Yoga for Humanity: International Day of Yoga 2022

‘International Day of Yoga’ today: The theme of this year’s Yoga Day celebrations is ‘Yoga for Humanity’.

On this note, I take this opportunity to share an experience.
A few years back, in the first week of March of 2017, I had participated in the International Yoga Festival held in Rishikesh annually, with over 1000 participants from 100 countries. I had arrived from Chennai the day before the festival commenced and checked into the three-bed accommodation provided to all participants.
The first day of the festival, my roommates and I arrived at the Ganga Arati just as the first chants reverberated through the mountainous riverside air. We were enthusiastically about to join in when a salwar clad, well-turned-out chic Indian lady, I distinctly recall her also wearing a number of expensive rings, looked at us, and me specifically – rudely asking us to step away, at this was the teachers enclave.

We looked at her quizzically as there didn’t seem a marked area for teachers, but more so at her hateful face like she was spitting venom at me. I was totally rattled to my soul at such anger hurled by a complete stranger, at such a peaceful setting. My roommates promptly nudged me by my arms to move away from there. But I pulled back and told them – let’s just stay as moving around now during the hymns was disrespectful, but more so to see what this lady would do next.
She didn’t react – bullies intimidate those they think they can, and I had taken a lot of this nonsense lifelong at my varied jobs to be pushed around any more now!
This bullying lady looked at me contemptuously a few times, but I pretended not to notice. When the lit brass lamps were passed around, I deliberately touched her arm lightly and handed her the heavy one, with a mind to not judge but accept her outrage. She looked at me quizzically but accepted the lamp meekly.

The next morning I attended a yoga session, and to my amazement I found the lady’s enlarged photo on a canvas along with all the other yoga teachers on the stage – she seemed to be staring back at me specifically. But I wasn’t intimidated at the least, rather was shocked that this was the true inner self – lacking a basic level of spirituality of such yogic teachers. Then I went on to have some very interesting experiences throughout the festival, along with the hourly learnings every afternoon from renowned world spiritual leaders – I would skip the physical yoga lessons for.

At the end of the festival, we were handed a very detailed feedback form with a number of questions. There was also a space for comments – in which I narrated the entire incident with this yoga teacher at the Ganga Arati – I leaned her name by then and also that she was from Delhi.
I ended my comments by asking the organisers a pertinent question. I hope they at least thought about it – even if they didn’t take action – “If a yoga teacher has such a negative disposition – what’s the use of her physical practice of yoga, leave alone teach it to people?”
My confidence, on the true meaning of yoga comes from growing up with Yoga at a time when it wasn’t a fashion statement worldwide as it has become today. When I was in high school, in 1989 my mother had earned a doctoral degree on the subject of yoga and it’s benefits on mind and body. She worked on the project at my school with batches of students as case studies. I knew well what Yoga truly means!

“To know God you should know yourself first” — a Buddhist saying I found at Nadi viewpoint at McLeodganj, Dharamshala”

Sharing in the link below, a series of incidents I had written about just after this festival I attended. It is not so much about the inspiring people I talk about here in the link below, but the wannabe yogis who do not have flexible and open minds.
Even as we tone and balance our bodies through yoga, why do we not prioritise the mind and our capacity to balance and restrain from judgements to thereby embrace humanity!

#spiritualitymatters #spiritualityandpositivity #authorlife #literaryfiction #InternationalYogaDay #InternationalYogaDay2022 #InternationalDayofYoga #InternationalDayofYoga2022

Lessons from my Drawing Board

“Lessons from my Drawing Board”

“Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist” -- Pablo Picasso

A painting on my desk is unfinished for long,
the sketch is ready, inspired by a lean form
of the Buddha on the Bodh Gaya Temple wall –
as on Buddha Jayanti I completed his image.

The delay on this is from my diverse drives
in working on simultaneous creative styles –
painting is not the only expression I choose
to illustrate what’s on my discerning mind.

A poem, novel, also a short story is forming
in different word folders of my iPad or laptop;
also, Bangla I’m learning to read, hand write
and stimulate my mind to productively thrive.

My written works in progress till completed -
I don’t show anyone so as to protect their souls:
but a painting is spread on my desk’s clipboard,
where it attracts unsolicited sights and opinions.

