempt for the rich and the famous (because I'm neither) I succumbed to reading Oprah's interview with Caroline Myss, who is going to be "helping us all awaken to a life that counts."
Aside from being mindful, content and not thinking about mañana, this inspirational guru wants us to make sure we are living the life that belongs to us! Every time I look at Jennifer Lopez, I feel like shouting "Thief!Thief!"
Apparently, one way of finding out whether we are on the right path or not, is to take our pulse at the end of a working day! Have we been valued or have we compromised our integrity? Are we tired or drained?
Putting demoralizing Bill 115 aside, with all the unnecessary changes, unrealistic expectations and initiatives, I feel as if I've been forced to backpack in the dark, somewhere in the backroads of Alabama! And, it doesn't look as if they'll be coming looking for me anytime soon! Thus, I'll tick 'compromised,' 'drained!'

The question remains, do I act stubbornly goal-driven and keep walking till I fall off the cliff? Or, I find a way to make a U-turn and get on another path? Considering, there is still one left, with my name on it!
I've finally accepted that I'm not destined to have money, fame or a better-half. I've also accepted that The Life of Lili will always be a bit more complicated than that of her relatives or friends. 
What I don't appreciate is being shoved and hustled off my career-path! 
Sorry Miss Caroline Myss, no U-turns for me! I'll go with Thelma & Louise on this one! 
Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

How to Kill a Mocking Brain, an old gal's manual to enlightenment - VI

Dear Friends,
Getting back to my "Holiday Journal," last Saturday, was all about time! Wake-up on time, check-out on time and then make the best of the remaining time! Followed by, will I have time to eat before the bus arrives? Will the flight leave on time? Once home, will I have enough time to rest, shop, cook and write my blog?

Regardless of the fact that mentally I'd already joined the race against time, determinably, I managed to enjoy every remaining sun ray, accompanied by one double-rum Mojito after another!
I made a point of not letting time rush me, taking my time savouring everything for the last time.

I believe I've found my perfect resting place, somewhere between Burkeman's virtues of being negative and Gladwell's, it's not really all my fault, theory.
According to everything that I've retained from old, new and borrowed inspirational literature, in order to be HAPPY, you gotta be FEARLESS! And, in order to be fearless you gotta have nothing to lose! And that NOTHING, my dear friends, includes happiness!

In order to be happy, most of us need to be Healthy, Safe, Free, Independent, Respected, Esteemed, Loved and Living Comfortably. I - also need to look good!
Unfortunately, our wish list is written in magic ink, as it's susceptible to uncontrollable outside forces, such as infectious Bill 115. Fear of losing anything that makes us happy, including our loved ones, is unbearable. Fear of pain and dying is insufferable.

Antidotes to fear still remain, faith, mindfulness, altruism and the concept of coming to terms with the 'worst case scenario. As a pathologically fearful person, I've given all the above mentioned antidotes a chance to empower me to heal my mind. In my, not so humble opinion anymore, since I've read enough to have developed my own school of thought, all of the above is good and dandy as long as it comes to us naturally. 

If fear has already leaked into your DNA through your upbringing and personal experiences and "cultural legacy," you can only smirk at the experts. A bit like when a mogul like Oprah gives tips on how to climb out of a million-dollar network crisis, or the nipped, tucked, stretched, injected and photoshopped celebrity claims to have embraced natural beauty, or old age! As we say in Farsi, yelling "Knock him out!" from the ringsides is easy. 
Probably the reason why self-help books don't have sustainable effect is because we all have to plough our souls, ourselves. 

Faith - leaving everything complicated to the higher power and going about attending only to the small, practical matters such as feeding myself, is not my modus operandi. I have to add my lack of faith to the list of my grievances against my parents.

Keeping an overdriven mind still and focussed on the present moment at all times, is a losing battle for many of us. Sure, meditation helps, but only the minds that are predisposed to tranquility! 

Altruism is as effective as it lasts. Unless we work under duress, in severe climates, or every night return to bed with burning calluses, our thoughts will find us.

Worst case scenario concept works as long as it is a farfetched one. When 'worst' is already behind the door, we don't get the chance to rehearse welcoming it.


I was grateful to be back before the monotony of contentment got hold of me.
However, Sunday morning the view from my living room shocked me to paralysis.
It seemed as if I had stepped out of a highly technicolour, cheerful movie into a black and white scene of a morose Alfred Hitchcock film. The contrast between the Cuban bright blue sky, lush green palm trees and the greyness of tall, concrete buildings standing against an even greyer background was unbearable. I returned to bed and closed my eyes for the rest of the day. I woke up with an insight; I'll stop pursuing happiness, and concentrate solely on happy times!

