Sunday, March 30, 2014
The Transitioning Yesod: Of Queen Esther and Of [Transgender] Passing
The Transitioning Yesod: Of Queen Esther and Of [Transgender] Passing: Hello My Dear One, It was recently Purim, a festival of women's power over oppression, well one woman at least. We celebrate the cour...
Of Queen Esther and Of [Transgender] Passing
Hello My Dear One,
It was recently Purim, a festival of women's power over oppression, well one woman at least. We celebrate the courage, character, and faith of Queen Esther as she bravely stood her ground and defeated the "evil" Haman and saved the Jewish people. She also had a little help from her Uncle Mordecai, and most of all G-d was on her side. It's kind of a recurring theme of course throughout the Torah, potential Jewish annihilation thwarted at the last possible moment through devout belief in the reality and power of the one true G-d.
We Jews, admittedly, and with good reason, frequently display a persecution/oppression complex. It's been going on for millennia, and the most recent attack of the Shoah [Holocaust] where 6 million Jews were actually annihilated, makes a definitive case for fearing the loss of Jewish lives and culture. It's true, being Jewish is often a liability, but I have observed many individuals for whom more traditional practice strengthens their Jewish identity, and protects the core of the Judaism, as they see it.
Now, I am not a particularly "observant" Jew. I do not really keep kosher, however it is a part of my consciousness and I don't eat cheeseburgers, pork, or bacon, except when there is bacon and it looks too delicious not to consume. And for the record, every time a crack an egg I look to see if it has been fertilized or not, and then proceed to use it regardless, because I'm too cheap to waste eggs. I do not possess multiple sets of dishes, pots and pans, silverware, knives, or other kitchen needs. And although I am fully fluent in the kashrut understandings of meat, dairy, and parve, I can't remember the last time I actually looked at a label to see if it was "appropriate" for the particular dining event. You don't really need to when it comes to matzoh anyway. Then again, I eat leavened bread during Pesach, and no, I am not Sephardic, I am Ashkenazic through and through. I suppose one of the few remnants of food directives that I keep is guilt.
But wait, there's more. I do not attend services very often, sometimes it's no more than twice a year. I don't observe all the holy days, there have been many years I didn't even light candles during Chanukkah, and perhaps worst of all, I married a gentile. Yep, I married goy. And my sons are being raised in her faith tradition of liberal christianity. And ultimately, I would rather they have a strong faith in essentially the same G-d that I believe in, even if it involves different rites and rituals.
And all of this brings me to Purim, to a story of the religious fortitude of an ancient character that continues to inspire millions of Jews. Even a not-particularly-observant-Jew like myself feels a swell of pride and purpose as the Megillah is recited, if only in fragments in my mind. The story of a woman who hides who she is from her husband, still maintains contact with her openly Jewish uncle, and ultimately foils a plan to eradicate her people by an "other" who seeks to blot out a faithful and reasonably peaceful group of people. And maybe that's the special hook in the story, the way that Esther is able to conceal her Jewishness, even from the king. Because, for all intents and purposes, even those of us who "look" Jewish, don't have some outward difference that marks us as Jews. Note: I recognize that in the past, circumcision was an outward sign, however one wasn't usually walking around displaying this to the public, and nowadays, circumcision is a remarkably common practice in the United States for all newborn males.
You see, unless we go around wearing kippahs or yarmulkes, or fringe hanging out from under our shirts or some other accessory of Judaism, we can pass as non-Jews. And this has happened throughout history. Jews have shed their traditional clothing for the local culture's and assimilated into society. And let's face it, assimilation is a lot easier than following hundreds of arcane rules and laws that were meant for people living thousands of years ago. Laws keep people in line, and if you make sure that the dress code is a legal issue, then you can further ensure group unity. But, when you take the uniforms away, the custodian and the principal cannot be told apart, or the priest from the beggar, or maybe even the man from the woman.
And that idea, that we can't tell who's who, or how we should treat them is scary. Plain and simple, we want to know how to address someone because we have different rules for different people, and we don't want to insult a greater person or mistakenly elevate a lower one. It's a sad truth I have learned as an intersex and transgender individual, particularly one with mental illness who happens to be Jewish. Sometimes I think I should get a prize for having membership in so many minorities, but that would defeat the purpose. Anyway, how we interact with another person is based on a myriad of assumptions, and when we can hide parts of ourselves, we are able to avoid some of the prejudices that we fear encountering.
