The episode opens with a playful German-language advertisement — a jarring but brief pre-roll — before cutting to Jay Shetty's gentle, personal welcome message and then to the main event. Towns walks in with easy confidence, and Shetty wastes no time expressing his awe: friends in England were messaging him about New York, and he was personally at Game 4 at MSG, 29 points down. The State Farm sponsorship read is woven naturally into the early flow, framing the show as a space for purposeful, mindful living.

Shetty opens by asking Towns to relive the unforgettable night at MSG — Game 4 of the NBA Finals, where New York trailed by 29. Towns describes looking at fiancée Jordan in the stands before tipoff and telling her he felt good; the sentiment evaporated fast. At halftime, he used the team's prior experience — a 24-point comeback in Boston — as the emotional blueprint. His message was simple: they had been here before, and one special play at the end could still win it. That play came via OG Anunoby, who tipped in an offensive rebound in the closing seconds. Towns had been ready to dunk it himself, but Anunoby got there first, and Towns couldn't have been happier. He calls it 'the right hand of God.'

The conversation turns introspective as Shetty asks what Towns finds most surprising about being a champion. His answer is unexpectedly honest: the moment passes terrifyingly fast. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Winning the NBA championship is the goal of a lifetime — and then it's gone in a flash. Towns describes arriving home the morning after the…" 04:15 Play} They won Saturday night, flew home, and by Sunday afternoon Towns was already asking 'what's next?' — and then working out anyway, unable to shut the competitor off. He makes a sharp distinction between living in the moment and getting lost in it, noting that at the parade he crossed the line. For Towns, seeing the New York crowd finally give him their respect — something he felt had been withheld throughout his career — was the thing that pulled him out of the present and into pure elation. 'The greatest currency in New York is respect,' he says, 'and they finally gave it to me.'

The conversation turns introspective as Shetty asks what Towns finds most surprising about being a champion. His answer is unexpectedly honest: the moment passes terrifyingly fast. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Winning the NBA championship is the goal of a lifetime — and then it's gone in a flash. Towns describes arriving home the morning after the…" 04:15 Play} They won Saturday night, flew home, and by Sunday afternoon Towns was already asking 'what's next?' — and then working out anyway, unable to shut the competitor off. He makes a sharp distinction between living in the moment and getting lost in it, noting that at the parade he crossed the line. For Towns, seeing the New York crowd finally give him their respect — something he felt had been withheld throughout his career — was the thing that pulled him out of the present and into pure elation. 'The greatest currency in New York is respect,' he says, 'and they finally gave it to me.'

Shetty asks what childhood memory defines who Towns is today, and the answer is unexpected: a walk around the block in 7th grade. A legendary trainer had arrived to work Towns out and wanted to mold him into a traditional back-to-the-basket big man. But Towns and his father had a different vision — a multi-skilled player who could handle, shoot threes, and score from anywhere, a position that barely existed yet. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "In 7th grade, Towns took his father on a walk around the block and made a courageous case for rejecting one of the world's top training gur…" 09:14 Play} Rather than defer to the expert's credentials, Towns took his formidable father on a short walk and made a respectful but clear case: no one understands this vision better than you, and no one has gotten me this far but you. His father listened without flinching, then called the trainer to let him go. Towns, looking back now with an NBA championship and a shooting style that genuinely broke new ground for big men, reflects: 'If I would've done that, I don't know if I would've been the player I am today.'

Shetty asks what childhood memory defines who Towns is today, and the answer is unexpected: a walk around the block in 7th grade. A legendary trainer had arrived to work Towns out and wanted to mold him into a traditional back-to-the-basket big man. But Towns and his father had a different vision — a multi-skilled player who could handle, shoot threes, and score from anywhere, a position that barely existed yet. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "In 7th grade, Towns took his father on a walk around the block and made a courageous case for rejecting one of the world's top training gur…" 09:14 Play} Rather than defer to the expert's credentials, Towns took his formidable father on a short walk and made a respectful but clear case: no one understands this vision better than you, and no one has gotten me this far but you. His father listened without flinching, then called the trainer to let him go. Towns, looking back now with an NBA championship and a shooting style that genuinely broke new ground for big men, reflects: 'If I would've done that, I don't know if I would've been the player I am today.'

