Book Reflections #7: Exceptional Talent

So much has been going on with pandemic parenting these days that I haven’t spent as much time exploring giftedness in adults – with one exception: reading Frans Corten’s delightful book Exceptional Talent: A Guide for the Gifted, The Inventors, and Other Birds of a Rare Feather (2021), recently translated into English from Dutch.*

Corten opens his book with the following quote:

“If you stick a bird in a cage, flying will become a disorder instead of a talent.”

This reminds me of the following oft-used cartoon in educational circles:

The Education System: “Now Climb That Tree” | The Marquette Educator

By “birds of a rare feather”, Corten is referring to people with exceptional talents – i.e.,  rainforest minded people, or gifted adults. Corten has spent years coaching such individuals, and shares his many insights and experiences in this beautifully illustrated text, clearly made with aesthetic appeal in mind.

Artwork from Exceptional Talent, p. 64

Corten open his book in Chapter 1 by explaining “Why This Guide?” (“to help exceptional talents find their way in their lives and work”), and sharing his own story with giftedness.

In Chapter 2 (“Exceptional Talent Does Not Flourish Of Its Own Accord”), Corten offers a valuable reminder of the reasons why gifted individuals almost always require additional support to thrive, despite widespread assumptions that “high intelligence in itself will make sure that the person finds their niche” (p. 14). On the contrary, Corten estimates that “the percentage of gifted people who are mental healthcare clients, who live on benefits or are homeless is substantially higher than the percentage in society” (p. 15) – a statistic I personally don’t doubt for a moment.

[As a brief side note, I grew up in a fringe spiritual group in which nearly all the adult members were likely gifted to some extent – and many did indeed struggle with mental health concerns, career issues, and/or ongoing financial or housing instability. In another post, I plan to write in more detail about the intriguing correlations I see between giftedness, spirituality, and life challenges.]  

Back to Corten’s book, he acknowledges that “exceptional talents have too few role models as examples” given that “the usual career pathways and tests don’t always work well” – something I’ve most definitely found to be true for myself, as well as for plenty of the rainforest-minded graduate students I’ve mentored over the years.

In Chapter 3, Corten concedes, “I can’t offer you a scientific definition of an exceptional talent. The essence is that your talent really belongs to the exceptions, leaving you to discover many things for yourself” (p. 18). He offers a useful chart on page 18 of how individuals with exceptional talent may perceive situations in their workplace, versus how their employers view them. To provide just a couple of examples:

  1. A workplace might feel that an employee has “many conflicts with management and authorities”, while the individual believes about herself, “I have a strongly developed sense of justice”.
  2. A workplace might characterize an employee as having “poor timing, in meetings for example” while the individual feels, “I’m constantly meeting resistance; it all goes so slowly.”

This chart reminds me of the ones provided by Mary-Elaine Jacobsen in her book The Gifted Adult (1999), in which she represents the two extremes (“collapsed” and “exaggerated”) of intensity, complexity, and drive as manifested in a variety of ways, while also providing a more “balanced” ideal for each. The ultimate goal of both authors is to encourage flourishing.

Corten points out that very often the “high flyers” of large organizations are flourishing; his book is not designed for them, but rather for those who exhibit the “typical characteristics” of exceptional talent:

  • heightened powers of observation
  • vulnerability
  • combinations of talents
  • uniquely innovative
  • a tendency to “think and speak too fast for other people to keep up, often without knowing” (p. 22).

He follows up on these ideas in Chapter 4 (entitled “A Large Gap”) by noting, “The essence of being exceptional is that you deviate greatly from the average” (p. 23). He reminds readers that it’s important not to assume “that people are deliberately thwarting you” but instead to keep in mind that most “people can’t see what you see, can’t easily make the connections you make, can’t think through the consequences of a decision as far ahead. You just go far too fast.”

This echoes the advice in Jim Webb’s book Searching for Meaning (2015), in which he writes: “Once you stop denying the differences that exist between yourself and others, you can appreciate your abilities. You also may find that you appreciate the uniqueness of others.” (p. 119).

I’m also reminded of the Giftedness Knows No Boundaries public awareness campaign put forth by the National Association for Gifted Children (NAGC) in 2016, which emphasizes the key phrases “See Me, Know Me, Challenge Me, Teach Me”.  In order to meet the needs of gifted individuals of all ages, we must first see them – but a key difference is that with children, the onus and moral responsibility for this lies on the adults around them,  whereas gifted adults must learn to advocate for themselves. This is tricky business – especially for those who weren’t adequately supported in their younger years.