But back to Queen Esther, back to how she and I actually meet in the middle of Judaism and gender identity. She and I both occupy spaces that can be challenged when our "true" identities are discovered. Queen Esther is passing as a non-Jew in a place where being a Jew is risky at best. She has found a way to live in a situation that was not entirely of her choosing, and live well, even at the cost of an outward profession of her faith.
And so am I. In my day to day life I pass as a "normal" heterosexual male, married, with two sons, living an average life in rural Maine. I pass so completely that even my wife sometimes forgets that my transgender self could be a problem for other people. She knows me, all of me, and yet sees me as totally male inside and out and even I marvel at this. Frankly, I see myself the same way, as male inside and out, and I project this image to the world around me.
But I have chosen not to go "stealth," to live as though I was never female, as though I am not a transman, as though I do not have an intersex condition, as though I am a "normal" heterosexual male. I have chosen to expose my past and my present realities in very public ways. I have chosen to write, to speak, to share, and to confide in people my true identity, even if it could cost me all the stability I have in the world. I choose to live my truth.
And that of course is where Queen Esther and I meet in the middle of faith and comfort. We have both chosen to reveal our souls to those who might harm us for who we are. And of course I do this with my own faith, not just my gender identity, as I share the duality of my religious experience in a rural community where diversity is non-normative. I also share my battle with the Beasts of my mental illness, the quirks of my brain, the realities of who I am.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just keep my mouth shut and go stealth, maybe pack up and move the family to a whole new place and pretend that my past didn't happen the way it really did. But
as my pastor recently reminded me, I am not someone who blends. I am outspoken, opinionated, stubborn, and stuck firmly in the belief that all people deserve the right to live their lives as they choose. So even if I moved, I would undoubtedly find ways to expose myself for who I am, giving lectures, writing, revealing, confiding, and sharing the truths of what it means to be a transman who refuses to hide.
Why would I do this? Why would I stay as open as I am, when given a chance to pass as normative? Because, although I cannot save all the transgender people in the world, I, like Queen Esther can save the ones around me. I can help my transgender brothers and sisters free themselves from isolation, persecution, depression, and fear by showing that I can live out loud.
I can live without fear of discrimination, because I know that someone else's dislike of me says more about them than it does about me. I can live without fear, because I know that who I am, is the me that has been called into being. I can live as myself, because I live in the presence of a G-d who loves me exactly as I am. I can live, because I have chosen not to die, not to accept the hatred, not to accept the darkness that has surrounded me time and time again. I choose to live life.
Every day I offer to shed light on dark and hidden subjects that have repressed us all, as we all live in the shadows and on the margins of the potentials we can be. By living as authentically as possible, I can show that regardless of biological sex, gender identity, and/or sexual orientation, we are all valuable and valued children of G-d. We all need unconditional love. We all need each other. And with G-d's help, we are capable of creating and sharing that love with each and everyone of our neighbors.
Thank you for being light and love on my journey.
Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.
-Ari
It was recently Purim, a festival of women's power over oppression, well one woman at least. We celebrate the courage, character, and faith of Queen Esther as she bravely stood her ground and defeated the "evil" Haman and saved the Jewish people. She also had a little help from her Uncle Mordecai, and most of all G-d was on her side. It's kind of a recurring theme of course throughout the Torah, potential Jewish annihilation thwarted at the last possible moment through devout belief in the reality and power of the one true G-d.
We Jews, admittedly, and with good reason, frequently display a persecution/oppression complex. It's been going on for millennia, and the most recent attack of the Shoah [Holocaust] where 6 million Jews were actually annihilated, makes a definitive case for fearing the loss of Jewish lives and culture. It's true, being Jewish is often a liability, but I have observed many individuals for whom more traditional practice strengthens their Jewish identity, and protects the core of the Judaism, as they see it.
