We came here alone and grew into this. One became two and then quickly three, we stalled out at four for ten years.

Now three make the wine and one’s in the kitchen, one holds the purse strings and two act as host, one is your ally and one your best friend, one holds it high and one holds down the fort. Eleven of us packed into this building, though one we let drift further south. We hold the bar high because low is absurd and fall somehow short more than not.

This is our tribe and this is our moment, we only get one chance to rise. We keep our heads down, wear our hearts on our sleeves, shake our heads at the ones who say No.

Yes is our calling and yes is our call, it’s symptom of nerve more than smarts. We might not have answers but we’ll never stop asking: How high do you think we can rise?