In Chapter 5, Corten advises us not to adapt, but rather to adjust, and reminds us once again that “the first step is realising that most other people don’t see” your exceptional talent, given that they “come from another world in terms of thinking and doing and that’s just how it is” (p. 35).

Corten recommends the following strategies: looking for soulmates; opening up; using expressive language; finding your way around social media; learning to ‘mix and match’; appreciating what you get; taking your feelings seriously; speaking in the first person; making your needs the starting point; being okay with mistakes; considering the correlation (if any) between money and worth; and creating “space and peace” for yourself.

There is a lot covered in this chapter, and it’s worth reading closely while taking notes. I personally have found solace in many of the ideas here, and also recognize a number of them from other readings I’ve done. For instance, the notion of learning to “mix and match” to create a fulfilling and viable career is discussed in Emilie Wapnick’s How To Be Everything: A Guide For Those Who (Still) Don’t Know What They Want to Be When They Grow Up (2017), and is a direction I’ve ended up following for myself.

Meanwhile, making peace with – i.e., “finding your way around” – social media is invaluable advice; I was relieved to read Corten’s statement that he often hears his clients saying “I’m not interested in social media.” (Hear, hear!) And yet, as he points out, ignoring it completely comes at its own cost on numerous fronts. 

One more idea that stood out to me from Chapter 5 is Corten’s advice to “only commit yourself to matters which either bother you or from which you benefit” (p. 43). This directly addresses the challenge so many gifted individuals face in terms of genuine overwhelm by the countless injustices in the world, and how impossible it is to sufficiently address everything. You can’t. You must pick and choose, as Corten advises – and his metric makes sense as a way to realistically and meaningfully narrow down your scope. 

In Chapter 6 (“Your Career Path: Listening As You Go”), Corten draws upon his decades of experience as a career coach to offer “essentials for a gifted career”, which include responding to and reflecting upon the following four prompts:

  1. What is it I want?
  2. How do I truly make contact?
  3. What do I have to offer?
  4. What do I need?

Clearly, each of these questions is huge, and ideally would be done with support from a suitable counselor or coach. Corten discusses the critical concept of discovering your “core talents”, as well as the need to clearly distinguish between “burn out” and “bore out” in one’s workplace (pp. 52-54).  The list of examples provided on page 54 is an invaluable resource for those wanting insight into the unique challenges they’re facing at work – though it’s good to keep in mind, as Corten points out, that “something which forms a burn-out risk for one person may be an essential condition for achieving pleasure at work for another.”

One more key take-away from Chapter 6 is the permission Corten gives for us to “learn to carefully sense which moments or hours in the day are suited to which tasks, and act on that” (p. 58). His advice is: “Respond to your own rhythm and make things as easy as possible for yourself.” While I’ve actually been doing this for years, I’ve simultaneously felt residual guilt from a lifetime of earlier institutionalized indoctrination that humans must follow the timelines and rhythms set forth by “those in charge”. Not necessarily true by a long stretch – and certainly not the healthiest way to live, if you can help it.

In Chapter 7, Corten turns to more “Direction and Guidance”. He reassures us that “when gifted people and other exceptional talents find a trajectory that suits them, their personal and professional development can suddenly go really fast” (though he provides fair warning: finding that one “small thing” to pursue can take awhile). He advocates being open to the idea of a “higher self” in whatever fashion that takes, and finding a “balance between challenge and safety”, which he believes is “key to a successful approach”.

Corten concludes his book in Chapter 8 by offering five portraits of individuals he’s worked with over the years (two female and three male, ages ranging from 43 to 62 – thus all in either the Exploring or Navigating stages of their life, according to Fiedler [2015]). I saw much of myself and others I know in these portraits, and found myself highlighting certain quotes that specifically stood out to me, which I’ll share below:

  • Jantien (age 52): “I always wanted to work in a broader perspective and with strategic issues, but logically speaking that’s often not possible at a young age” (p. 74). Yes, exactly. I, too, have always wanted to skip straight to the interesting and complex challenges of life – whereas in reality, we can’t do everything at once, and must accept that some stages are indeed both linear and necessary. Later, Jantien adds, “The internet has helped me enormously. I can go to it with everything that’s happening in my head” (p. 76). What a wonderful way to put it! Despite the many challenges the internet has brought, I’m ultimately a huge fan – it’s been a true game-changer on so many levels.
  • Gustave (age 50) writes, “If I immerse myself in a subject, I keep going and associate everything with everything else until I understand the system behind it. That takes a lot of time, but not much effort” (p. 87). Here’s to the value of enjoyably immersive deep dives for gifted adults! Meanwhile, echoing my rainforest-minded husband, Gustave also writes, “I can apparently reach a level of knowledge which equals that of experts in associated subjects” (p. 88); this has happened repeatedly to my husband, who is often mistaken for a professional in areas which he simply has a (gifted) layperson’s interest in.
  • Irani (age 43) shares about her hypersensitivity (yep) and her desire to do “everything at once” (yep), while telling us that her clients “often say that they love the fact that I don’t judge. I do, by the way, but I can also quickly let go of such a judgment. My attitude in life is that I take things as they are” (p. 95). I respect and relate to this pragmatic approach to life, which is my preferred m.o. as well.
  • Finally, Willibrord (age 62) – a choir conductor and composer among numerous other skills and responsibilities – writes that, “As far as I’m concerned, God is in people. I see God as a kind of language, or platform for communication for all those subjects we do not understand or are unable to explain, and which matter in life. We started calling that God and that makes it possible to talk about them” (pp. 101-102). This perspective echoes that made by Corten in Chapter 7, and rings very true as a creative conceptualization of “why God exists”.

I strongly recommend Corten’s book to “birds of a rare feather” seeking affirmation and advice as they explore what their next steps may be, career-wise. It’s a valuable addition to the far-too-limited literature on conditions necessary for gifted adults to thrive – and as Corten writes, “All of society will benefit if we learn to interact better with exceptional talents” (p. 10).

To purchase a copy of this book, go to:

Please note that shipping to the United States currently takes about six weeks from the Netherlands. 

Artwork from Exceptional Talent, p. 49


  • Corten, F. (2021). Exceptional talent: A guide for the gifted, the inventors and other birds of a rare feather. Werk en Waarde.
  • Jacobsen, M-E. (1999). The gifted adult: A revolutionary guide for liberating everyday genius. Random House Publishing.
  • Wapnick, E. (2017) How to be everything: A guide for those who (still) don’t know what they want to be when they grow up. HarperOne.
  • Webb, J.T. (2015). Searching for meaning: Idealism, bright minds, disillusionment, and hope. Great Potential Press.


* On the copyright page of his book, Corten writes:

Dear Publisher,

I published this first edition independently so that the world could see it. I’m now looking for a publisher who is willing to distribute a second edition worldwide. If you are interested, or know someone who might be, please get in touch with me.

Thank you, Frans Corten

Copyright © 2021 by Please feel free to share with attribution.  

Executive Functioning Fatigue

Executive functioning refers to a “set of cognitive processes that are necessary for the cognitive control of behavior” – in other words, according to Executive Functioning Coach Seth Perler, “getting things done”.

I had vaguely heard about the importance of executive functioning as an elementary school teacher – but I got my degree in general education rather than special education or educational psychology, so it was never prominent, and I was never taught any strategies to help my students manage their own executive functioning skills.

Thankfully, I was formally reintroduced to the power and importance of executive functioning from my parenting hat, when I attended a SENG parent support group and started exploring twice-exceptionality. Executive functioning turns out to be a really, really big deal for most twice-exceptional kids – as in, crucial to their success, and nearly always a challenge.

Unfortunately, as “basic” as executive functioning is, it’s also incredibly complicated – much like reading. If reading “comes naturally” to you (like it did for me), then it doesn’t seem so hard – but if it doesn’t, and your kids or your students are struggling, then you suddenly realize how complex reading really is, and a whole world of research and intervention techniques await exploration.

Back to executive functioning, one of my favorite sayings is “things get done by doing them”: not by saying you’ll do them, not by hoping you’ll do them, and not by scheduling them to get done; only by actually doing them do they get done. I can’t count the number of times I’ve ended up saying this to various members of my household – myself included! – out of frustration, resignation, and/or compassion (hopefully plenty of the latter).