Now, I am not a particularly "observant" Jew. I do not really keep kosher, however it is a part of my consciousness and I don't eat cheeseburgers, pork, or bacon, except when there is bacon and it looks too delicious not to consume. And for the record, every time a crack an egg I look to see if it has been fertilized or not, and then proceed to use it regardless, because I'm too cheap to waste eggs. I do not possess multiple sets of dishes, pots and pans, silverware, knives, or other kitchen needs. And although I am fully fluent in the kashrut understandings of meat, dairy, and parve, I can't remember the last time I actually looked at a label to see if it was "appropriate" for the particular dining event. You don't really need to when it comes to matzoh anyway. Then again, I eat leavened bread during Pesach, and no, I am not Sephardic, I am Ashkenazic through and through. I suppose one of the few remnants of food directives that I keep is guilt.
But wait, there's more. I do not attend services very often, sometimes it's no more than twice a year. I don't observe all the holy days, there have been many years I didn't even light candles during Chanukkah, and perhaps worst of all, I married a gentile. Yep, I married goy. And my sons are being raised in her faith tradition of liberal christianity. And ultimately, I would rather they have a strong faith in essentially the same G-d that I believe in, even if it involves different rites and rituals.
And all of this brings me to Purim, to a story of the religious fortitude of an ancient character that continues to inspire millions of Jews. Even a not-particularly-observant-Jew like myself feels a swell of pride and purpose as the Megillah is recited, if only in fragments in my mind. The story of a woman who hides who she is from her husband, still maintains contact with her openly Jewish uncle, and ultimately foils a plan to eradicate her people by an "other" who seeks to blot out a faithful and reasonably peaceful group of people. And maybe that's the special hook in the story, the way that Esther is able to conceal her Jewishness, even from the king. Because, for all intents and purposes, even those of us who "look" Jewish, don't have some outward difference that marks us as Jews. Note: I recognize that in the past, circumcision was an outward sign, however one wasn't usually walking around displaying this to the public, and nowadays, circumcision is a remarkably common practice in the United States for all newborn males.
You see, unless we go around wearing kippahs or yarmulkes, or fringe hanging out from under our shirts or some other accessory of Judaism, we can pass as non-Jews. And this has happened throughout history. Jews have shed their traditional clothing for the local culture's and assimilated into society. And let's face it, assimilation is a lot easier than following hundreds of arcane rules and laws that were meant for people living thousands of years ago. Laws keep people in line, and if you make sure that the dress code is a legal issue, then you can further ensure group unity. But, when you take the uniforms away, the custodian and the principal cannot be told apart, or the priest from the beggar, or maybe even the man from the woman.
And that idea, that we can't tell who's who, or how we should treat them is scary. Plain and simple, we want to know how to address someone because we have different rules for different people, and we don't want to insult a greater person or mistakenly elevate a lower one. It's a sad truth I have learned as an intersex and transgender individual, particularly one with mental illness who happens to be Jewish. Sometimes I think I should get a prize for having membership in so many minorities, but that would defeat the purpose. Anyway, how we interact with another person is based on a myriad of assumptions, and when we can hide parts of ourselves, we are able to avoid some of the prejudices that we fear encountering.
But back to Queen Esther, back to how she and I actually meet in the middle of Judaism and gender identity. She and I both occupy spaces that can be challenged when our "true" identities are discovered. Queen Esther is passing as a non-Jew in a place where being a Jew is risky at best. She has found a way to live in a situation that was not entirely of her choosing, and live well, even at the cost of an outward profession of her faith.
And so am I. In my day to day life I pass as a "normal" heterosexual male, married, with two sons, living an average life in rural Maine. I pass so completely that even my wife sometimes forgets that my transgender self could be a problem for other people. She knows me, all of me, and yet sees me as totally male inside and out and even I marvel at this. Frankly, I see myself the same way, as male inside and out, and I project this image to the world around me.
But I have chosen not to go "stealth," to live as though I was never female, as though I am not a transman, as though I do not have an intersex condition, as though I am a "normal" heterosexual male. I have chosen to expose my past and my present realities in very public ways. I have chosen to write, to speak, to share, and to confide in people my true identity, even if it could cost me all the stability I have in the world. I choose to live my truth.
