Category: love

Agate Magic

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NOTE: There is nothing scientifically provable in this story. But it is still 100% true.

This weekend my kids and I had the occasion to visit my dad’s favorite beach. We were visiting one of my dad’s favorite people, Patsi. It was Patsi who whispered in my ear at my dad’s service 12 years ago that I was his favorite child. And Patsi and I were walking on the beach with my dad’s favorite grandchildren he’s never met.

You can see where I’m going with this. It was a powerful place.

As we walked on the beach, we were hunting for agates. I’ll insert the dictionary definition here because the “you know them when you see them” approach doesn’t work well with writing. Miriam-Webster describes these rocks as: “a fine-grained variegated chalcedony having its colors arranged in stripes, blended in clouds, or showing mosslike forms.”

picture of an agate

We walked 40 minutes at beachcombing pace to get to my dad’s favorite beach. As we strolled, Patsi and I told the kids about Dad’s uncanny ability to find agates. My dad had a lazy eye so he essentially could only see out of one eye. This meant he lacked depth perception (in the visual sense, not the spiritual sense). But somehow he developed the timing to hit the tennis ball, the coordination to swing at a softball, and the ability to help everyone find where their errant golf balls were hit. And he could spot agates on the beach.

One of my dad’s favorite antics was to slyly pick up an agate he found and then toss it in front of whoever he was with so they could “find” it. This happened often to both Patsi and me. If we failed to notice the “planted” agate, he’d point it out and tease, “how could you miss this? It’s practically the size of a boulder?”

As we beachcombed with the kids, I was starting to regret talking up the agates so much. It’d been almost 20 years since I’d been to this beach, what if there weren’t agates any more? Was I setting my kids up for a failure?

And then my 11-year-old daughter, Miss O, exclaimed, “I found one!” Patsi, the official verifier, declared it not just an agate, but a boulder of one.

I was feeling the parental anxiety of one kid getting one when it was unlikely that the other would. Then less than three minutes after Miss O’s find, my six-year-old son said, “there’s one!” He found a beautifully colored and shaped one.

We idly kept beach combing. Now that my kids had theirs, I felt more alive to the sunshine and water sounds. As I relaxed in the breath-taking scenery in a place my beloved father loved, I looked down – and there was a beautiful agate directly in front of my left toe.

Completely unprovable but I’m 100% certain my dad was there, “planting” the agates, reveling in our joy, soothing our worries, and surrounding us with love, as he always did.

P.S. Patsi confessed later that she didn’t think we’d find any. She’s lived on that beach for 31 years so she has a pretty good sense. But there’s no accounting for magic.

(photos are mine from Guemes Island, Washington)

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Weaving Our Tapestries of Connection

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“Relations are like electric currents. Wrong connections will give you shocks throughout your life. But the right ones light up your life. ” – unknown

I didn’t realize that I was pulling a loose thread in my life until we landed in France on our recent trip. But I teared up when I was explaining to our friends there that I felt compelled to visit them so that Miss O could know a little bit about what their son’s life was in France. I continued on to say that I believed that it would be easier for their son to come home to start middle school if at least one other friend had seen where he’d been.

Miss O and their older son had been in every class together from ages three through seven when the family moved to France. And then we saw them every summer when they’d come to visit so Mr. D got to know their younger son too.

I didn’t take me long to puzzle out my tears. When my family moved back from the Philippines to the States I was almost seven-years-old. It wasn’t long into trying to make friends at Jefferson Elementary when I heard kids teasingly jeer, “In the Philippines…” I must have started many sentences that way and it got old – for them and for me. Because the two lives were so different.

I didn’t know it was a loose thread all these years later. But I had an inexplicable certainty that I needed to take my family to France to build a bridge for these kids. If my kids could at least see a bit of where these boys had spent four years, perhaps their shift back to school in Seattle could be a bit more integrated.

The parents of these boys told me that one of their sons’ teachers in France counseled them not to talk about their French experience at all with new friends. I understand that advice but also know that we suffer a cramping of spirit when we bottle ourselves up like that.