From the big walk, Towns pivots to an even smaller but more emotionally resonant memory: the day he let his mother's prized parakeet escape through an open door. He was certain he'd be in trouble. Instead, his mother looked at the empty cage and said without a trace of anger, 'The bird had better places to be anyway.' ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "A young Towns accidentally let his mother's beloved parakeet escape. Instead of anger, she said, 'The bird had better places to be anyway.'…" 13:40 Play} That moment, Towns says, unlocked something in him about the nature of forgiveness and control. His mother went on to tell him about losing a gold watch her grandfather gave her at the beach — and how her grandfather had taught her that if something is lost, it was never truly meant to be yours. Towns carries both stories as a practical operating system: 'It's okay to forgive people. It's not okay to forget, but it's okay to forgive people so they do not own any capacity of your life.' The conversation expands into present-moment awareness and the discipline of being truly still — something Towns practices by putting his phone away during family time, embracing appointment TV silences, and training himself to notice the small, carrying things people say.

From the big walk, Towns pivots to an even smaller but more emotionally resonant memory: the day he let his mother's prized parakeet escape through an open door. He was certain he'd be in trouble. Instead, his mother looked at the empty cage and said without a trace of anger, 'The bird had better places to be anyway.' ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "A young Towns accidentally let his mother's beloved parakeet escape. Instead of anger, she said, 'The bird had better places to be anyway.'…" 13:40 Play} That moment, Towns says, unlocked something in him about the nature of forgiveness and control. His mother went on to tell him about losing a gold watch her grandfather gave her at the beach — and how her grandfather had taught her that if something is lost, it was never truly meant to be yours. Towns carries both stories as a practical operating system: 'It's okay to forgive people. It's not okay to forget, but it's okay to forgive people so they do not own any capacity of your life.' The conversation expands into present-moment awareness and the discipline of being truly still — something Towns practices by putting his phone away during family time, embracing appointment TV silences, and training himself to notice the small, carrying things people say.

Shetty asks whether Towns ever doubted himself on the way to the NBA. The answer is a clear no — but for a reason that has nothing to do with arrogance. Towns says his confidence was always grounded in the support and love of his family. They may not have had millions, but they had 'a ton of love, and that's more currency than anything.' He believed success would come if he simply refused to be outworked, having watched his parents grind 9-to-5s to put food on the table. The segment broadens into a philosophical reflection on how differently people are wired — and why assuming someone who disagrees is 'wrong' is itself the mistake. Towns says some of his best conversations are with people who see the world completely differently, and that sitting quietly and genuinely listening dissolves what most people mistake for irreconcilable disagreement.

Shetty asks whether Towns ever doubted himself on the way to the NBA. The answer is a clear no — but for a reason that has nothing to do with arrogance. Towns says his confidence was always grounded in the support and love of his family. They may not have had millions, but they had 'a ton of love, and that's more currency than anything.' He believed success would come if he simply refused to be outworked, having watched his parents grind 9-to-5s to put food on the table. The segment broadens into a philosophical reflection on how differently people are wired — and why assuming someone who disagrees is 'wrong' is itself the mistake. Towns says some of his best conversations are with people who see the world completely differently, and that sitting quietly and genuinely listening dissolves what most people mistake for irreconcilable disagreement.

COVID protocols allowed only one visitor, and the family chose Karl. He arrived in a hazmat suit, fixed his mother's hair, cleaned her nails, washed her face, and talked to her — even though she couldn't respond. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Towns was the only family member COVID protocols allowed to enter the hospital to say goodbye to his mother. He fixed her hair, cleaned her…" 24:07 Play} He felt the energy of the exchange nonetheless. And in those final moments, he finally had the conversation he and his mother had never gotten to: he told her about Jordan, a friend who might be more, and asked his mother to look out for her from wherever she was going. Seven years later, they're getting married. 'Obviously,' Towns says with a quiet smile, 'it was the right one.' Shetty then asks about the decision to end life support. Towns says he tried every other route — he would have taken her in any condition. But when a meaningful recovery was no longer possible, he made the call. He frames it as choosing 'the death of my ego for the best of her.'