Indeed, everyone in my family struggles with executive functioning to one degree or another – including my husband. At 49 years old, he long ago learned to mask or overcome his deficits and proceed with the life he wanted (college, a solid career, marriage, kids) but his executive functioning challenges are still present, causing him – and me – occasional grief.

Meanwhile, none of my three twice-exceptional kids seem to have the straight-forward ability to simply “get their schoolwork done”. Because I was such a neurotic child myself – terrified of making mistakes and being less than “perfect” at school – it’s hard for me to relate to the type of giftedness my kids exhibit: plenty of complexity, intensity, and drive, but not necessarily directly related to their assigned work. I’m glad they don’t struggle with obsessive fears around not turning things in or getting perfect scores, but I also want them to develop a healthy sense of responsibility and agency.

How do I create the right balance, especially when each one of my kids is so different?

Well, first I need to ensure that their ability to “get things done” isn’t inhibited by the vast array of potential (often hidden) logistical challenges that might be getting in the way, including those related to:

  • planning
  • time management
  • organization
  • prioritizing
  • decision making
  • details
  • transitions
  • self-starting
  • follow-through

Whoa. This is a lot.

When you stop to think about it, it’s actually amazing that any of us gets anything done. How exactly do we learn to plan ahead, manage our time, organize our thoughts (and our things), prioritize tasks, make decisions (every second! every minute! every hour! every day!), pay attention to (the right) details, transition successfully from one task to another, and get started on something while following through on it to (sufficient) completion?

It turns out that I have my own set of internal rules and guidelines I seem to follow for “getting things done” – not always “perfectly” (there’s no such thing), and not without grief and distress, but well enough that I fool the world into thinking I have things pretty together.

I titled this post “Executive Functioning Fatigue” because, frankly, I’m fatigued by the number of executive functioning challenges that seem to get in the way of my kids’ schooling success each day. Interestingly (but not surprisingly), when I did an internet search for “twice exceptional” and “fatigue”, what came up was how tiring it is for kids to deal with their executive functioning challenges – but it’s tiring on parents, too, whether we’re helping our kids manage from home, and/or trying to navigate relationships with teachers and assignments from afar. I struggle with multiple choices every day in terms of how much and in what ways to help each of my kids (or not)which in itself is known to be fatiguing.

Here are just some of the challenges I’ve faced in recent weeks and months, with just one of my kids (my oldest, C., in middle school):

  • Do I insist on C. sitting next to me (or in view of me) while she’s engaging in her online learning, to ensure she’s “on task”? Or do I allow her to continue sitting comfortably in her bed (which she prefers)? (I have three kids to supervise, and my own work to get done, in addition to pretty significant challenges of my own with focusing while others are around me – so, this is far from a simple decision to make.)  
  • Do I follow up with C. each day about her assignments in each of her six classes? Each week? Do I trust her to know what’s due? (This has very often led us down a path of false assurance, but/and it’s exhausting each and every time I dive in to help her check. I inevitably end up dipping into my own energy bank, which leaves me depleted for other tasks.) 
  • Do I disengage and simply allow C. do the amount of work she “wants” to do, knowing that ultimately she’ll be fine in life no matter what, as long as we love and support her? (No; I can’t quite do this. We’re not unschooling. That requires a whole other game plan.)  
  • How often and in what way do I communicate with C.’s teachers? Do I subtly (or not so subtly) remind them about her 504 plan, and the explicit support she needs to be successful in school? (The quick answer is, yes. I force myself to get over my reluctance and start these conversations, and I do mention her 504 while also providing plenty of authentic thanks to her teachers for the hard work they do each day.)  

Meanwhile, I have plans in motion for C. to work with an executive functioning coach in the summer, once a spot opens up for her with a local clinic and she has the time to commit to this – and I’m grateful that executive functioning coaches are apparently more and more common at all levels of schooling these days (even college).

On my own end, I’m trying to acknowledge and empathize with my “executive functioning fatigue” – while ensuring I’m not just giving up or in denial. Specifically, I’m reaching out to parent-friends who can sympathize with that I’m going through; poking my head back into Seth Perler’s website; and getting ready to commit some more time to digesting and manifesting one executive functioning strategy at a time as a parent-coach, for each of my kids.

In other words, I’m focusing on getting things done – with plenty of humility for how hard this work really is, for all of us.