And today, a week later, I feel as if I had never left! Such is life, deal wit it! Accepted and filed!
What have you accepted and filed, today?

P.S. I'll always have Cuba!

Fifty Shades of Grey

Dear Friends,
I'm not sure about the rest of Ontario teachers, but I, regardless of my lack of desire to protest (again) had warmed up to the idea of sleeping in till eight o'clock, taking the time to wash my hair, striking till noon and after a leisurely lunch, attending to my report cards!

In 1997, we, Ontario teachers went on strike for two weeks straight. Although my pay cheque was much younger and my assets non-existent, I weathered the cold damp air and the tight budget with pride.
Today, I've mixed feelings.
Two days after opening my pay-stub and feeling the one-day protest pay-loss to the bones, "We are walking again? F...!" Was my first reaction to the news!
I'm certain I'm not alone in feeling hurt and confused. I'm also certain, I probably shouldn't be speaking my mind; however what would be the point of sharing censored thoughts and feelings, on my blog? Honesty spells vulnerability - accepted and filed!

Our relationship with the Government, the Union and the Public comes in fifty shades of grey, including the torture chamber!
I feel like the captive of the alluring room, where behind the red velvet curtains and the dim lights, I'm persuaded to play a game that offers alternative endings, non of which appealing to me.
Since I've walked into the room on my own freewill, I can't escape without life-altering repercussions. So I stay, the object of everyone's argument. My wellbeing, integrity and reputation are all dispensable.

While in handcuffs and collar, my chain is being yanked in every direction. The rules of the game I don't want to play, are ever-changing, but remain aggressive. One minute, the whip flies from across the room and lashes my already very thin skin, the next, I'm cursed, humiliated and spat on.
Expecting the unexpected wears me down. I lose balance. I'm still waiting for the pleasure to kick in!

This morning, I will only wash my wounds, put on a brave face and walk back into my classroom. I look unaffected by everything that has gone on in the torture room, where I seem to have been both, the perpetuator and the victim. The newscaster's statement regarding the uncertainties "our hearts go out to the parents and students, this morning..." forces me to accept that, once again, my suffering has lost its voice. 

How to Kill a Mocking Brain, an old gal's manual to enlightenment - V

Dear Friends,
As Friday morning bashfully peeks through the yellow cotton curtains, the remains of a poorly remembered nightmare, invade my vulnerable mind.
What's the point of shooing away unwanted thoughts from my conscious, if they can get back into my head via the unconscious? My thoughts are like clouds, utterly out of my control! They come and go as they please, but I'm learning to ignore them, without insulting them. Otherwise, they will linger, out of spite! 
Between the dripping water masquerading as 'shower' and the rough towels smelling of bleach, I have no choice but to concentrate on the positive; sun, water, disco, daily massage (at $20 an hour it's a sin not to have one a day), and time - unhurried time. Not having to chase breakfast down my throat with the taste of toothpaste is a much appreciated luxury. Long safe walks at night, and lack of involvement in food preparation and housekeeping, add yet another delightful dimension to my stay.

Thanks to underlit surroundings, my tan and Joan Rivers' corrective cover-up, The Right to Bare Legs, I'm able to roll up my skirt, put on the crochet top I've purchased from a pedlar on the beach and feel eighteen again! Although, at eighteen I wasn't allowed to dress like this. 

When the sun goes down, and the sound of salsa music gives way to the sound of diners' loud voices, I leave the pool area to visit my hammock! I must admit, getting in and out of the hammock is not pretty, but once in it, I feel incredibly at peace with myself and with the world. Even Bill 115 turns a few shades lighter. 
I rock myself softly, side to side, staring at the stars. For the first time I realize stargazing reminds me of faraway summer nights in Iran, when my brother and I slept on the porch, dozing off counting stars. I'm slowly beginning to understand certain things. Fifteen years ago, the first time I came to Cuba, I came to Cuba. Since then, I've been coming back to a distant past that I didn't know was still simmering in me. My Cuban resort offers me the best of both worlds.
Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

How to Kill a Mocking Brain, an old gal's manual to enlightenment - IV

Dear Friends,

Regardless of an early, light dinner, plenty of exercise on the dance floor, and only two cocktails (double each), the night proves to be restless. Thanks to the purple knitting project, the dormant arthritis in my neck and right shoulder is wide awake now! I take two extra-strength Advil and return to bed, only to find out that every time my burning skin brushes against the starched sheets, I cringe in pain. I think my suntan lotion is the kind that has reportedly set people on fire!