COVID protocols allowed only one visitor, and the family chose Karl. He arrived in a hazmat suit, fixed his mother's hair, cleaned her nails, washed her face, and talked to her — even though she couldn't respond. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Towns was the only family member COVID protocols allowed to enter the hospital to say goodbye to his mother. He fixed her hair, cleaned her…" 24:07 Play} He felt the energy of the exchange nonetheless. And in those final moments, he finally had the conversation he and his mother had never gotten to: he told her about Jordan, a friend who might be more, and asked his mother to look out for her from wherever she was going. Seven years later, they're getting married. 'Obviously,' Towns says with a quiet smile, 'it was the right one.' Shetty then asks about the decision to end life support. Towns says he tried every other route — he would have taken her in any condition. But when a meaningful recovery was no longer possible, he made the call. He frames it as choosing 'the death of my ego for the best of her.'

COVID protocols allowed only one visitor, and the family chose Karl. He arrived in a hazmat suit, fixed his mother's hair, cleaned her nails, washed her face, and talked to her — even though she couldn't respond. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Towns was the only family member COVID protocols allowed to enter the hospital to say goodbye to his mother. He fixed her hair, cleaned her…" 24:07 Play} He felt the energy of the exchange nonetheless. And in those final moments, he finally had the conversation he and his mother had never gotten to: he told her about Jordan, a friend who might be more, and asked his mother to look out for her from wherever she was going. Seven years later, they're getting married. 'Obviously,' Towns says with a quiet smile, 'it was the right one.' Shetty then asks about the decision to end life support. Towns says he tried every other route — he would have taken her in any condition. But when a meaningful recovery was no longer possible, he made the call. He frames it as choosing 'the death of my ego for the best of her.'

Shetty asks about Towns's mother's gift for celebration, and the answer is warm and full of personality. She didn't need much to make a birthday feel enormous — it was the energy she brought. Towns now tries to replicate that for his niece, nephew, and the people he loves. When Shetty asks what she'd say if she were at the championship parade, Towns laughs: 'First she would say you didn't drink more.' She'd be crying and hugging him, running off the float to join the crowd. There's grief in the laughter. His sister, he says, would be telling him the same thing. And then he pivots to something more serious: he found more happiness before Game 1 of the Finals than at any point during the championship run itself.

This is the chapter the whole episode has been building toward. Twenty minutes before the national anthem, warming up on the court before Game 1 of the Finals, Towns felt something shift. The music sounded like the best music he'd ever heard. Dribbling the ball felt as youthful as the first time he picked one up. He kept smiling, and he couldn't explain why — except that he was certain it was his mother. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Before Game 1 of the NBA Finals, in the 20 quiet minutes before the national anthem, Towns felt his late mother's presence so powerfully th…" 31:30 Play} He'd yearned for that feeling more than the championship itself. 'That's supernatural,' he says. 'That's something I can't explain the value behind that.' A championship has a dollar value, a legacy value — but this had no measurable worth. It was like her appearing in a dream: rare, unrepeatable, priceless. And when he looked at his fiancée Jordan during the game, she told him simply, 'You're doing great.'

This is the chapter the whole episode has been building toward. Twenty minutes before the national anthem, warming up on the court before Game 1 of the Finals, Towns felt something shift. The music sounded like the best music he'd ever heard. Dribbling the ball felt as youthful as the first time he picked one up. He kept smiling, and he couldn't explain why — except that he was certain it was his mother. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Before Game 1 of the NBA Finals, in the 20 quiet minutes before the national anthem, Towns felt his late mother's presence so powerfully th…" 31:30 Play} He'd yearned for that feeling more than the championship itself. 'That's supernatural,' he says. 'That's something I can't explain the value behind that.' A championship has a dollar value, a legacy value — but this had no measurable worth. It was like her appearing in a dream: rare, unrepeatable, priceless. And when he looked at his fiancée Jordan during the game, she told him simply, 'You're doing great.'