Advise, distracts me from my core inspirations -
I haven’t been tutored is their easy relaying point,
for people to judge and critic my creative incline:
As my brushstrokes have no identifiable method.

The colors I splash to my heart’s satisfaction,
brandishing the brushes with liberal fulfilment;
the backdrop I don’t finish first as is convention:
all this I’m told makes my works lack perfection.

I think of all this feedback as I change handwork
for by now I’ve learned the art of erasing, rework,
till sometimes the art paper’s surface has eroded:
to save her face I make my model put on a mask.

I soon regret having taken any of this feedback
as I miss the first glimpse of the face I’d created
inspired by truth, pouring in it my individuality
of decades of education - corporate and literary.
— Shuvashree Chowdhury

#painting #poetrycommunity #poetrylovers #inspiration #visualpoetry #artist #art #spirituality #buddhapurnima #poetrylovers #peace #randomthoughts



To be accepted you have to take sides -
sometimes this side, sometimes that side,
often both sides of the authoritarian divide;
even if it means you’ll fall into a whirlpool
of conflicting views - with rivalry and disuse,
to leave your work of any valuable repute.

Life seems unpredictable after lockdown,
hobnobbing with death has taken a toll,
as I don’t know if loved ones ripped away
in moments, is now better than if forewarned -
Cancer death sentences being pronounced:
so much death has left me spiritually bound.

Yet being accepted is astute, even if mute,
so that you can be on either side of any truth -
without walking the tightrope that defines it
and compels you to take sides to restrain you,
even if both sides may be your world views:
you have to be on your side or be doomed!

Independent thinking leaves you out cold,
outside the realm of protection of core groups
that can give you awards and recognitions -
invitations to showcase yourself to the world through affiliations and aspirational honours:
The day I’m Accepted will then be my demise.
— Shuvashree Chowdhury

PS: sharing these random thoughts that have been in my mind…
“To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.”
— Joseph Chilton Pearce

#accepted #beingaccepted #independentwoman #novelist #poetry #literarylife #independentartist #independentpoetry #independentpoetry #spirituality #lifeanddeath #thedivide

Wrapped in your Presence: Mother’s Day

“Wrapped in your Presence”

I’m sitting on your Rattan chair in our balcony,
viewing over a dozen earthen potted plants –
ceramic ones have now lost their colourful charm
yet regaled by intermittent chirps of varied birds.

A wind chime on which sits a metal bumble bee –
has gone silent now in the still, early May air,
but the crows, pigeons and varied feathers chirp
aggressively – questioning why you’re not there!

I listen to distinct voices now – of mynas, pigeons
and god knows who else among your friends –
as one by one they come in view then fly away,
marking attendance – as in essence you’re there.

Always the teacher and principal till the end of life,
students loved you – plants, birds, and househelp
who you tended to with a gardener’s vigilant air –
in it an airplane passes low as if bearing your smile.

A black pedestal fan, I’d ordered for this balcony
as April brought in gusts of warm Calcutta air,
also to give you company as you sat here daylong:
he stoically awaits you – it’s a year since you left.

There’s a light, cool and soothing breeze now,
but not enough to tingle a mourning wind chime –
who’s watching me with the clock reading 8am,
knowing I can sit here in your presence till night.


“My Guiding Star”

Mom, you’re the Best, because…

Whenever I needed you, you were there,
Whether or not I asked for your hand;
You have always been the Guiding Star-
Shining on me from wherever you are.

You always urged me to go that extra mile
To ensure my future is wrapped in a smile;
Who I’m today, is because you were there –
Nudging me, when my mind wasn’t made up.

After often prodding me - right over the top,
You ensured you were there to cushion my fall:
If it was not for your firm, propelling hand –
As an Oyster, I might have remained in my shell.

“One’s work is what will count,” you always said,
“Beauty regimes, fashion, can be done without.”
You’d say to me, “Never ever neglect your duties –
Good things will then come to you automatically.”

Whenever in life’s race I felt I couldn’t carry on-
Holding my hand, alongside you ran along:
When the baton in exasperation I’ve dropped,
Picking it up, you’ve ensured I just did not stop.

Integrity, strength, and values you inculcated in me;
A sense of duty, confidence and self-discipline:
Whenever in life’s journey I may begin to slip,
It’s your teachings every time I will mentally flip.

