#lessonsivelearned

[msbaby117]

Move in silence...HUGE contract on the horizon for 2021 (and beyond) 🤩🤫 #LessonsIveLearned #DesignsByBabydoll💖 https://www.instagram.com/p/CKKHVVblNQB/?igshid=10bp7wd6qmqrl

[thelotusloveproject]

Because, even when you don't intend to be, sometimes you get lulled into the muck!! Trust me, I know!! Snap out of it Mamas!!! All those #WomensDay post don't mean a thing if you still not crowning, if you still compromising, if you still allowing deprivation to taint your perspective on the abundance you deserve!!! If I can't love you BIG, BOLD and ON BLAST, I'm straight!!! #selfTalk #loveLessons #selfLove #compromiseForWhat #iAmMORE #loveNotes #friendlyReminder #lessonsByLuna #lessonsIveLearned #selfProclamation #selfReflection #lunaLotusLove #LUNATICS

[parkerchafetzwriting-blog]

Lesson #5 - Gratitude

I’ve been blind to this one lesson for a long time. It’s been something that I’ve known about for years upon years, but something that I just am beginning to understand in my heart. Gratefulness is the simplest way to a happy life, because if you decide that you are grateful for what you have, you’re content. That’s not to say gratitude stifles progress and passion, because being content does not mean that you stop trying to better yourself. There’s always room to improve in life, but when you see what you have already for the positives, it becomes easier to just be happier and work harder and better.

Sitting in my bathtub over my first college winter break, I quickly became bored, uninspired, tired, and just unresponsive to life. I was depressed that first week. My family moved to Brooklyn from Long Island while I was away at college for my first year, and I had to leave my old life behind not only while at college, but at home too. Everything was different because my sister had moved out and I was in an apartment that I didn’t even know the address until my mom texted me when I got off the subway to go home the first time. With no friends, no sense of where I was, and no real groundings in this apartment that I didn’t even get to help decorate, I sat wondering what I was to do with all of this nothing. The water drained and I sat there in the tub with an empty and heavy head for who knows how long. The look of the steamy walls and my damp legs just put me into a state of panic, realizing that I really couldn’t take much more of the depression and boredom and that my circumstances surrounding my life were not going to change. In a desperate attempt to gain some confidence, inspiration, and motivation to go out and do something, I stumbled upon a podcast accidentally about gratitude and happiness.

I wish there was some magic potion I could tell you I drank that finally let me understand what gratitude is and how to feel it, but it truly just came to me like something that I’ve known all along but didn’t want to admit it, which is exactly what happened. I am generally a stubborn person and when I believe something I am not good at changing my mind. Being sad and bored and tired is easy for me, and I was stubborn about being sad. My neutral always shifted closer to sad than happy because that is what I am used to feeling. Beginning to feel grateful for things was what truly changed the rest of my winter break (which I just finished today), because it felt like I had inverted the snapshot of my life and instead of seeing the negatives I was paying more attention to the positives. Things that I rarely thought about, like health, love, family, comfort and passions began to come to the surface much more than the drowsy walls of the bathtub and the anonymity of the city that scared me. I always knew how to be grateful, but the breakdown I had in the bathtub that day was what I really needed to finally decide to ignore boredom and sadness, and focus on the good things. What I truly believe I learned though, is that gratitude is not conditional. It’s impossible to be truly grateful for your life, and not appreciate a certain aspect of life, even if it’s pretty terrible. I was bored, it was true. Being grateful doesn’t make boredom go away, it puts it in the background. Yeah I was bored, but I was healthy, loved, and excited at the opportunity to explore a new city that I may not be in for a long while. Contrasting emotions can surprisingly exist at the same time, and I seriously am shocked by that. A lot of my life I thought I was either just happy or sad or bored or excited, but everything exists at once. It’s all kind of like a scale, and a beautiful intertwining of emotions that work together to make you at any given moment. I always think that I am happy when I’m either watching a musical or a movie or with my family, and while this is true there is always some part of us that can be feeling sadness while we’re happy. It’s all a part of being vulnerable. I feel like being vulnerable and grateful are very intertwined, because they both call on ourselves to look in the mirror and take everything, good and bad, for what they are and accept it. And when there’s not a lot to be grateful for, there’s always at least one thing that will make our heart sing.

