Every decision you make could be made from either somewhere in the knee- jerk realm of your unconscious or with the unmitigated, laser-focused precision of the present moment. Yes. Every. Single. Decision. I’m talking about from the pants you choose, to the socks you select, to the choice to sit or stand while putting that stuff on. Yes, you even have the option to greet the mail lady who is delivering yet a certified letter from the Tax Man in full-on, bat-shit rage mode or not. I understand, full-on, bat-shit rage mode doesn’t feel like a choice. But I have learned, or rather with effort, retrained my knowing that I can choose. As I said in my last article (thank you, Community, for your encouragement BTW!), when I have hit my limit of victim thinking that I am at the mercy of assholes, I realize I am not at mercy of anyone! I am only making the choice to listen to the voice of anxiety and not the grounded one of my empowered self. This means that no one, not my boss, not the