Then we traveled on from France to our friends in England. Five years ago, this English family moved from London to our street in the States. Our kids went to school together and traveled back and forth between houses in a constant rotation. After four years of life in America it was time for them to move back. They settled into a delightful little village in Southwest England.

We had so much fun visiting our English friends a year after they left Seattle. In one especially poignant moment, I found all the kids huddled around the school yearbook we’d brought for them. The kids were so interested in seeing how everyone looked and hearing stories of what had happened since they’d left. When it was time for us to leave after two nights, there were tears on all sides. The mom of the family told her kids, “See, I told you your American friends would come visit.”

When I heard that, the tears welled up in me again. A feeling overcame me that was similar to when I see stories of long-lost friends reuniting, or blogger friends meeting in person. We are all more connected than we think. And when we honor the threads that bind us, we help complete each other’s tapestries in a beautiful way.

(featured photo from Pexels))

You can find me on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/ and Instagram @wynneleon

Please check out the The Life of Try podcast Where trying becomes the spark for personal growth, discovery, and re-invention!

Where I’m From

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“Our days are happier when we give people a bit of our heart, rather than a piece of our mind.” – unknown

My daughter, Miss O, wrote a poem for her fifth grade class. She will be graduating tomorrow and is on to middle school. Her experience at our neighborhood elementary school has been enriching, rewarding, and sweet. We’ve all made so many great friends and connections — which is amazing given that she started as a pandemic kindergartner doing classes online at age five.

Here’s Miss O’s poem. I’ll just sit off to the side with a box of tissues while you read it… 🙂

I am from
love
from
patience
and
kindness

I am from the
grass in the backyard
crisp
fresh
always green

I am from
The purple flowers down the block
Lavender-colored and
filled with
sweet honey

I am from
Christmas eve
in church
singing
and holding candles up to the sky

And doing
crazy things
just because we
feel like it
from going on
adventures
and celebrating holidays

I’m from the place
where there is always
good food
and where
projects
are our love language

From “Miss O, can you go help your brother?”
and
“When I’m gone do this list of 3,000 chores!”

I’m from
Rainy days with
Puddling jumping
Hot chocolate
Heated blankets
Movies
And love

I’m from
A chill neighborhood
In Seattle

And
Fresh baked
Cookies
And ice cream

(featured photo is Miss O on her first day of Kindergarten and last week)

You can find me on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/ and Instagram @wynneleon

Please check out the The Life of Try podcast Where trying becomes the spark for personal growth, discovery, and re-invention!

Lessons from Letting Go: Parenting Reflections

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“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” – Winnie the Pooh

There’s a lot of grief that comes with parenting, isn’t there? And I’m not referring to the grief the kids give us. I’m talking about the variety that comes with letting go.

My 10-year-old daughter< Miss O, changed the wallpaper of my phone to be a rotation of pictures of her and her younger brother. Now every time I tap the phone, I see a picture of one of the two of them, usually as younger kids.

Along with the cute pictures comes the grief. It’s small but I feel a stab of knowing I’ll never hold them on my hip like that again. Or that the era of toddler speak that required Momma interpretation has ended. Or that we don’t have so many moments of un-self-conscious joy anymore. There are all sorts of things to mourn as I get that momentary hit of how much we’ve changed. As neuroscientist Maya Shankar explains, every change comes with a loss of identity.

When I leaned into the grief, I found three things blooming underneath.

Gratitude. My sister-in-law’s mom, Georgia, repeatedly told me a story when I first had kids. She said that when my sister-in-law was six or seven, she asked Georgia to play. Georgia laments that her reply was, “No, Honey, I’d rather read my book.”

I learned from that story to say “yes” so that I’m not talking about it when I’m 75-years-old. There have been many moments it has been hard to put down my book or stop progress on something I want to get done. But more or less, when my kids have said, “Mommy, look?” or “Mom, do you want to play ball?” I’ve said yes. So now when I feel the pangs of grief that come with letting go the younger selves of my kids, I also feel the gratitude for all the memories we have made and continue to make.

Learning. My kids have learned to walk, talk, ride a bike, read, play musical instruments, bat a ball and a myriad of other things. But the grief makes me realize how much I’ve learned as well. Things like that I had name my feelings so I could teach them how to name theirs. Also how to pitch baseballs, get grass stains from the ballfield out of pants, make slime, and clean slime from clothes too. These years have not only been full of memories but also lessons and growth too.