[parkerchafetzwriting-blog]

Lesson #4 - Moving and Change

I spent a lot of my time during childhood with my neighbors. Millford Drive, the dead end block that was home to 30 different groups of people each to fill a house. Some groups were broken, but the kids of the block never could understand the bad until we grew up, and that’s why it was so magical. Childhood always has a sense of magic, even in the most tumultuous situations, because kids know how to think beyond their senses in the present. Nothing is really a permanent thing, and no one is more present in a moment of joy than a kid is. I can only speak for myself because I know that this isn’t true for many kids, but I was fortunate enough to have a childhood free of any serious responsibility, or any health/financial related issues that would force a kid into reality too soon. I had struggles with my identity, but they were quiet. Between the thirty families living on the block a larger family was created, where support was never lacking and everyone knew everything. Take that for what you will, but as a kid it pretty much just meant everyone was happy to see you all the time and you were generally happy to see them. Our block laid at the cusp of a beach town that we could always bike or walk to in the summers, and I think because of this I remember the summers of Millford Drive much more than the winters. When I think back to that street, I think about peace, laughter, and the warm sun hitting my arms. All of the kids had a neighbor that matched their age, and the generations of the children all fused together seamlessly. The three families that got closest had a combination of seven kids, and we all were like siblings. One family was Italian, and we all knew their entire extended family because they came over almost once a month for some special occasion or just because they wanted to get together. We’d go there for Easter and sometimes Christmas day afternoon and it felt like home had taken a larger form that it was previously. The other was Ecuadorian and Puerto Rican and we’d go there for dinners once a week where I learned what true rice and beans are supposed to taste like and me and my neighbors would go watch scary movies after dinner in the basement and shut our eyes throughout the whole thing. It’s simple to see how the kids formed a family bond with each other, but what always seems to shock me was how quickly all of the parents became their own family. Everyone was in it together even when shit hit the fan.

We had to leave when I was thirteen. Nothing had changed - the bliss ws still just as electric as always - but we had to go. It was a bit like waking up from a dream in which you didn’t know you were. Life had taken the form of as close to a picture-perfect community as it can be. It was all a lot at once for me, because I had never really questioned the permanence of a situation before, or really questioned anything regarding home and family. In an instant, my parents did not love each other, my dad moved out and my mom told me that we were going somewhere else too. My mom broke a lot of the news to me in the convertible we had at the end of a school day - she pulled into the parking lot outlooking the beach and told me that sometimes parents stop loving each other in the way they used to and that they have to separate. The sunset that I had overlooked from this same parking lot many times looked different that night, through the tears stuck in my eyes I gained a new pair of lenses that came from learning all at once that life changes before you’re ready. I started to see things more maturely and caution set in when I had to question the permanence of mostly everything in my life. Grades, friends, family, love, and even health. Everything became a question instead of a warm hug, and I was shot from one end of the love spectrum to the other.

Ever since I first had to say goodbye to my Millford Drive family and move, even though it was only a 10 minute drive away, I have been learning to bounce back and forth between the spectrum of love and loneliness, and coming to terms with the end of my childhood. You know how a swing continues to swing, its highest points being at the beginning, until it finally reaches slows down and stays still at the center? I think that’s a good explanation for life in regards to emotions. For me, I swung between love and loneliness after moving off the block. The way I viewed the support and comfort and love of the families on the block was beautiful, but it was from a child’s point of view. It was dangerous to continue in life thinking that love and comfort would be handed to me without the work of fighting for it, and fighting trials of heartbreak and disappointment to finally get it again. But after we had to move, I hit the lowest point of loneliness I have ever felt. I had broken up with a boyfriend (young I was, yes), lost a few friends, and lost a giant family. The neighbors were less accessible, my dad was gone, and my mom was working more. My thoughts about love and romance became tainted with the idea that it doesn’t last and that over time, everything fades from it’s beauty. It taught me the dangerous and untruthful lesson that nothing is better than when it starts. The truth is, things change become different kind of beauty. Ever since then, I’ve been taking the changes life has thrown at me and finding my personal experience with family and comfort. And that is what life is about; the ever changing definitions of our emotions. So while it was painful, I thank life for my parents’ divorce, my moving experience, and all the other changes that came along the way because they taught me that change is not something to ignore. Believing in permanence can be dangerous, and for the longest time I wished to be back on Millford Drive, innocent and unbothered by the facts of life. Today I welcome change and discomfort, because I know that moving away from everything I knew in life taught me the most valuable lesson of all: to move on when it’s time.