And that of course is where Queen Esther and I meet in the middle of faith and comfort. We have both chosen to reveal our souls to those who might harm us for who we are. And of course I do this with my own faith, not just my gender identity, as I share the duality of my religious experience in a rural community where diversity is non-normative. I also share my battle with the Beasts of my mental illness, the quirks of my brain, the realities of who I am.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just keep my mouth shut and go stealth, maybe pack up and move the family to a whole new place and pretend that my past didn't happen the way it really did. But
as my pastor recently reminded me, I am not someone who blends. I am outspoken, opinionated, stubborn, and stuck firmly in the belief that all people deserve the right to live their lives as they choose. So even if I moved, I would undoubtedly find ways to expose myself for who I am, giving lectures, writing, revealing, confiding, and sharing the truths of what it means to be a transman who refuses to hide.
Why would I do this? Why would I stay as open as I am, when given a chance to pass as normative? Because, although I cannot save all the transgender people in the world, I, like Queen Esther can save the ones around me. I can help my transgender brothers and sisters free themselves from isolation, persecution, depression, and fear by showing that I can live out loud.
I can live without fear of discrimination, because I know that someone else's dislike of me says more about them than it does about me. I can live without fear, because I know that who I am, is the me that has been called into being. I can live as myself, because I live in the presence of a G-d who loves me exactly as I am. I can live, because I have chosen not to die, not to accept the hatred, not to accept the darkness that has surrounded me time and time again. I choose to live life.
Every day I offer to shed light on dark and hidden subjects that have repressed us all, as we all live in the shadows and on the margins of the potentials we can be. By living as authentically as possible, I can show that regardless of biological sex, gender identity, and/or sexual orientation, we are all valuable and valued children of G-d. We all need unconditional love. We all need each other. And with G-d's help, we are capable of creating and sharing that love with each and everyone of our neighbors.Thank you for being light and love on my journey.
Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.
-Ari
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Of Doing the Best They Could, of Moving Forward from the PTSD Flashbacks
Hello My Dear One,
It has been a tough couple of weeks at work again, with multiple changes to my schedule and my responsibilities. It has also been a time of deep reflection on the events of my past and the flashbacks that I have been dealing with. It has been a time of outer and inner confinement, and within that I have found different perspectives on how I perceive myself. It began in the darkness of the inside self and has slowly moved into the light of the outside world.
For the past 25 years I have seen my life as one grand failure after another. For 25 years I spent my time believing that who I was could be summed up in the disasters I had created and the wreckage I left behind. I was unable to feel that the positives that had occurred had actual meaning, that they were more than just accidents of fate. I could not believe that I was in any way the originator of the good itself. I believed that I was merely a guilty bystander who by fluke had a good thing happen to him and others around me simply by proximity. I was a big, fat nothing in my mind and each bad thing that happened in my life was a reinforcing reminder of my inherent unworthiness.
In part, this sense of self, this sense of failure came from the six years that my parents were tangled in that ugly affair, all the while refusing to make good choices, and telling me that they were staying together for me. Yes, they reminded me daily that their immense dysfunction was for my own wellbeing. And for the past 20 years or so, I believed that I was therefore to blame for the six years of torture and the failure of the relationship itself when I went off to college. I carried the weight and the burden of a failed existence that wasn't even mine. I was responsible for their choices, or so I thought, and each bad thing that followed was directly related to my actions.
And I stayed a prisoner to the past for a very long time. I allowed the darkness to overwhelm the light, and to overwhelm me. Consequently, I couldn't become the man I knew I was. I was stuck living as someone who had been imprisoned by her/his own body. I was also stuck with profound and profoundly untreated mental illness. Add in the unbearable dysfunction of my family of origin, and I had a recipe for substance abuse, self mutilation, violence, impulsivity, mental breakdowns, and sheer hopelessness. Sadly, I fell down all of these rabbit holes at one time or another, and I am always aware of the fact that it could happen again if I don't take care of myself.
It is not surprising when people tell me it was a miracle I survived all of my mental and physical illness. And it is true, I did survive. I did not lose the battles with my parents' Beasts or with my own Beast. I lived to become the man I am today, including being a loving husband, father, and teacher. And those accomplishments are far more than mere survival. I surpassed the hells of my existence, I grew out from them, using the unsteady foundations to build new platforms for my success.
More importantly, is that the things I did and did not do over the past twenty five years are more than just the result of divine intervention and dumb luck. Rather, who I am is the product of all the successes I created out of the abyss that I crawled up from, with the help of G-d. It is what I have done with the wretched times in my life that has given me a way to use my G-d given gifts, shaping and honing them to be of the best uses possible. I didn't merely survive, I thrived.