However, thank goodness for physical discomfort! Nothing sheds a better light on one's perspective than pain. Accepted and filed! 

This morning, I'm in a rough physical shape! Let's just say the Imodium, extra-strength Advil and Benadryl Bug Bite weren't last-minute meaningless purchases!

I return to the beach, yet again with The Antidote. I'm still hoping to come across that one perfect statement that will set me free. Tucked away in the shade, I pick up where I have left off yesterday, before I had the tantalizing idea of joining the fishes.
At first, I find it hard to believe that Burkeman has written a self-help book about the futility of all self-help theories! But then, a bell or two go off. "... the person most likely to purchase any given self-help book is someone, who within the previous eighteen months, purchased a self-help book - one that evidently didn't solve all their problems."
One by one, the dusty books in my extensive library parade in front of my eyes. I smile in recognition of Burkeman's truth. But then, didn't I already know that?

I look around. The red flag flying high on the beach has kept the bathers away. I let my thoughts surf the restless, murky waves. I watch them chase each other to the shore, turning into white froth and then disappearing into nothingness. An inexplicable sense of calmness embraces me. I feel light, hollow - one with the universe. Regardless of my physical discomfort, I feel happy.

I replace Burkeman with Gladwell. The Outliers captivate my attention.
I know I'm trivializing, when I say that all I walked away with is the understanding that if I'm to attribute my successes to my upbringing, position and status, I surely can blame my failures on circumstance, lack of opportunity and cultural legacy. 
Otherwise, I am intelligent, hard-working, and borrowing from Stuart Smalley (Saturday Night Live), "... doggone it, people like me!"
I have done my Hamburg! Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

How to Kill a Mocking Brain, an old gal's manual to enlightenment - III

Dear Friends, 

Since my attempt to induce selective amnesia wasn't successful last night, this morning, I decide to hit the beach, giving the sun an opportunity to dry up my negativity. 

Relentlessly in search of fulfilment and enlightenment, I’ve managed to build an extensive library of self-help books, written by the best male and female medical doctors, psychiatrists, philosophers and spiritual and motivational gurus. As I’m flipping through my latest acquisition, The Antidote, spread-eagle on the warm sand, I’m as close to the truth, as far as I was from it twenty-some years ago, when I first started my quest.
I stare into this immense body of blue water stretched out in front of me. A fascinating idea twirls around my heavy, achy head. I toss Oliver Burkeman's book to the side.
What if I walk into the water, and never come back?
I get up to turn my fantasy into reality, but then change my mind. Although I can’t bring myself to waste my brand new swimsuit, the fascinating thought of getting rid of myself becomes louder. I shake my head violently from side to side to disperse the crazy thoughts, something I've learned from my mother.
I decide to move to the swimming pool area. There's only so many times I can shake the sand out of my hair! As a solo traveller, I have to be mindful of my idiosyncrasies.

The 24-hour bar and the elaborate buffets do not entice me as much as the water and the sun. I've finally defeated binging! When I realized my father's gastronomic philosophy, no snacking between meals, and my mother's count of everyone's alcoholic drinks, had driven me to overstocking my body, I was able to tackle the problem effectively. 
Once I understood that I could eat and drink whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, I was able to defer my impulses to 'tomorrow.' Every time tomorrow arrived, I deferred it to the next day. That's how I became designer swimsuit-worthy!
As I feast on my bland medley of raw and cooked vegetables, (I can have all the dessert I want tomorrow) I wonder if 'deferral' can be applied to mental malfunction. Deferring the bothersome to mañana, just like Scarlett O'Hara! " I won't think of it now. I'll think of it later when I can stand it!"

As I realize drowning myself in booze, sugar and starch, or the salty water is out of the question, in desperate need of letting go, without snapping, I return to the beach, this time with my purple knitting project - I feel saner. There is a lot to be said about manual labour calming the vagabond mind. Accepted and filed! What have you accepted and filed today?

How to Kill a Mocking Brain, an old gal's manual to enlightenment II

Dear Friends,

It's almost eleven o'clock at night. It has taken me a while to accept that neither the Cubans nor the guests at the resort are out to get me. Finally, I make an attempt to relax in the picture-perfect setting, and let the evening breeze and the welcoming Mojito escort my troubled thoughts out of my head. I look around, everything is exactly the same as it was last year; the tall Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby, the comings and goings of the familiar personnel and the damp air. Although the guests are all strangers to me, their tourist mentality doesn't make them any different from the last year's crowd. Everything is the same, but me. I've allowed the past few months make me fearful, bitter and untrusting.  