I’ll always cherish Millford for teaching me what love means from a child’s point of view. The stuff we learn as kids comes from the mind of a version of you that was much simpler and much more innocent, but the changes in our life teach us how to use those memories in  different, more interesting ways. The kid I once was lives inside me and always will. He is smarter today, and has taken all the lessons he has ever learned, and turned into me. He will always be here. He accepted change and learned from it. And those changes can be beautiful if you let them be.

[parkerchafetzwriting-blog]

Lesson #3 - I don’t even know

Sometimes life throws a lot at us and it’s just so much easier to do it with other people. We’ve all fallen victim to relying on others for love, support, happiness, and even hope. Love is something that is so easy we sometimes think about it too much and end up complicating things. While I haven’t had much experience with long relationships, what I can tell you is that I know what it feels like to fall hard, and hit concrete. Even when I knew I was jumping on to the concrete. And it’s disappointing every damn time.

Today I got on the subway after seeing a musical to go back home, and I realized that not once throughout the night did I really feel like I was really there, with anyone, that could listen to me and care. I thank theater every time I see a show because it reminds me that I can create a world, real or imaginary, where characters and people are listening and I am also listening to them. I saw my reflection in the subway window sat alone, and I felt bad for him. Not because he was alone, but because his face showed that the loneliness went past physical. I’m slowly beginning to get comfortable with the idea that being lonely is part of life, and I’m just in a phase right now where I am feeling lonely. (I feel like this isn’t lessons I’ve learned, but rather lessons I’m learning right now). I’m getting okay with leaning into my sadness and taking it for what it is. Looking it in the eyes, and telling it that I’m okay and I love it. I love sadness because it reminds me that there is room to grow. So, I am lonely, I am here, I am saying it, and I want people to see me for who I am.

I know about love. I know that people can be inexplicably close and real and see the ugly without a blink. I’ve had love with family and friends that I credit for keeping my hope high that someday I’ll fall in love with someone and let them in like I’ve let a few other people in. And on my journey to find this, there have been more than a few stumbles, which hurt every single time, no matter when or where. I may not understand much yet, but I do know that with the comfort I’ve felt around the people closest to me, that there is a home that we all own and we’re all capable of letting people inside. I heard it best in the musical Waitress, which I just saw tonight; “”What if I give myself away, to only get it given back?”. I’m starting to realize that this lesson might be shorter than most of my others, but it’s okay because even with its brevity, it’s important. What I’ve learned from trying to love other people is that being vulnerable is the bravest thing we can do, and failure is not something that most of us take lightly. Personally, my judgements about myself are constant, like a pestering thought that your mom instilled in you when you did something bad and you can hear her in your head questioning you constantly. The good thing about judging ourselves is that it really isn’t real and we don’t have to listen to the voice. It may be there, but we can choose to ignore it. Where this gets dangerous is when you bring yourself into the world, head first, diving in. Here, people have the opportunity to confirm your suspicions about yourself. That you are not adequate, and that what you’re doing is not good. It’s the shared fear of all of us; that we aren’t doing good enough.

The secret is that we are always doing good enough because we are moving and we are surviving. It’s so hard to flip the picture sometimes and look at what is going right rather than wrong sometimes because the wrong is so much more present, emotional, and encapsulating. Gratefulness is quieter and calm, and harder to listen to when rage and fear and sadness speak so loudly. I think I want to try to be more grateful because when people are around me I want them to hear their grateful and calm voice louder than the rage one.

I think and I really hope that I bring something good to the table every single day. Some days I know that I’ve messed up or I didn’t give it my best, but I always hope that my words and laughter and presence mean something. And no one likes to talk about the fact that we all feel the same thing. We’re all wondering if what were doing, who we are - is good enough. The feeling of lonely to me is the feeling that what I did, or what I didn’t do, wasn’t heard or cared about. When I go home or walk on the city sidewalk and I think that I am lonely, I am giving myself a hug and trying to remind myself that I am enough because I am here. I think this was written very poorly, but I needed this to be completely raw and real because I want to let people in to a world of complete and utter truth and vulnerability, even if it means I have to be the sacrificial lamb. So, with my sloppy writing and all, I leave you with this: think about the last time you felt sad and what you did about it. Sadness has to pass through us, and the only way to start letting that happen is to let people into our worlds. Truthfully.  