Faith. Miss O is heading to middle school next year. The horizon is already changing with boys, more complex relationships, and a wider circle of independent activities. The number of things I can’t control is growing exponentially larger every day.

Of course, I’ve never been able to control much. This whole journey of parenting has helped me lean into faith. To say “yes” to making memories, learning, loving and leading, and then leave the rest to God.

Grief is uncomfortable. Even the small “g” kind that I’m feeling these days. But underneath it is a whole lot of goodness that reminds me to lean in to creating a life worth growing out of.

(featured photo is Miss O and Mr. D in 2019)

Showing Up

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“Please remember, it is what you are that heals, not what you know.” – Carl Jung

My ten-year-old daughter, Miss O, had a stomach bug this weekend. It hit hard on Friday night and then followed that typical 24 hour course where she felt miserable and threw up a half dozen times and then was mostly done.

When six-year-old Mr D realized that his sister wasn’t feeling well, he set out to make her his famous medium water. You know – not too hot and not too cold. In a lovely confluence where the one thing he knows how to make and the only thing she could keep down met, it was a beautiful gesture.

There was little else that Mr. D and I could do for her. She spent most of her day crying out in agony. Witnessing suffering like that makes me feel crummy. For me, helplessness usually turns into irritability. Fortunately, I was reminded of three things that I’ve heard/read lately:

From poet Mark Nepo, “… someone I love comes along in pain and I start dumping my pockets, looking for the one thing I know that will help them. But time and time again, the only thing they want is for me to open my heart like a sponge to them. They only want to be heard and held.” I swear my pockets are hanging out for how often I dig to try to find something to help only to learn this again and again.

When I talked with Sharon Eubank on the How to Share podcast she related some great lessons from her decades trying to help others as Global Director of Humanitarian Services for the LDS church. The one that really stuck with me was “My solution to your problem will always be wrong.” In this case, the foods that Miss O wanted to eat when she started to feel better wouldn’t have been my picks – but they worked for her.

And then in my most recent podcast conversation with author Amy Weinland Daughters she spoke of not knowing what to do for her friend, Dana, whose teenage son had cancer and then died. Amy started writing letters as a way to show up. She didn’t think it would make a difference but when Dana’s daughters asked Dana when she thought Amy would stop, Dana replied with something like, “I hope never.” We think what we are doing for someone who is suffering or grieving isn’t enough. But it does make a difference.

So I made an effort to pause my productivity efforts that made me feel like I was doing something by washing sheets and sanitizing bathrooms to just show up and stay present when Miss O cried out in pain and discomfort. I rubbed her back or her feet, told stories, and ordered more medium water from Mr. D. It really is what you are that heals. It’s all part of the magic of being there for someone.

(featured photo from Pexels)

You can find me on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/ and Instagram @wynneleon

I host the How to Share podcast, a podcast celebrates the art of teaching, learning, giving, and growing.

I also co-host the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast, an author, creator and storytelling podcast with the amazing Vicki Atkinson.

Life Begins Now: The Parenting Trap

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“It still amazes me that we insist on teaching algebra to all students when only about 20 percent will ever use it and fail to teach anything about parenting when the vast majority of our students will become parents.” – Nel Noddings

My dad used to tell this joke: Three religious leaders were asked the question, “When does life begin?”

The Catholic priest said, “At conception.“

The Protestant pastor replied, “At birth.“

The Rabbi answered, “When the last kid goes to college and the dog dies.“

I’m laughing. Wow do I feel this. As a parent of young children, I do more things in a day that I wouldn’t choose to do than things I would choose. That alone can make me feel as if my life is not my own. Add in the noise and chaos and it’s hard to find peace. Taken all together, that can make this phase of life seem like one to rush through.

 But I know I can’t assume that I’ll be able to enjoy my kids when they are mature adults. I had my kids when I was aged 46 and then 50. When my youngest is 30, I’ll be 80-years-old. Hopefully an alive, healthy, and active 80 years old but nothing is a given. I know that’s true at any age.