I can here the clock ticking away, but I realize the passage of time has ceased to matter. The borrowed inner tranquility along with the dim lights must have brought certain pleasantness to my face, since people start talking to me. You can ask and tell the darnnest things to strangers! However, before the compliments and the alcohol have a chance to take effect, the paranoid mind, still as sharp as the eyes that are looking into mine, races over to mock my gullibility. Not only it recaps my own anxieties and insecurities, but it also reminds me of my numerous responsibilities.

"Shouldn’t you be somewhere in Toronto, fighting Bill 115, attending to your granddaughters, or keeping a watchful eye on your son who made the 'merry season' merrier by announcing that he has stopped taking his anti-psychotic medication?"  

The few seconds it takes me to shoo away the voices are misinterpreted as indifference, and once again, to my invalid mind’s delight, I’m sitting alone - hand in hand, cheek to cheek with my guilts and worries. Sometimes I wonder whether I myself am developing a mental illness, and my poor, kind brain is just trying to warn me.
Finally, I take the road most travelled to the Disco, where libation and loud music fail to come to my rescue! As the nagging voices inside my head become stronger, so do the drinks. I don’t remember who wins the first round. All I know is that as soon as I stop moving my body to the beat, my mocking brain emerges!
Far from everyone’s loving concern and observant eyes, I think the best time and place to kill my mocking brain is in Varadero, under the glorious sun, with waves upon waves of salty water to wash away the evidence. 
As I become aware of alcohol's plans to take total control of my head, I step outside, realizing that I don't really want to kill my brain, just my mind - this ever guilt and worry producing machine! Oh, how I wish upon the shiny stars of the Cuban sky to develop amnesia! 
Although with my luck, I will forget all the best, but retain the worst!

How to Kill a Mocking Brain - an old gal's manual to enlightenment

Dear Friends,
When you travel solo, still a phenomenon in the twenty-first century, you are bound to 'make an entrance' every time you appear! The strangers in your sphere will immediately notice that you walk alone, drink alone, eat alone, dance alone and sometimes even talk alone! Some are curious enough to get closer, some will just judge from a distance. But, they all have the same obviously redundant, but burning question - are you travelling alone?
"No," I told one person, "I haven't taken him out of the suitcase, yet!"
To a young man on the dance floor who insisted on finding out where my husband was, I finally replied, "I killed him!" He was too drunk to believe, or not to believe!
My relationship with strangers or lack thereof, perked up my mood. My grey hair (A built-in sign of age and wisdom!), allowed me to be outrageously sociable. I realized when on holidays, people appreciate outgoing, social species such as myself! I believe my high energy and twerp sense of humour enriched everyone's experience!
Women my age were in awe of me travelling alone, some of the older guys, whose partners wanted to dictate their every move, let out sighs of envy around me!
"She has the right idea," I heard one say to himself!
A few young women whom I out-danced nightly, expressed their desire to be like me in their 'old' age!
"Don't worry, you will be," I told each and every one of them, "I can see, you've got potential!"
It's so inspiring to be an inspiration! You take what you can get, right? So, I'll be the ambassador of my younger (much younger) sisters' future! A few wanted to know how old I was. Well, between you and me, I lied upwards! I rather be remembered as a younger-looking older woman than an older-looking younger one! 
As an insecure unaccompanied sunbather, my only concern was not to lie beside any number 10's. The only reason I felt comfortable unravelling my tired, old number 6 body, even at the best of times, was the $$$ I had paid for my swimsuits! I figured just because I'm only a 6, it doesn't mean I should look like a 2 or a 3! But then, once I noticed others using me as their shield, I moved further away from the crowd! Might as well, nothing is more comical than putting on lotion without letting go of the right body angle! And if you think opening a jar of pickles is a single gal's utmost challenge, try putting sunscreen on your back! 

Aside from not trusting anyone to watch my bags when I had to dash to the washroom before boarding,  I found travelling alone, an amazing journey. From people watching and socializing to reflecting in solitude, at every turn, I discovered something interesting or came across a noteworthy insight.
My experiences as a 'solo traveller' gave me a new perspective on myself. Since I'm now wannabe's aspiration, I have no choice but to accept and file that I am, indeed, in a good place! 
However, the road to this amazingly 'good place' where I met another me, whom I believe I like better, was not without bumps! Read all about it in the next few postings.
What have you accepted and filed today?