I am Parker. I am scared, lonely, imperfect, and I am trying.

[parkerchafetzwriting-blog]

Lesson #2 - Making Movies

Every one of us has a story and a way that we need to tell it. I know this now, but back when I was young making short movies with my neighbor/best friend/sister Nina, I didn’t have this wisdom put into words. I just knew it was fun and it felt right to create a world and put it somewhere where it became real.

Me and Nina were, and are, wildly imaginative. I’ll give it to her that she is louder and more assertive than me, but we’re always on the same wavelength and our minds work together in a perfectly childish and primitive manner, just in a way so that we always accidentally make up something really amazing. Nina is a year younger than me, and we used to live with only one house separating us on the same side of the road. I’d walk to her house with bare feet, passing the neighbor’s dog and opening her garage with the passcode that I had known since I could remember. Nina’s mom and my mom were the closest of friends, as were our entire families. So Nina was the loud one who sang the songs we wrote, and I was the one who liked to think of the story behind them. Stories have always been my power because I got to make the rules, but my kryptonite as well because I am way too empathetic -- I used to cry in the back seat and leave goodbye notes for cars we had to give up because we leased them. Either way, I think Nina would admit that I was a little bit more of the brains and she was more of the action. We would write songs, make dances, and even spend full days pretending to be characters from some of our favorite movies like Camp Rock or Sharkboy and Lavagirl.

When I was about seven or eight, I got my older sister’s hand-me-down laptop. I was young, but I was smart. I had researched the ins and outs of the computer before it was given to me, and I think my parents knew that I had the mind to handle it. I never fought, never yelled, and I stuck closely to things that made me feel comfortable and happy. Having a computer, to me, was still about being happy and being me. I used a lot of things and obsessions to escape reality when I was young, like my obsessions with ducks, frogs, Webkinz, Kooky Pens, and even things as obscure as the game show Deal or No Deal. To this day, I use my passions to escape some aspect of the world I don’t want to face. The computer was a new way to distract myself. I explored the world of google, garageband, powerpoint, and any other function of a laptop you could probably think of. With my screen glowing on my face at almost midnight, I’d sit in my bed drawing and making music until I inevitably fell asleep with the computer rested on my chest with the screen still open. What fascinated me the most was the iMovie editing application.

Movie trailers were the first thing we made. We would recreate trailers of some of our favorite movies (horror specifically), editing the videos to be a picture perfect replica of theirs, and make our parents watch after a triumphant 5 hour work day for us, whereas they had been coming home from work at 8pm probably wanting to rest. They never objected to entertaining our imaginations, though. We moved on to emulating music videos soon after, and eventually starting making original videos that fed a part of my soul that I hadn’t fully discovered yet. It just felt like bliss, but every time we made a video, including the ones we replicated, it felt like I was on the right track, or in the right place. Something I believe in today is the idea that we all have a place or a land that was meant for us to be there, or a hobby or fascination that we were meant to do. I guess one could call that destiny, but it feels slightly different in my head. As a kid I think this just felt like a different kind of happy that I had never experienced before. It was lighter, and hopeful and freeing. We had our fights, when I wanted the movie to go one way and when she wanted another, but we always talked and fought and yelled and sometimes even cried, because if we called it a quits, we were done for the day.

The movies weren’t half bad either. I’m still proud of those flicks - maybe I’ll drop one onto my resumé and see what people think. I always edited the videos, and this along with the brainstorming process, was where I truly came alive. The collaboration was great, but for me it was about seeing my voice, my impact, my feelings, breathe life into something that other people paid attention to. My young life was spent in a lot of silence, behind family conversations that were just too loud for me or some obnoxious fight between my mother and sister about whatever they could justifiably get mad at each other for. There wasn’t always fighting, but when there was, I went into my room a lot. Eventually I had pretty much nothing to say because I knew whatever I felt like saying would not have the impact on anyone like the arguments did. Whether good or bad, the most important conversations happened between my mother and sister because they were good at talking over each other and my words just couldn’t get through. That’s just them though, and I’m just me. Quieter. In my room where I could make the rules was where I spoke the loudest, and with the most conviction. It’s easy to see this today, but childhood isn’t very calculated at all; it’s more of just what feels right at the time, and I really wish I could get back to that sometimes. All I know is that I have always been louder in my head than I have out loud. People hear me more on a paper than they do in person, and it took me a long time to understand that and become okay with it. Our ridiculous movies taught me that I might have a power that’s different from my mother’s assertive personality. Different, but still pretty damn good. And that is my storytelling. Whether it be a story of something that happened to me which I think other people can relate to, or some idea I’ve had or a made up story that I’ve crafted, I speak loud and proud with a pen and paper because here, I can’t get spoken over. Here I won’t stutter or forget what I wanted to say or not have a quick enough wit. It’s quieter with a pen, paper, and my head, and because of the world of story and those little movies I made when I was young, I’m forever grateful to have a voice.