So I try to flip the punchline and enjoy my kids, and life, now.

Cleaning up messes

Things in my house are spilled nearly every day. Sometimes by me. Often not very big deals like when a glass of milk with a top on spilled the other day. It just left a corona of milk dotting the carpet.

Here’s the thing I’ve realized. It’s a chance to convey to my dear children that I’ll love them when things are messy.

Bonus points: Longevity specialist Dr. Peter Attia includes getting up from the floor with max of one arm for support on his Centenarian Decathlon list. It includes the ten most important physical tasks you will want to be able to do for the rest of your life. Every time I’m down on the floor cleaning, I celebrate working out the strength and neuromuscular control that I need.

Helping with personal hygiene

It’s funny that kids don’t come with personal hygiene habits baked in. I’d prefer not to have to remind others to brush their teeth or wipe their tush. Add a dog, cat and a crested gecko in the mix and I can pretty much guarantee that most days will have some involvement in someone else’s hygiene.

I love this one because it’s foundational to my outlook. It’s forced me as a congenital optimist, to accept that every day is not going to be perfect, comfortable, or even pretty.

And long after I’m gone, I can trust my kids will have some idea of how to keep their bodies safe.

Bonus points: My personal hygiene has suffered as a parent. Kudos to me when I remember to take care of myself as well.

Feeding them

There are some days where I make food, clean up from making food, only to find that by that time, more food is already required.

But, whether real or metaphorical, I’d argue that giving others fuel to live by is what we are here for.

Bonus points: This is a reminder that cooking is all about exercising our creative muscles. How can I make something when I realize I’m missing an ingredient? How do I make something that’ll last with what I have?

Melt downs

Oh, those moments when big emotions take over and make us uncomfortable. And by us, I mean not only the person melting down but also everyone close at hand. It can be precarious, unpredictable, and draining. It’s also 100% real.

Recently, I took my kids rock climbing. My six-year-old son got stuck halfway up the rock face. He couldn’t find a way past – not moving right or left or shifting his weight. He started to cry. Since I was belaying him, there was nothing I could do except be there with him. And it was the perfect metaphor because I was connected to him by a rope.

From 40 feet away, I shouted up my empathy for his frustration, tried some suggestions, told him he could come down, emphasized that I knew he could do it – everything I could do to help from afar. Finally he shook it off. Then he managed the coolest move — palming the rock with his right hand and smearing the face with his left foot, he leveraged himself up high enough to the next good hold.

It was as rousing of a feat of personal triumph as I’ve ever witnessed.

Here’s where you get to pick your image: port in the storm, rope anchor on a mountain, sacred ground – you have the chance to be that for someone else. And to learn a little bit about what it kicks off in you as well. We don’t often get to see adults do that – the trying, melt down, return and overcoming is usually a longer (and more hidden) process for grown-up risks and triumphs. There is nothing as powerful as watching someone overcome some real adversity. With young kids we get to see that nearly every day.

And then we get to celebrate their success.

Bonus points: It’s hard to stay regulated when someone else is dysregulated. Whether it’s my verbal 10-year-old daughter talking grown-up sounding sass that covers for her childlike emotions underneath or a stranger at the store, I feel it all the way through. But all this practice is helping my central nervous system to be buff!

Distraction

When awake and nearby, my kids provide continual distraction. I could be inside sitting at my computer typing and instead I’m out in a creek skipping rocks. Or I could be sitting on the couch with my phone in hand texting and instead I’m having a dance party and moving my hips. I hunt for snails and hold my kids’ hands while they learn to hoverboard.

Oh, that’s right – I’ve never once regretted a dance party, a rock skipping contest, time in nature, or moving my body.

Bonus points. Psychologist Dr. Alison Gopnik says that kids have lantern brain. They see everything that is around. Adults have spotlight brain – we focus on what needs to be done. Switching into lantern brain can help us solve problems, be creative, and open us to new insights. The distractions can actually help us with solutions for our work when we return to it.

Invasion of personal space

Yesterday my six-year-old son stuffed something in the pocket of my jeans. Gah.  