Copyright © 2021 by Please feel free to share with attribution.  

Pandemic Schooling: One Year In

Episode 1: Check-In

We’re officially one year into the COVID-19 pandemic, and life continues to throw interesting curve balls nearly each week.

My three twice-exceptional kids – daughter C. (12 years old), son D. (10 years old), and daughter I. (8 years old) – have all been learning from home by Zoom with their public school teachers since March of 2020, with a few months off during the summer to recharge.

Given the limited schooling options available during a global health crisis (there are no perfect solutions), I’ve made peace with certain aspects of the remote learning model offered by our district, while accepting that others aren’t “good enough” by any stretch – but nonetheless simply “are what they are” for now.

So, how are we all doing?

My younger two kids, D. and I., seem to be relatively okay. (More on them in a moment.)

C., however, is not. She has stated openly that she wants and needs to be around same-age peers and with her teachers in person. She repeatedly rejects remote learning as “not school”, and has begun taking out her frustrations in passive-aggressive ways. I can’t really blame her (what else can a person do when they literally feel powerless?) but it’s hard to work with.

After receiving a caring but alarming email last week from one of C.’s teachers that she wasn’t even opening up her assignments during synchronous class time (let alone turning them in), C. admitted to me that she feels angry. I told her that made complete sense. There is a heck of a lot to feel angry about these days, especially as a teen or pre-teen.

Online learning simply isn’t C.’s “thing” – and, this many months into pandemic schooling, I don’t anticipate that changing. It seems she will continue to put in just as much work as necessary to get by and keep us off her case – but, she’s not really buying it. (I should add that she doesn’t want to switch to homeschooling – I’ve offered that option numerous times.)

It would be hypocritical of me to blame C. too harshly, not least because 12 years old is when I first bowed out of formal schooling, too (albeit in a very different context). Some form of “school refusal” may be in our future with her, and I think I’d better buckle up for that surprisingly common gifted-kid ride.

Speaking of choice in schooling during COVID-19 . . .  This leads me to a quick story about how I’m doing with everything pandemic-schooling-related. 

Episode 2: Vertigo and Return to In-Person Schooling

Given our nation’s disastrous response to the pandemic last year – as well as our district superintendent’s stated commitment to making data-informed decisions – I assumed that we should expect our kids’ schooling to remain remote for the rest of the school-year. A lot of time and energy has been put into “doing online schooling well” in our district, and it’s abundantly clear how committed teachers are and have been to this process.

Despite recent guidance from the CDC on how to safely open schools, I figured it would take at least until summertime for us to reach appropriate levels of safety for this to occur – and that it would actually be a pedagogical and emotional error to mix things up for our kids at this late stage in the game anyway, now that they’re finally used to the routine of online learning.

However, a few weeks ago all parents in our district received a surprising email late one Friday afternoon from our superintendent  (not vetted or seen by teachers ahead of time – but that’s a whole other can of worms), detailing plans for gradual hybrid re-opening of schools for students in grades K-5 – within the next few weeks.


This message felt completely out-of-the-blue, and threw me for a serious emotional loop. I didn’t quite know how to process it, so I simply “set it aside”, mentally-speaking.

Later that evening, however, I developed rapid-onset, extreme vertigo. When I tried to get up out of bed,  the world starting spinning around me. It was challenging even to get up and go to the bathroom. I went to sleep early that night, hoping and praying that by morning the vertigo would simply be gone, or at least lessened.

But, no. It was still there with a vengeance when I woke up on Saturday morning, and persisted throughout the day. I felt cautiously better by Sunday, incrementally better on Monday, and about the same on Tuesday – at which point I finally (randomly) made the time to talk with my younger sister, A. She and I were chatting away, and as soon as I shared about my vertigo (which hadn’t quite left – it was still lurking mildly in the corners, ready to pounce at any moment), we were busily trying to figure out its cause. Could it be:

We strongly suspected this third idea, though my husband pooh-poohed it, talking about materials safety data sheets, etc. Then suddenly I said to my sister:

“Oh yeah! There was something else that crazy day!”

(The Friday before my vertigo onset had been an unusually busy one, with virtual meetings taking me from talking with new colleagues in Turkey in the morning, to meeting with a formerly incarcerated student in the afternoon, to attending a spoken word performance as the final plenary session of a five-day online conference on providing higher education opportunities in prison in the late afternoon – all sandwiched in between making sure my kids were reasonably on track with their schoolwork, we were eating meals, and I was getting sufficient work-work done.)