[parkerchafetzwriting-blog]

Lesson #1 - Rubber Ducks

When I was really young, maybe 6 or 7 years old, my mom got a manicure and a pedicure about once a month. I used to go with her because I was a momma’s boy (still am), and sometimes she’d let me pick out the color of the polish for her fingers and toes. I always enjoyed the same colors as my mom so it was pretty easy to agree most of the time. Deep reds, purples, beige, and the occasional navy blue. For a young boy I think I had a pretty sophisticated understanding of the art of the mani-pedi. I loved the smell of the nail salon, and my mom would always let me get a clear coat of polish on my fingers. My favorite part of the mini-vacation was the hot towelette they would use on your hands before they started because it felt like I had dipped my hands in a hot tub, and all my muscles relaxed. These were things I once didn’t think twice about, as I let my mind go free and put my everything into the tips of my fingers. My soul migrated to the palms of my hands as the towelette let off steam, and into my fingertips as I felt the cold semi-liquid hit the nails and gloss the previously dulled surface with shine. I loved being with my mom and getting my clear nails done so much, that I think I didn’t even notice the glances across the salon from chair to chair, seeing a 7 year old boy in basketball shorts brave the storm of the world of a woman.

One day I asked my mom if I could get rubber ducks painted on my nails instead of just the regular clear coat. Thinking about it today, I truly can’t believe how willing my mother was to just let me explore the world through expression and creativity and anything that my brain could envision. My youth had no limits because everything I thought I wanted to be, I became. I think that she saw something in me that I’m just starting to see in myself today. One time after watching the Wizard of Oz, I decided that I wanted to be Dorothy because she was so beautiful and I thought she was lovely. My mom brought me into Payless the next day to buy me a pair of tap dancing heels, red spray paint and red glitter. I walked around in the tap shoes on my front lawn and although I can’t remember all too well, I’m sure my mom was smiling wide.

My mom said yes to letting me get rubber ducks on my nails, and yet again I eagerly put my hands out in an impatient wait for the hot towelette once again. My mom came over and quietly told the stylist what I had requested. After my mom had retreated back to her own seat, the stylist let out a quiet giggle and rubbed my hand. I’m not sure I knew what she meant with that action back then, but today I get it. Thank you, wherever you may be, for understanding. Her steady hand glided across my nails like it was what she was meant to do in this world, and she layered yellow on top of yellow three or four times, before adding black accents, a darker yellow for the outline of the wing, an orange beak, and a big black dot for an eye.

Under the dryer, I again waited impatiently to get a good look at my new ducks. I didn’t want to look at them before the dried because I didn’t want to get attached to them in case one or two got smudged and then I’d have to get reacquainted with the new duck. I don’t think my hands really even met the desk where the dryers sat at a parallel angle because I was so tiny. There I sat, hands at the height of my head under a dryer above, waiting. I used to always look at the wall of colored polish and try to pick one shade of each color that I like the best. One red, one orange, yellow, and so on. After that, I’d put them into a mental competition against each other until I decided which one was the ultimate nail polish color. One eliminated after the other, in a style very similar to some reality competition shows. I’d narrate in my head and pretend to be a game show host, speaking loudly and clearly and picturing up a stage that the nail polishes would stand on as I chose a winner. Everything was possible in my head, and the games I played with myself were all too real. By the time I finished choosing the nice wine red (every time), The ducks were ready. Pulling my hands down from the desk, I met my ten new best friends.