I’m all for enforcing the boundaries necessary to maintain healthy relationships. But before I decide what those boundaries are, I consider that my kids embody what we look like as open creatures that assume other people will help you carry your stuff.

Bonus points: Ask someone else to help you carry your stuff.

Time

I’m the only one that cares about time in my house. Being on time, getting to bed, the school bell is about to ring, dinner time, time for annual physicals, or it’s about time. All of it.

Because I’m the one that understands time is limited.

Bonus points: Stop caring about the future and enjoy the now.

I’m not guaranteed to get to 80 years old. But I bet that if I do, parenting will have extended my healthspan so that I enjoy it more. And I know I’ll be glad that I didn’t wait until the kids went to college and the dog died to begin living.

(featured photo is mine)

You can find me on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/ and Instagram @wynneleon

I host the How to Share podcast, a podcast about collaboration – sharing leads to success.

I also co-host the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast, an author, creator and storytelling podcast with the amazing Vicki Atkinson.

Touchstone

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“When it’s over, it’s the happy memories that hurt.” – unknown

“This car is packed with memories,” Miss O said as we pulled into the lot of the company we were selling it to.

I’d aimed to sell the car earlier in the day. But it was so old that the title was in my married name. Even with the proper documentation, it took longer than I’d anticipated so I had to return with my kids to finalize the deal.

Miss O was right – the car was packed with memories from the 18 years I owned it. And about a thousand goldfish crackers stuck in the cracks. We’d tried to get all the goldfish out but probably missed at least a dozen.

This was the car I’d trepidatiously drove Miss O home from the hospital in almost ten years ago. And made that same trip with Mr. D about six years ago filled with awe and a little bit of overwhelm. Speaking of family members, it was the car we picked up Cooper the dog in as a puppy two years ago. Miss O sat with him in a box on our lap in the back seat and explained the world, “This is a freeway. That is an airplane. And you are my new best friend.”

It’s carried us, our well-worn hiking shoes, and our stuffies to school, our favorite vacation spots, and the best hiking trails.

The car was the last car of mine that my dad rode in and helped fix. I can still see him taping plastic over the rear window on the driver’s side when it stopped working on a stormy November day.

Along with the goldfish crackers, the car probably has two pounds of dog hair even after we vacuumed and vacuumed. It was the car that carried me to say good-bye to my beloved dog, Biscuit when it was time for him to cross the rainbow bridge at nearly 14 years of age in 2017.

Like all touchstones, the car is just a gateway for all the tender, tense, and touching moments my family has stored in our hearts. Funny how touchstones make feelings so accessible. The car feeling was that life is adventurous, rich, and full of beloved characters we love.

The kids and I hugged the car and walked into the building a little teary-eyed. We sold the car but we are keeping the memories.

(featured photo is of our parking lot car hug)

You can find me on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/ and Instagram @wynneleon

I host the How to Share podcast, a podcast about collaboration – in our families, friendships, at work and in the world.

I also co-host the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast, an author, creator and storytelling podcast with the amazing Vicki Atkinson.

Best Mother’s Day Gift

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“You are imperfect, you are wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging.” – Brené Brown

As I type this, I can hear my kids 10 feet away slurping their hot chocolate. It’s the end of a busy weekend. We had our family over for Mother’s Day and now are winding down.

I’m trying to put my finger on the feeling. Over the course of the weekend, in addition to hosting a family party, my kids and I played a lot of baseball, done chores, cooked meals, watched movies and worked on a project outside to transform an area of our back yard. That last activity involved a lot of manual labor as we dug out a flat space and installed pavers to turn what used to be the base of the kids’ playhouse into a cozy place to sit in the garden.

In the last 48 hours, we’ve hurt our knuckles on the rough paving stones, cried some, especially when we lost our baseballs, and laughed a lot more than we cried. Along the way to finishing our project, we also bought this silly ball pitching machine that sends small 1.6 inch diameter foam balls zinging across the yard at 30 miles per hour. My body aches from moving heavy stones and gravel and chasing small yellow balls.

But my heart is so full. It’s the camaraderie with our extended family. Also this feeling that I’m right where I should be. I love my children whole-heartedly…and I like them too.

