<p>Several years ago, one chilly Chicago evening, Yumiko, my better three quarters and I, went to see Bill Cunningham New York at the Music Box Theatre - known for its old fashioned popcorn machine with real butter, ideal for those looking for a tasty way to increase cholesterol. Mesmerized by how Cunningham gracefully weaved through Manhattan streets with a camera in one hand and a warm smile in the other, brought wonder and possibility to my eyes, soon forgetting about the popcorn that vanished from my hands. Having never quite fit into the rhythms of mainstream or alternative societies, Cunningham gave me a sense of permission to find my own beat in the urban streets. Of intrigue was his minimalist approach, while at the same time showing deep appreciation for life&rsquo;s seemingly mundane details saying &ldquo;I let the street speak to me.&rdquo; This practice of listening to the street is equally applicable in the field of psychotherapy, where mindful listening is often considered the timeless ingredient for understanding our fellow human beings.&nbsp;</p>

<p>Fast forward several years later, we completed our first book, On the Way. Fortunately we were able to print our initial samples through the School of the Art Institute of Chicago&rsquo;s Service Bureau, thanks to Dustin Yu, our designer and alumni of their Art Therapy program. In the midst of a hot summer day, I escaped from the office to pick up our prints. Excited by their quality, I decided to first bring them to my mom, Andrea, a self-taught ceramicist amongst other mediums, who at the time was babysitting our&nbsp;four-year-old son Seiji. Attempting to take the train to my mom&rsquo;s, I accidently ended up n the West Loop. Having lived in Chicago for over three decades, I finally managed to locate my parent&rsquo;s home without a smartphone. Upon arriving with these newly printed books, like slices of fresh pizza just out of the oven, it was difficult to restrain my smile. Following these subway excursions, I placed our tired books to rest on a table in the yard, while enjoying nostalgic conversations with mom under the blue skies. Within moments, a few water drops fell from the sky; could it already be raining? Just seconds ago the skies were cloudless. Giggles soon erupted, and it turned out Seiji had discovered a way to turn on the hose, and was generously watering the newly printed books, as though they were plants needing a cool drink to rejuvenate under the summer sun. Attempting to seize the hose from his small hands, Seiji&rsquo;s smile emerged and soon, my work khakis were fully drenched as if torrential storms struck. Perhaps this was some sort of divine message, beyond the depths of my human cognitions.</p>

<p>If you have safely survived our first book, On the Way, and are ready to embark upon a slightly more spicy volume, The Red Latte, please be cautious not to spill your beverage, as refunds are limited.&nbsp;</p>

<p>Enjoy your journey,&nbsp;<br />
Hart Ginsburg</p>

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