I have had many successes in music and art. I have earned 2 undergraduate degrees, as well as a Master of Arts in Theology and Ethics, all while living with learning disabilities, mental illness, mega-doses of medications, and gender identity issues that led to a full transition from living as a female to living as a male. I successfully transitioned from female to male, keeping my marriage and family intact.
I understand what it is like to live with emotional, physical, sexual, and spiritual abuse. I have the experience of fighting with Bipolar 1 Disorder and how it can wreck a person's entire life when left untreated. I have the ability to share my stories with individuals and large groups in order to broaden others' understanding of gender identity, transgender, and intersex conditions. I choose to share those stories as an example of success in the transgender community and a way to teach others that it is the journey of being human that is universal even when our paths seem so remarkably different.
But what about the pain and the scars that I still deal with when I think about the past, about the horrific ways my parents acted, the crimes against human dignity that went on for so long, the bizarre reality that was my life?
Well, I used to view those battle wounds as the result of people who refused to do their jobs of being good parents. I balked at the notion that, as many people would tell me, "they did the best they could." I hated those words and the lack of personal responsibility they implied. It was as if those 6 words excused everything, because my parents had put forth the best effort they could. In my mind and aloud, I would scream that this was untrue, that they had NOT done the best they could. They had chosen their own narcissistic needs over my basic human needs. They had failed me miserably and I was unwilling to believe otherwise.
But as I continued to reprocess the initial flashback, a door was opened up for me to let a new narrative be heard. I sat in my therapist's office, still hashing out my feelings and that nagging phrase "they did the best they could." And as I sat there saying that I couldn't accept that my parents had done the best they could, I suddenly sensed that my worldview was about to change. My therapist asked me questions I had never had the courage to ask myself. With a compassionate but blunt truth she asked, "What if they did?" "What if it was the best that they could do?" "What if in their own dysfunction, disease, and emptiness, their choice to stay together for you was the best they could do?"
And sitting there in the early morning, I realized that the answer to all of those questions was one that I didn't want admit, much less say aloud. So I breathed out a heavy sigh and said "Yes, maybe that was the best that they could do, even if it wasn't what I needed." And that was the answer. My parents had somehow believed that they were doing the best they could for their child, albeit a deluded, misguided, traumatizing, and dangerous best. Yes, my parents did the best they could for me. And in the end, that is all they could have done.
So, here I am, knowing that I have survived and grown from the "best" my parents could do. And that is a miracle, it is a mitzvah, and it is a living faith. It is a miracle that even the worst that someone can endure can still be transformed into a blessing. I am living proof that G-d's love is greater than any brokenness that a human can have. I am living a life of my own design, choosing to be a better man, choosing to show that I am a blessing and that I am blessed. And I continue choosing to accept the "best" that each of us can do for one another, hoping and helping with the broken parts of each of us.
Thank you for being a part of the blessing that is my life.
Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.
- Ari
It has been a tough couple of weeks at work again, with multiple changes to my schedule and my responsibilities. It has also been a time of deep reflection on the events of my past and the flashbacks that I have been dealing with. It has been a time of outer and inner confinement, and within that I have found different perspectives on how I perceive myself. It began in the darkness of the inside self and has slowly moved into the light of the outside world.
For the past 25 years I have seen my life as one grand failure after another. For 25 years I spent my time believing that who I was could be summed up in the disasters I had created and the wreckage I left behind. I was unable to feel that the positives that had occurred had actual meaning, that they were more than just accidents of fate. I could not believe that I was in any way the originator of the good itself. I believed that I was merely a guilty bystander who by fluke had a good thing happen to him and others around me simply by proximity. I was a big, fat nothing in my mind and each bad thing that happened in my life was a reinforcing reminder of my inherent unworthiness.
In part, this sense of self, this sense of failure came from the six years that my parents were tangled in that ugly affair, all the while refusing to make good choices, and telling me that they were staying together for me. Yes, they reminded me daily that their immense dysfunction was for my own wellbeing. And for the past 20 years or so, I believed that I was therefore to blame for the six years of torture and the failure of the relationship itself when I went off to college. I carried the weight and the burden of a failed existence that wasn't even mine. I was responsible for their choices, or so I thought, and each bad thing that followed was directly related to my actions.