When I chose to start a family as a single parent ten years ago I had very little idea of how much work would be involved. I was listening to a God whisper about what came next for my life.

The Mother’s Day feeling I’m having right now? That I belong in this life. I suspect that might be one of the best gifts ever.

(featured photo is mine of our work in progress garden seating area)

You can find me on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/ and Instagram @wynneleon

I host the How to Share podcast, a podcast focused on the wisdom and research about how to share anything – to the appropriate audience, with the right permissions, at the most opportune time.

I also co-host the Sharing the Heart of the Matter podcast, an author, creator and storytelling podcast with the amazing Vicki Atkinson.

My other projects include work as a CEO (Chief Encouragement Officer), speaking about collaboration and AI through the Chicago Writer’s Association, and my book about my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

Suffering

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“When another person makes you suffer, it is because he suffers deeply within himself, and his suffering is spilling over. He does not need punishment; he needs help. That’s the message he is sending.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

I don’t often think about my ex-husband, for better or for worse. [Yes, that was a marriage joke. 😊] After we divorced, he got married to his third wife. I discovered, once I wasn’t married to him, that I did want kids and had them on my own.

But something I read the other day made me think of something he said fifteen years ago when our marriage was unravelling. “I suffered so much as a kid that I don’t want to suffer any more now.” It was his excuse for not wanting to do the work to figure out the why of his infidelities.

He did suffer as a kid. His parents divorced when he was three years old. His mom remarried a man that ended up going to prison for bank robbery. He was in high school and living with his dad and his dad’s third wife until his dad and step-mom left town in the middle of the night to move 1,000 miles away without telling him because they were in trouble with the IRS.

My ex was a smart kid. He figured it out and managed to work his way through college to create a different life than his parents.

Here’s what I read that made me think of my ex:

“While I am not a victim, I didn’t ask for certain shaping experiences to happen to me. I didn’t ask to be slapped or ridiculed as a boy or to be mistreated by lifelong friends later in life. In truth, If I had experienced different things, I would have different things to say.

What is most healing about bearing witness to things exactly as they are, including my own part in my pain, is that when the voice of the pain fits the pain, there is no room for distortion or illusion. In this way, truth becomes a clean bandage that heals, keeping dirt out of the wound.

To voice things as they are is the nearest medicine.”

— The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have by Mark Nepo

That meditation helped me to understand that the point of cleaning our wounds isn’t to suffer more, it’s to heal at that deeper level.

Here’s the funny thing. In not wanting to do his work, my ex made me want to do mine. He’s right – there’s too much suffering in this world. I was motivated to heal my wounds so I don’t thoughtlessly create others.

(featured photo from Pexels)

You can find me on Instagram @wynneleon and LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/wynneleon/

I co-host a storytelling podcast featuring authors and artists with the amazing Vicki Atkinson. To tune in, search for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Spotify, Apple, Amazon Music or Pocketcasts (and subscribe) or click here. Or the YouTube channel features videos of our interviews. Please subscribe!

My other projects include work as a CEO (Chief Encouragement Officer), speaking about creativity and AI through the Chicago Writer’s Association, and my book about my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

The Love You Can’t Wipe Off

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“How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved.” – Sigmund Freud

One morning last week, I gave five-year-old Mr. D a kiss on the cheek as he was getting out of the car at school. He turned and said, “Sometimes I wipe your kisses off.” I laughed and then he jumped out of the car and ran to join his class line.

I was still laughing when this retort popped to mind: “Nice try but the mark of love doesn’t wipe away that easily.”

It’s in the clean clothes you have to wear. And packed with the lunch I’ve taken the time to try to balance nutrition with edibility.

It’s with the reading practice we did last night so you can feel more confident today. And in the jobs I let you “help” with to gain a since of accomplishment.

Love is in the echo of you saying “My best mom in the world” when we snuggle on the couch in the morning.

It’s in the tilt of your head when you speak because you know you are worth being listened to.

And it’s in the even-handed way you treat other people and the dog and cat with curiosity and companionship.

We don’t have everything and sometimes butt heads, but love shows up to help smooth out our edges.

Love is in your knowledge that you can tell me that you wipe my kisses off. And that I’ll still keep trying on your way out the door.