Shetty asks about survivor's guilt and Towns is precise about where it sits: it's not about having lived. It's about the engagement, the wedding, the future children, the parade — every great moment shadowed by the absence of the person who most deserved to see it. His mother watched his sister's family grow, and she saw him reach the NBA and make All-Star teams. But the championship, the love story, the life ahead — she missed all of that. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Towns's survivor's guilt isn't about himself — it's about his mother missing the moments that would have mattered most to her: the champion…" 33:28 Play} And then Towns delivers the episode's thesis statement unprompted: 'What I do gets more attention than who I am, even though who I am is more important than what I do.' He spent his whole life being told he was a basketball prodigy, and finally realized that wasn't the thing. The communities served, the people helped, the love given — that was always the real scoreboard.

The conversation briefly turns reflective as Shetty explains that this exact kind of exchange — a man behind the jersey sharing who he actually is — is why the podcast exists. Eight years ago he watched Tom Brady being interviewed before his own stage appearance and noticed Brady trying repeatedly to reach for depth while the interviewer kept steering back to the championships. That moment crystallized the show's purpose. Towns nods in recognition and adds something important: mental health is real, and most people never feel truly heard because the people interviewing them don't actually want to go there. 'We really are people,' he says. 'All these seats have stories.' Shetty agrees, and the two sit for a moment in the weight of that.

When Shetty raises the question of therapy, Towns is careful: he thinks therapy is great, just not for him in the conventional sense. His version was Arnie Kander — the head of Orlando Magic's health and sports science operation, a man who was also close friends with Towns's mother and father. Arnie has the spiritual range of a monk: Catholic, Buddhist, deeply naturalistic. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Conventional therapy wasn't right for Towns — he found his emotional outlet in Arnie Kander, the head of Orlando Magic's sports science dep…" 37:35 Play} He taught Towns to be grateful for everything in his environment, including hotel rooms — a practice Towns follows out loud to this day. More importantly, he gave Towns a safe space to say anything, from his darkest thoughts to simple check-ins, without fear of judgment or betrayal. Shetty draws a parallel to the coach-athlete relationship in sports more broadly, noting that most people don't have access to this kind of trusted mentorship in their careers.

When Shetty raises the question of therapy, Towns is careful: he thinks therapy is great, just not for him in the conventional sense. His version was Arnie Kander — the head of Orlando Magic's health and sports science operation, a man who was also close friends with Towns's mother and father. Arnie has the spiritual range of a monk: Catholic, Buddhist, deeply naturalistic. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Conventional therapy wasn't right for Towns — he found his emotional outlet in Arnie Kander, the head of Orlando Magic's sports science dep…" 37:35 Play} He taught Towns to be grateful for everything in his environment, including hotel rooms — a practice Towns follows out loud to this day. More importantly, he gave Towns a safe space to say anything, from his darkest thoughts to simple check-ins, without fear of judgment or betrayal. Shetty draws a parallel to the coach-athlete relationship in sports more broadly, noting that most people don't have access to this kind of trusted mentorship in their careers.

When Shetty raises the question of therapy, Towns is careful: he thinks therapy is great, just not for him in the conventional sense. His version was Arnie Kander — the head of Orlando Magic's health and sports science operation, a man who was also close friends with Towns's mother and father. Arnie has the spiritual range of a monk: Catholic, Buddhist, deeply naturalistic. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Conventional therapy wasn't right for Towns — he found his emotional outlet in Arnie Kander, the head of Orlando Magic's sports science dep…" 37:35 Play} He taught Towns to be grateful for everything in his environment, including hotel rooms — a practice Towns follows out loud to this day. More importantly, he gave Towns a safe space to say anything, from his darkest thoughts to simple check-ins, without fear of judgment or betrayal. Shetty draws a parallel to the coach-athlete relationship in sports more broadly, noting that most people don't have access to this kind of trusted mentorship in their careers.