That night I sat in the hallway with my mom after dinner and I don’t remember what we did but I remember that the light was glowy and the sun was just setting and the house still smelled like ham or something. I went to my room and continued to stare at my own nails, in awe of my ten best friends and how crisp their lines were. I forgot that they were creations, and I just saw them as extensions of me. Each one was beautiful in its own way, and even though their beaks didn’t have much detail, I always imagine them smiling at me. I think this was the first time that I learned how to not feel alone with myself. That imagination is my best friend, and we walk hand in hand throughout everyday life. They were real to me, and they were real for my mom too because she saw me light up. That whole night I made them dance by moving my hands across the air above my bed as I lie down, doing all sorts of jazz hands and showy flashes as they flew across my vision. I went to bed feeling on top of the world because I had creating something that made my heart sing.

I think I had an overall good perception of school when I was young. I kept to myself generally, but only because I was excited by learning. I made friends along the way because they would talk to me first. I enjoyed my classmates a lot, but my instinct was to go in my head. So the next day in school, I came in with my hands in my pockets ready for the big reveal of my little painted best friends. A smile on my face I could not hide; I was glowing probably (and maybe way too jittery). You know how in elementary school they have a little carpet in the room and the kids get assigned squares on the carpet to sit on during some class lessons? Maybe that was just a me thing, but we did have that, and I was somewhat near the middle. When we all went to take our seats, my teacher pulled me aside and sat me down away from the rest of the kids for a moment.

“Did you forget to do something before you came to school today?”, she said, pointing to my nails.

“No, what do you mean?”

I don’t think I’ll ever underestimate the power of a facial expression after this moment, because the look she gave me taught me all that I think I’ll ever need to know about being different.

The other kids were looking at me, some giggling, some whispering. Even some of my friends had giggled along or adopted confused looks as they all started to put the pieces together that something I did was ‘weird’. My teacher gave me a pat on the shoulder and resumed the class. I could feel the stares behind me on the little carpet for what felt like hours, but was probably a few minutes. I felt like I was in a display case. My hands stayed glued to the insides of my pockets for the time being, and I held back tears because I loved my ducks and I didn’t get why no one else loved them either. I felt bad because my ducks were scared of the dark in my pockets and I wanted them to breathe outside but no one else seemed to want to look at them and I could feel myself getting more and more confused and I tried to speak to my ducks in my pockets and tell them that everything was going to be okay soon but in reality I wasn’t even sure that everything was going to be fine.

It was the first time I ever felt different - alone. I don’t think I knew what different was before this, because I painted rubber ducks on my nails just to feel happy. But if the glares I got from my classmates didn’t teach me what being different felt like, than nothing would ever.

I went to the bathroom in the classroom and looked directly into my reddening eyes. I took my ducks out of my pockets and started to cry. I cried really badly and for a long time because I loved them with all of my heart and thought we would go through life together forever and all my friends would love my ducks. I cried some more and then I kissed each duck and said goodbye.  I scraped away the shiny polish under the cold water coming from the sink. The flakes of polish flicked into the circular stream of water and cycled a few times before going down the drain. My vision blurred with tears as I continued shredding away at my ten beautiful creations and loves, watching them break apart and mix with the dirty rust left in the sink before they quickly disappeared and all I was left with was damaged half-chipped fingernails, tears, and a lesson that no 6 year old boy trying to discover himself should ever have to learn; that the world was not interested in my beautiful rubber duckies. I had to kill the part of myself that I loved the most if I didn’t want to feel alone in this world. My ducks were safe in my head, but not on my hands. I laid my ducks down to rest, and I told them goodnight until I found a time or a place where people will see my ducks and instead of laugh, they will ask me what their names are. I pushed open the heavy bathroom door and walked back out to the classroom, took my seat back on the carpet, and replayed the stares and whispers in my head until I didn’t have enough room in my mind to think about how much I missed my ducks anymore.

No one talked to me that day.

[parkerchafetzwriting-blog]

Exciting Things

Hello! It’s about time I’ve gotten my feet off the ground and started a blog solely dedicated to my writing. So, to start off this exciting chapter and hopefully give everyone a taste of what my style of writing is like/who I am as a person, I’m starting a project called “Lessons I’ve Learned” in which I want to tell short stories about my life that have taught me some of the most valuable lessons that I think shaped me today. I’m going to try to write one each day until the end of January. I’m so excited to see where this goes and I hope you all are too!