All your efforts Mother, may they not go in vain –
My success in life, is what then will be your gain.
Truly fortunate I have always been throughout life,
An excellent coach, and role model in you to find.

for my Mother, Dr. Mahamaya Chowdhury.

PS: several short stories in my book ‘Existences’ depict my mother as coach and role model. The 2nd poem here is from my first poetry collection ‘Fragments’.

Ma (Mahamaya Chowdhury) retired at the age of 60, at the end of Sept 2000, as Principal of a teachers training college in Kolkata – after a long career as lecturer in Gwalior – Jiwaji University, and then Delhi University for about 8 years each. 

Incidentally, just after she passed a year ago, on Ma’s desk, I found the handwritten rough draft of a very pertinent speech now — Ma had made on the passing away of someone, as a college student in Gwalior — at the same institution that she went on to be a lecturer in the next year. 

These profound thoughts reflect her spiritual perspectives even as a young woman. And ironically, what she would have wanted to say to me just now from the other world. 

Ma’s speech…

“Good evening, my honourable teachers, affectionate brothers and sisters. I take the privilege on behalf of my class M.P.E (final) to speak a few words to you. 

Every one of you seems to be thinking that it’s a sad occasion, but let us not mind. If one does not create the place, the others cannot fill in. If every one of us is to exist forever, this world would have been a horrible place to live in. Nothing is lost as the scientists believe, so do I. I am an optimist, why should we sit and cry. 

As Shakespeare said, “This world is a stage and we all are actors and actresses.” So we must act our role well. 

I do not know whether we have acted our part well or not, that judgement is not in our hands – it’s unto your audience to decide. And as to what standard of finished product we are going to be – the outer world will judge by seeing our work. 

One piece of advice to you, it’s not a bookish idea – it’s what I have learnt in my life. This world is a two way process, we cannot demand from our fellow human beings when we do not give anything to them. 

This world is what we make and it is upto us to live to the standard.

…it’s continued in more pages 

by Mahamaya Chowdhury – 1965/66 LNCPE, Jiwaji University, Gwalior


In her last year …above 80 years.
My dynamic Ma 🥰🥰…at 65+ could row us across the Bangalore lake, the boatman sitting back…
Today’s bloom…from where I’m posting this….where Ma would have sat now!

Dedicating my post along with my story from the literary magazine Himal Southasian, also in my book Existences, for all mothers of the world, today…

#mother’s-day #mothersday22 #mothersanddaughters #working-mothers #inspiration #motivation #lifecoach

Outside the Windowpane

“Looking out of your Windowpane”

Life and death must go hand in hand,
like two parallel beams of rail tracks –
they take you in and out of dark tunnels
through clouds and rain, then sunshine.

You may plunge into a river of sorrow
in rushing out of the tunnel of loss and death –
so you must be alert, conscious and vigilant
while you sleep on this train – to heal yourself.

It’s never known how long the ride might take,
on this journey to recovery and painlessness –
to where you’ll see a rainbow of optimism
peeking at you through the deluge of sorrow.

You have to trust that this journey will end
and you will go on in life healed from the loss,
keeping memories alive of those you loved – participating in Life outside your window pane.

PS: I typed the above straight here on my phone just now even as I was thinking of the irony of life – yesterday was my 16th wedding anniversary – today is my mother’s 1st death anniversary.
Though my heart feels numb, I made an attempt to look bright yesterday, and went out to Quest mall for a Bangla film(late actor Soumitra’s biopic). And then dinner at Mocambo(off Park St) that was around and popular right through my parent’s times. I just didn’t want to go to one of those new eateries.
The last year I have made the effort to lead my life the way I know best, by living every moment – even celebrating my mother’s birthday in September – for only then will my Ma’s soul rest in peace.
Incidentally, reputed Bengali poet Shankha Ghosh passed away on this day a year ago. Over lunch I had shared with her this news I received from a poet friend and Ma became very quiet. Would I have even imagined she would be gone suddenly a few hours later!
Ma and he would have undertaken their journey to the other world together – over their respective poetry! 😊🥰
This morning, I garlanded my parents photos …then wrote the top lines in tribute to my teacher mother from whom I not only inherited poetry – but the profundity of life.

#lifeanddeath #windowpane #healingfromloss #celebratinglife #mother #deathanniversary #poetry #poetryislife #journeyoflife #wisdom #lifecoach #inspiration

25/04/22 Sharing a write up I came across that elaborates my poem here:

The Stories I Tell, and Why!