The energy lifts as Shetty asks about Jordan. Towns grins: they met over Uno in LA, with a mutual friend called Chucky. He beat her every time. He declines to comment on whether she's beaten him since. They were nothing more than friends for two and a half years — no romance, just genuine affection and shared energy. That friendship foundation, Towns argues, is what makes the relationship durable in a world where an NBA player dating a Hollywood figure 'doesn't seem like a recipe that works.' ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Karl-Anthony Towns met his fiancée Jordan over Uno in LA. He beat her every time, they were strictly friends for two and a half years, and …" 41:33 Play} She's taught him that boundaries don't have to be aggressive — they can be safe and mutual. He's taught her to bring her inner child back: they have lightsaber fights in the toy aisle at Target and take laps around the store with her in the shopping cart. 'We don't have to act older because we met older,' he says.

The energy lifts as Shetty asks about Jordan. Towns grins: they met over Uno in LA, with a mutual friend called Chucky. He beat her every time. He declines to comment on whether she's beaten him since. They were nothing more than friends for two and a half years — no romance, just genuine affection and shared energy. That friendship foundation, Towns argues, is what makes the relationship durable in a world where an NBA player dating a Hollywood figure 'doesn't seem like a recipe that works.' ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Karl-Anthony Towns met his fiancée Jordan over Uno in LA. He beat her every time, they were strictly friends for two and a half years, and …" 41:33 Play} She's taught him that boundaries don't have to be aggressive — they can be safe and mutual. He's taught her to bring her inner child back: they have lightsaber fights in the toy aisle at Target and take laps around the store with her in the shopping cart. 'We don't have to act older because we met older,' he says.

One of the episode's lighter but most charming detours: Jordan's orange designer bag became a genuine team superstition. Towns catalogues the remarkable record — the Knicks won every playoff game in which the bag was present, including the greatest comeback in Finals history, and the team lost the one game when security concerns (linked to a Trump visit) prevented her from bringing it in. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "The New York Knicks won every playoff game in which Jordan Towns brought her orange Wiz bag to MSG — approximately 15 straight. Even KAT's …" 45:45 Play} Even Josh Hart, OG Anunoby, and Jalen Brunson were asking whether the bag would make it. Towns jokes that the bag — which he describes as 'a she' — is currently resting and will probably retire on top like Michael Jordan. He suggests the Guggenheim is the appropriate venue for its display. The whole sequence is warm, funny, and reveals just how tight the team chemistry really was.

The conversation turns to the trade that sent Towns from Minnesota to New York. He's candid about the shock: there were no signs, no rumors, not a single whisper in the NBA ecosystem before it happened. He went to his home office, saw a room full of Minnesota achievements, and realized the book had ended mid-sentence and he hadn't been consulted. 'I thought I was the author, and I became the character in the book.' ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "No whisper, no sign, no warning. Towns's Minnesota career ended in an instant, and he had to walk past his own trophies and accomplishments…" 48:04 Play} The bitterness is real but brief. He acknowledges, with genuine humility, that maybe he needed to go somewhere else to show his true worth — and that New York gave him the chance. There is still a bittersweet ache, he admits: part of him wished he could have brought the trophy to Target Center for the Minnesota fans who raised him. But he leaves that with grace.

The conversation turns to the trade that sent Towns from Minnesota to New York. He's candid about the shock: there were no signs, no rumors, not a single whisper in the NBA ecosystem before it happened. He went to his home office, saw a room full of Minnesota achievements, and realized the book had ended mid-sentence and he hadn't been consulted. 'I thought I was the author, and I became the character in the book.' ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "No whisper, no sign, no warning. Towns's Minnesota career ended in an instant, and he had to walk past his own trophies and accomplishments…" 48:04 Play} The bitterness is real but brief. He acknowledges, with genuine humility, that maybe he needed to go somewhere else to show his true worth — and that New York gave him the chance. There is still a bittersweet ache, he admits: part of him wished he could have brought the trophy to Target Center for the Minnesota fans who raised him. But he leaves that with grace.

Arriving at the Knicks was easier than Towns expected. Jalen Brunson (JB) and OG were particularly welcoming — OG even had him over to his house early, leading to a revelation: OG barely speaks to teammates but had great conversations with Towns from day one. The culture of earning respect through play rather than reputation made the transition smoother. Shetty then unveils the 'Courtside Stress Test,' asking Towns to rate celebrity sightings on a 1-to-10 scale. Mariska Hargitay gets a 7 (instant 'dun dun' response), Adam Sandler and Spike Lee are 8s and 9s, Ben Stiller earns a 9 for being an iconic Knicks fan. Taylor Swift gets an 8.7. The only 10? Jordan. His dad, too — and Towns is moved by a pastor friend's observation that the normalcy of seeing your father at games is something many people never get to experience.