However, as soon as I shared with A. about the email from our district, things started clicking.

A. teaches Kindergarten remotely in a large urban school district, has a medically fragile husband, and is caring for their highly gifted five-year-old daughter from home in their small condo. She “gets” the insanity of the choices we’ve all been asked to make for months now, both as a teacher and a parent – and commiserating with her about how freaky it felt to receive such unexpected news about our district’s pivot to in-person seemed to have a semi-miraculous effect on my brain. I could feel the last dredges of my vertigo fading away.

It seems that by talking openly with my sister, I was able to remind myself on a visceral level that I still – at least to some extent – have control over what happens with my kids and our household. I have the ability to choose whether they’ll go back to in-person schooling (or not)Like nearly everything these days, our decision will be a frustrating compromise – but the important thing is, we do have a say of some kind.

Episode 3: What Now? 

Another curveball was suddenly thrown into the mix a few days ago, when our governor issued a mandate that all schools be prepared to welcome all K-12 students back in-person, stat – as in, grades K-6 by April 5 and grades 7-12 by April 19.


A quick skim of an online community discussion forum for parents in our district served as a potent reminder of how widely we differ in what we believe to be best for our kids, all of whom are surely hurting in some way, small or big. Many families on this forum were crying tears of joy due to this new mandate. Going back in-person is a no-brainer for them – something they’ve been waiting for and wanting for months. I had no idea.

After careful deliberation, my younger kids have both decided to stick with remote learning for the rest of the schoolyear:

  • I. has taken to saying in recent weeks, “Raise your hand if you’re used to Zoom for school!” which is simultaneously sad and deeply heart-warming to hear. I.’s hard-working,  compassionate teacher has helped I. develop a tentative sense of security around what to expect each day during online schooling (and she loves it that I’m also there to help her as much as I can, in between work).
  • D.’s challenges as a neurodiverse kiddo are different – but he, too, prefers to stay at home for school, for two self-stated reasons: a) he can sleep in rather than getting up early to take the bus, and b) he doesn’t need to worry about others hearing or smelling bodily functions (!). (This latter reason was brought up my husband as a perk of working from home . . .  I will leave it at that.) I am still (always) concerned about ensuring D. develops friendships and relationships with peers – which he hasn’t, really, in his new online class – but sadly, I’m not at all confident that returning in-person right now would allow for this to happen, either.  I will need to continue exploring other options (i.e., interest groups) to help him out on that front.
  • My daughter C., however, may very well be going to school part-time in-person, in whatever fashion that looks like. We’ll leave it up to her, but if she’s comfortable taking that risk, we will support her. I sincerely believe she can manage the safety protocols, and might begin (fingers crossed) to feel some of the joy she used to have around middle school, rather than simply tolerating it.

In this stressful Russian roulette of pandemic schooling models (what’s the appropriate risk-benefit ratio, and how will we know?), it seems ideal if we can each choose what we believe is best for our own family and kids, within reasonable public health constraints and concern for everyone’s safety – especially given that the mental health toll on kids during this pandemic has been mind-boggling.

No, that’s not the right phrase – it’s not “mind-boggling” because it actually makes sense; let’s call it beyond-comprehension.  C. was already diagnosed prior to the pandemic with clinical anxiety, and has now also been visibly depressed, despondent, and listless for months. (Not all the time, and not to the point of serious concern – but it’s nonetheless deeply distressing to see unfolding.) As resilient as kids are – and thankfully, they really are – we (collectively) will be dealing with the fall-out effects of this pandemic for years to come. There are no perfect solutions by a long stretch.

So, even though the idea of C. returning part-time to in-person schooling freaks me out after so many months of trying to keep us all safely within our bubble, I’m willing to try a reasonable new option, for C.’s sake – if she wants to. It can probably be done.

We’ll just have to see how thing go.

NEXT DAY UPDATE: As of today, having talked through all options with C., she prefers to stay home for the rest of the year. Once again, we shall see . . .

I’ll return later with another post on more of the specific challenges C. has faced while navigating online learning, and some strategies I’ve been using to support her. 

Copyright © 2021 by Please feel free to share with attribution.