Why I tell the kind of stories I do: It’s life’s journey I bring into my poetry and prose writing, just as any literary author tends to. I cannot tell you with utter conviction how it feels to be born to Indian migrants in the US, but I can tell you what life is for Indian migrants to divided India who struggled to make their mark. Fiction is powerful only when it is laced with the truth.
On that note…
Sharing the immediate fall out of the previous post’s video. And what I meant by the struggles that make me the writer I am today – who can speak her mind without any hesitation. Confidence comes from continuously raising the bar, in repeatedly coming out of your comfort zone and into challenging spaces.
Another political drama, I inadvertently found myself in the thick of, happened in the year 2005, in Kolkata. This was after the several I’ve already narrated, among the experiences from my working life in my book ‘Existences’
This incident I’m going to relate, happened after Durga Puja, when I was working for the top, pan Indian jewellery brand.

We had several ongoing marketing schemes at the time, reflected through billboards all over the city, also on every print and tv/film media channel. I had personally been on a number of different Tv channels, both Bangla and Hindi, speaking and promoting our USP of the highest level of purity of gold in our jewellery, even demonstrating the same through random Karat metre readings, also exhibitions and fashion shows all over the city including the top rated clubs; promoting the brand in general, barely a couple of months of taking on my new assignment.

I had landed at the Kolkata airport from an official trip to Bangalore, where the company has its headquarters. On the taxi ride home, intending to drop off my baggage and freshen up before going to office, as home was on the way, I received a call on my mobile from my office.
A senior staff, sounding quite agitated, abruptly told me, “ Ma’ am, the Park Street Police Station OC would like to talk to you.”
“What are you doing in the police station now?” I blurted, quite rattled, but there was only silence at the other end of the line.
“Madam, I’m from the Park Street Police Station,” the baritone stated, “I’m here at your office to inform you that a procession of 200-300 members of the “Swarna Shilpo Bachao CommItte” (Gold Handicrafts Saviour Committee – I loosely translated the Bangla name) are currently marching with banners and shouting out aggressive slogans against you. They are all coming over here to meet you.”
“What? Meet me…but why…what for?” I said, then forcefully added, “Is this supposed to be a joke or what?”
“This is no joke ma’am. They claim that you have directly ‘kicked their stomachs’, by stifling their livelihood.”
“Sir, what are you talking about…” I retorted irritably. “What is this drama…what have I done to them…must be some mistake! But well, if they want to talk, I’m willing to listen to them.”
“We have obstructed the procession, marching all the way from Dharmatala at the Free School Street crossing…should we send the full force to you?”

I was pretty irritated by what I perceived as a provocative, mocking and condescending attitude, but in a calm voice I stated, “I’m on my way from the airport, and will be there in office in 20 minutes. Please bring only 3-4 of their representatives to my office and we can discuss.”

After the instruction, disconnecting my mobile in a rattled frame of mind, I immediately dialled my regional office, then the head of operations at the head office in Bangalore, and briskly narrated the weird position I was in. I was still having difficulty believing it myself, yet from both sides of the hierarchy, very calmly and with much faith I was told to go right ahead and meet the rebellious procession’s representatives to first figure out what they wanted from us. But though my seniors had immense faith in me, just as they had shown me since I joined the company and for which this has been my most gratifying work stint, even more than the airline, I was of course extremely nervous. The very idea of 200-300 people marching up to meet me in my office in Camac Street, even in the presence of my quite large team before Diwali and the police forces…it was a daunting thought to meet those whose livelihood I had apparently slashed!

But the meeting with the leaders, which was centred around our brands transparency of processes and candid assertions that was to soon change the culture of gold and jewellery buying in India, went off rather well and politely so, with 3-4 senior cops as intermediaries to every point, on my request. This political committee a wing of the ruling CPIM party then, wanted us to pull off all our TV, Print and Radio advertisements on our education on the need for transparency in the purity of gold purchased that happened to highlight the lack of transparency in the local production process, which was used to mixing a lot of alloys vis-à-vis our 22k or 18k pure jewellery. Also that our Diamonds came with certificates on the clarity, colour and size, which was exchangeable at appreciated prices like no other company did at that time.