And I stayed a prisoner to the past for a very long time. I allowed the darkness to overwhelm the light, and to overwhelm me. Consequently, I couldn't become the man I knew I was. I was stuck living as someone who had been imprisoned by her/his own body. I was also stuck with profound and profoundly untreated mental illness. Add in the unbearable dysfunction of my family of origin, and I had a recipe for substance abuse, self mutilation, violence, impulsivity, mental breakdowns, and sheer hopelessness. Sadly, I fell down all of these rabbit holes at one time or another, and I am always aware of the fact that it could happen again if I don't take care of myself.
It is not surprising when people tell me it was a miracle I survived all of my mental and physical illness. And it is true, I did survive. I did not lose the battles with my parents' Beasts or with my own Beast. I lived to become the man I am today, including being a loving husband, father, and teacher. And those accomplishments are far more than mere survival. I surpassed the hells of my existence, I grew out from them, using the unsteady foundations to build new platforms for my success.
More importantly, is that the things I did and did not do over the past twenty five years are more than just the result of divine intervention and dumb luck. Rather, who I am is the product of all the successes I created out of the abyss that I crawled up from, with the help of G-d. It is what I have done with the wretched times in my life that has given me a way to use my G-d given gifts, shaping and honing them to be of the best uses possible. I didn't merely survive, I thrived.
I have had many successes in music and art. I have earned 2 undergraduate degrees, as well as a Master of Arts in Theology and Ethics, all while living with learning disabilities, mental illness, mega-doses of medications, and gender identity issues that led to a full transition from living as a female to living as a male. I successfully transitioned from female to male, keeping my marriage and family intact.
I understand what it is like to live with emotional, physical, sexual, and spiritual abuse. I have the experience of fighting with Bipolar 1 Disorder and how it can wreck a person's entire life when left untreated. I have the ability to share my stories with individuals and large groups in order to broaden others' understanding of gender identity, transgender, and intersex conditions. I choose to share those stories as an example of success in the transgender community and a way to teach others that it is the journey of being human that is universal even when our paths seem so remarkably different.
But what about the pain and the scars that I still deal with when I think about the past, about the horrific ways my parents acted, the crimes against human dignity that went on for so long, the bizarre reality that was my life?
Well, I used to view those battle wounds as the result of people who refused to do their jobs of being good parents. I balked at the notion that, as many people would tell me, "they did the best they could." I hated those words and the lack of personal responsibility they implied. It was as if those 6 words excused everything, because my parents had put forth the best effort they could. In my mind and aloud, I would scream that this was untrue, that they had NOT done the best they could. They had chosen their own narcissistic needs over my basic human needs. They had failed me miserably and I was unwilling to believe otherwise.
But as I continued to reprocess the initial flashback, a door was opened up for me to let a new narrative be heard. I sat in my therapist's office, still hashing out my feelings and that nagging phrase "they did the best they could." And as I sat there saying that I couldn't accept that my parents had done the best they could, I suddenly sensed that my worldview was about to change. My therapist asked me questions I had never had the courage to ask myself. With a compassionate but blunt truth she asked, "What if they did?" "What if it was the best that they could do?" "What if in their own dysfunction, disease, and emptiness, their choice to stay together for you was the best they could do?"
And sitting there in the early morning, I realized that the answer to all of those questions was one that I didn't want admit, much less say aloud. So I breathed out a heavy sigh and said "Yes, maybe that was the best that they could do, even if it wasn't what I needed." And that was the answer. My parents had somehow believed that they were doing the best they could for their child, albeit a deluded, misguided, traumatizing, and dangerous best. Yes, my parents did the best they could for me. And in the end, that is all they could have done.
So, here I am, knowing that I have survived and grown from the "best" my parents could do. And that is a miracle, it is a mitzvah, and it is a living faith. It is a miracle that even the worst that someone can endure can still be transformed into a blessing. I am living proof that G-d's love is greater than any brokenness that a human can have. I am living a life of my own design, choosing to be a better man, choosing to show that I am a blessing and that I am blessed. And I continue choosing to accept the "best" that each of us can do for one another, hoping and helping with the broken parts of each of us. Thank you for being a part of the blessing that is my life.
Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.
- Ari
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