Shetty asks what a playoff pre-game day looks like. Towns's answer is a masterclass in preparation: arrive at 7am for an 11am shootaround, work on the body, shoot before and after the team session, go home for pasta and a nap, then arrive at the arena at 4:15pm. From there, the key is to do everything except think about basketball — sports cards, YouTube golf, talking to Jordan about something completely different. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Towns arrives four hours before an 11am shootaround, watches film, then deliberately fills his mind with everything except basketball befor…" 56:35 Play} The focus that builds through this ritual is almost superhuman: Towns describes the court shrinking as the game goes on, shadows replacing faces in the crowd. The story that captures it best involves Timothée Chalamet sitting one seat away from him in San Antonio — in Chrome Heart jeans, screaming his name — for the entire game, completely unnoticed. The segment closes with Towns discussing his pride in representing the Dominican Republic and his dream of taking the national team to the Olympics, calling it one of his greatest possible honors.

Shetty asks what a playoff pre-game day looks like. Towns's answer is a masterclass in preparation: arrive at 7am for an 11am shootaround, work on the body, shoot before and after the team session, go home for pasta and a nap, then arrive at the arena at 4:15pm. From there, the key is to do everything except think about basketball — sports cards, YouTube golf, talking to Jordan about something completely different. ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Towns arrives four hours before an 11am shootaround, watches film, then deliberately fills his mind with everything except basketball befor…" 56:35 Play} The focus that builds through this ritual is almost superhuman: Towns describes the court shrinking as the game goes on, shadows replacing faces in the crowd. The story that captures it best involves Timothée Chalamet sitting one seat away from him in San Antonio — in Chrome Heart jeans, screaming his name — for the entire game, completely unnoticed. The segment closes with Towns discussing his pride in representing the Dominican Republic and his dream of taking the national team to the Olympics, calling it one of his greatest possible honors.

Shetty asks about Mac Miller — Towns's self-described all-time favorite artist and genuine friend. Towns recalls Mac showing him unreleased music and asking a deceptively simple question: everything sounds good loud, but how does it sound in silence? ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Mac Miller showed Towns unreleased music and asked: 'Everything sounds good loud, but when there's no noise, how does it sound?' Towns rein…" 1:03:40 Play} Towns didn't process it as a life lesson in the moment, but sitting here now he interprets it as the defining question of character: are you the same generous, authentic person when no one is watching, nothing is being reported, and there is no upside to being good? The Final Five rapid-fire questions land a series of memorable answers: the best advice is 'live in the present because the future's not guaranteed'; the worst is 'you can't do this without me'; money doesn't bring happiness — people do; he thinks too much about what he can't control; and the one law everyone should follow is the golden rule. The episode closes with a Gatorade gift of guava lemonade — Towns's favorite flavor, introduced to him by Jada Pinkett Smith — and a mutual, heartfelt appreciation.

Shetty asks about Mac Miller — Towns's self-described all-time favorite artist and genuine friend. Towns recalls Mac showing him unreleased music and asking a deceptively simple question: everything sounds good loud, but how does it sound in silence? ^{[1] — Karl-Anthony Towns "Mac Miller showed Towns unreleased music and asked: 'Everything sounds good loud, but when there's no noise, how does it sound?' Towns rein…" 1:03:40 Play} Towns didn't process it as a life lesson in the moment, but sitting here now he interprets it as the defining question of character: are you the same generous, authentic person when no one is watching, nothing is being reported, and there is no upside to being good? The Final Five rapid-fire questions land a series of memorable answers: the best advice is 'live in the present because the future's not guaranteed'; the worst is 'you can't do this without me'; money doesn't bring happiness — people do; he thinks too much about what he can't control; and the one law everyone should follow is the golden rule. The episode closes with a Gatorade gift of guava lemonade — Towns's favorite flavor, introduced to him by Jada Pinkett Smith — and a mutual, heartfelt appreciation.