It was after the police and the group left, after I had served them tea/coffee and our always used Chocolate Bourbon biscuits; that several TV channel crew dropped in without warning. Out of which two channels were supposedly specialists in sting operations, that I wasn’t aware of. They harassed me, throwing abrupt, ridiculous and provocative questions, leading me on with words and sentences to suit their planned narratives, while I tried to answer nonchalantly into one camera mouth piece shoved at my face after another. I began to feel like I was a suspect who was about to be media tried and put behind bars, as a cruel witch who had slashed people’s stomach/bread and grabbed their sustenance. I tried to be as calm as possible thinking that if I was honest and forthright these Tv journalists would treat my words with respect.
But suddenly I began to feel I was being framed as the questions began to get personal, like they needed to throw my flesh to the waiting audiences on that evening’s prime time, who would bare me and then pounce on every inch of my unsuspecting plight for their quota of entertainment.
But I realised this, only after a senior staff, who had been trying to signal to me for a while actually sternly blurted out to me, “Ma’am please DO NOT say anything more…these are sting operation channels and are just trying to provoke and heckle you. You are Live!”
I just froze, shut up, turning my back involuntarily, frightened and humiliated by the immensely disrespectful attitude – like I was a thief, a bank robber, a suspect who would soon be arrested!
The first thought that came to my mind as I was shutting myself out from these crocodiles trying to get more of my flesh, was the gaping and shocked face of my father…he was always so proud when I came on television! But this, in case he chanced upon it, would destroy him, before he knew what was going on…
What was I paying for…escalation in TRP of the channels our company never advertised in…a woman thief, as projected in several yesteryear Hindi Masala films – is great entertainment! 😄
PS: The first photo is current – the rest are from over the last two decades. The saris we’re wearing – I’d got sanctioned, just for the Durga Puja and Diwali that year.

The video I mentioned is here:

#novels #shortstories #workingwomen #women’sempowerment #poetry #literarylife #literaryfiction #books #authorlife

On Holi: Colours define us – and how!

A Very Happy Holi – with these thoughts…

Colours define us – and How!
What better day to think about this, than Holi, in adding to my previous posts and painting where I speak of colours making a statement.

Sometimes, the most unlikely person notices, and will know you better than those close, or whose taste’s you rely on, so as to seek their approval when deciding on something you’ve aspired for long.

I was to buy my first car in the year 1998, with my own earnings from working in an airline, based in Calcutta then. I had decided it would be a Daewoo – Matiz. This was after the gorgeous Lisa Ray became its brand ambassador. I was also wooed by the tagline “Love at first drive” in its print campaign, that highlighted the exclusive features of the Matiz in all its communications, just as by the comfort from a test drive I took of our family friend’s car. Now with this friend’s as well as my sister’s initiation, along with seconding by my parents, I booked a grey coloured Matiz.

The day I was to gain possession of the car, my sister and the family friend, my mother as well, and our family driver Shambhu – a man a few years older that I was, accompanied me to the showroom in Alipore. This is at the other extreme end of town from where we live in Salt Lake. We took a Taxi, so we could all return in the new car. While we waited in the showroom, the staff adorned my newly acquired car – after I had made the payments, with a number of free gifts like the wheel covers and the steering wheel grip etc. I decided to get the seat covers also installed, so the car would be ready to drive to work the next day.

It was at this point that Shambu walked up to me abruptly and said “Didi, don’t take this colour.” I looked at him in shock and replied “but why…its quite smart, isn’t it? Chot-di and dada also like it.”
“Its’ smart, but does not suit your personality at all.” He insisted “Please don’t take it.” I looked at him quizzically for a few brief moments: He had barely passed his 8th grade from his hometown in Digha and was quite a simpleton, yet thought it pertinent, that a car must match its owner’s personality right up to its hue.

I asked him, quite impressed actually, as I was then in the service quality department and very observant of such intricacies myself – “So which colour do you think will suit my personality?” He pointed to the car you see in the picture here and said “this one is very good for you.”
I looked at the car for a few seconds and promptly made up my mind on it. Then I approached my sister and friend seated on the sofa, both of whom vehemently opposed my choice, more so when they learnt who my newfound advisor was. Mother looked at Shambhu, nodding at him in approval as she stated “I was going to suggest you don’t take the grey, but you would not listen to me.”

Now it was just a matter of turning on my charm, to convince the salesmen of the sudden change in my choice. They politely conceded and quickly got busy in readying this blue car for us to drive home. As soon as we reached home, Shambhu driving us, I got my Lhasa Apso – Sylvie, and my father who was quite unwell then and at home, down and into the car, took them both for a test drive. The smile on my father’s face, Sylvie’s tongue hanging out with the wind blowing her snowy hair, are images still frozen in my mind. I was to have two pets thereon – one Sylvie, the other my very own blue Beetle – my Matiz.
My next car was somehow grey in colour as Bishwanath thought that would suit me better and he won. I wish I had listened to his mother who had insisted, “Why didn’t you take a Red car…it would have suited you much better than this grey!”
So anyways, the one after this was red, even though I was getting older and could tone down – in keeping with her choice and also mine, but sadly she was no longer with us to see it.
I was very displeased on going with Bishwanath’s choice in the colour of my debut book, that in its next edition and every other book I chose bright shades even if they are rather serious books – I’m the author and they represent me after all.
Then the current car I chose a matt gold, which Bishwanath again insisted he didn’t like. Just as he and my sister don’t like that I always opt for floral patterns and shades in my dressing.
But at my age – I no longer care what anyone else likes me to like – I just please my own soul. 😄
So you will see me in all the vibrant shades, though I love soft pastels as much – that uplift my mood and creativity.
I truly believe, and empathise, thus project in all my writing – that the human psyche has every conceivable hue and colour. Why then should I expect only black and white – then judge for the various shades I see. 🤓

holi #holifestival #holifestivalofcolours #holifestivalindia #holi2022 #colours #coloursofindia #coloursofnature #creativity #inspiration #authorlifestyle #authorlife

This photo, depicting the colour of the car – is from 1998/99
My painting: Love for Colour…

My Journey: International Women’s Day & Holi thoughts…

A Photo vis-a-vis a Sketch/Painting…

I’m sharing the photo below that inspired the sketch above – No it’s not a digital remake as many think. This is the bio of Sonjaye Maurya the reputed painter who sketched this –

Also sharing below, the approximately 100 words write-up I submitted when I was requested, on being shortlisted – for the Financial Express (in the link below) mention of my book Existences on last International Women’s Day – on my journey to becoming a writer/author.
You are posed several tests and hurdles in the screening process of anything you achieve in life. Nothing is served to you on a
platter from heaven. It took me 12 years after writing this book, to find a noteworthy mention in the media even though my 2nd written book Across Borders received much coverage in the pan-Indian media.
But for couch-critics, whether the perfection in a sketch or the showcase of your book – it’s always attributed to a divine cake-walk.

Shuvashree Chowdhury.
Mine has been a challenging, but educative journey to becoming a novelist, poet and short-fiction writer. This was in transitioning from a reserved, and sheltered small-town, French colony of Chandannagar’s convent boarding-school upbringing, with my family and all vacations in Calcutta, participating in all school competitions whether sports or the arts; to a Delhi University’s bachelor of commerce degree course, in spite of a flair for words over numbers, in the north-campus as a hostler playing basketball for inter-college; to several job assignments serially in two decades at some of the top Indian corporates in Chennai and Kolkata – to being married to a senior print media journalist and author – before authoring five books myself so far.
All these experiences I consciously carry along, and they ring out aloud to give my writing voice a strength, even while retaining and upholding the true essence of being a woman. Thus giving me a repertoire of narratives for all the views I put forth astutely in all genres of my writing.

This was the coverage I qualified for inspite of a shortlisting, that the above write up was sent:

Happy Holi!

The Indian festival of Colours – Holi:
We’re just a couple of days away now. I just made this painting to go with the thoughts in my poem below – that’s from my first collection, Fragments.
Hoping to have a new edition of this this with my paintings as illustrations.
Also sharing the prologue of this book – my Vision Statement – to explain the purpose of my life’s work.
With my two decades of varied corporate experiences – especially in training youth – one would expect I’d not only have a vision-mission-values statement, but also display it at the lounge of my workspace.🤓

#internationalwomen’sday #holi #women’s day #international women’s day #indian festivals #festival of colour #holicolours #women’sempowerment #inspiration #visionstatement #missionstatement #visionmisiionstatement #relatioship #relationshipcoach