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Welcoming Diversity At Cracker Barrel Old Country Store , we think a key to our success is welcoming diversity in our company, our country stores, our restaurants, and our communities. ®

Welcome CREATIVE DIRECTOR

PUBLISHER, CEO ERIC JORDAN ejordan@theconnectmagazine.com PARTNER DR. EDDIE D. HAMILTON, MD, FAAP DIRECTOR OF BUSINESS DEVELOPMENT DAWN M. MASON dmason@theconnectmagazine.com MANAGING EDITOR LACEY JOHNSON ljohnson@theconnectmagazine.com PRODUCTION EDITOR C. HUGH SHELTON chshelton@theconnectmagazine.com

Maria Colomy Maria Colomy joins The Connect Magazine with nearly 20 years of experience in marketing, print production and web design, along with more than a decade experience in creative direction. Her expertise began in the late 90s while working for a software company in California. With a natural eye for design strategy, she saw an opportunity to rebrand a growing company in order to attract larger clients. Within four years, the company quadrupled in size and her passion for creative direction and marketing strategy was born. In 2003, she relocated to Nashville, Tennessee to attend Nossi College of Art, where she now teaches graphic design, print production, social media, small business and art direction. She spent several years working at a digital media agency on Music Row and now splits her time between her personal clients and her students. Colomy has worked on numerous multi-faceted projects, assisting countless entrepreneurs and small businesses to realize their start-up dreams. From helping a local makeup artist open a cosmetics store to managing live social media for the Iroquois Steeplechase, her design career is multi-dimensional, rewarding and never shy of stimulating. Because of her background in marketing, online strategy is a natural fit. Every aspect - from social media presence to the style of an email signature or website is an opportunity to make an impact. She believes that branding is based on trust and consistency, and is an extension of the relationships that exist behind the brand, itself. In short, a brand is about the people behind it, which is why The Connect Magazine is such a perfect fit. Colomy understands that creativity in business is not mere artistic indulgence, but rather a commitment to effective communication and problem-solving. A compelling creative strategy improves results by presenting a message in the most effective way possible, to the most relevant audience. This understanding of a bigger picture enables her to generate lasting and effective results for her clients.

CREATIVE DIRECTOR MARIA COLOMY mcolomy@theconnectmagazine.com DESIGN DIRECTOR JESSICA COLEMAN jcoleman@theconnectmagazine.com DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY BARBARA POTTER bpotter@theconnectmagazine.com PHOTOGRAPHER NATHAN ZUCKER DIRECTOR OF COMMUNITY ENGAGEMENT CAROLYN MCHANEY-WALLER bpotter@theconnectmagazine.com SENIOR WRITERS DR. MING WANG JACKIE NENTWICK JOE SCARLETT KEELAH JACKSON SHAWN WHITSELL TONI LEPESKA CONTRIBUTING WRITERS & PHOTOGRAPHERS EDDIE ARROSSI PHOTOGRAPHY - EAPHOTO-NHCC Summit GRAHAM HONEYCUTT - Empowerment JAMES BANKER PHOTOGRAPHY - GRAHAM HONEYCUTT JOSHUA MACLEOD - Growability/Business ZACH WATSON - JumpCrew DIRECTOR OF SALES ERIC JORDAN REGIONAL PUBLISHERS AND SALES REPRESENTATIVES Help Wanted: Join Our Team ALABAMA FLORIDA GEORGIA KENTUCKY LOUISIANA MISSISSIPPI TENNESSEE VIRGINIA ADVERTISING INQUIRIES advertise@theconnectmagazine.com If you would like to place an AD or write an article for our next issue, please contact Lacey Johnson at info@theconnectmagazine.com

“Putting your business in Clients’ Hands”

THE CONNECT MAGAZINE | SPRING 2017

THECONNECTMAGAZINE.COM

ITH EVERY ARTICLE—in print and online—our goal is to provide the most inspiring and worthwhile information possible. For this issue, I feel inclined to focus on positive behavior. Every day, we have a choice to be positive, or to allow the circumstances of life to weigh us down. When we reflect upon our lives, we often realize how certain situations led us where we are today. Perhaps you remember praying for the things you have now. I know I do. Becoming a successful entrepreneur has been an emotional rollercoaster. I recently had a conversation with a good friend, discussing the obstacles of trying to monetize value while encouraging complete strangers to become the best versions of themselves. I took a minute to ponder the different challenges presented while trying to grow the presence of The Connect Magazine in eight states. My first thought was: What is successful living? Quitting my previous career to launch this publication has been extremely challenging. During the worst times of overdue payments, cash flow problems, nearing deadlines, negative energy and doubts from those closest to me, I never allowed that to taint my positive outlook on my vision of The Connect Magazine. I ponder no longer, for this I know: Successful living is the actual journey of changing lives, hearts and souls of complete strangers. As I look back over the previous three years, the constants are faith, family (my support system) and a positive attitude. People who know me as a person will tell you that my motto is “Trust the Process!” I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. Mostly, I encourage all eyes taking in this message to remain steadfastly positive despite the obstacles life presents. THECONNECTMAGAZINE.COM

“Positive thinking is more than just a tagline. It changes the way we behave. And I firmly believe that when I am positive, it not only makes me better, but it also makes those around me better.” — Harvey Mackay The Connect Magazine will inspire thousands of individuals throughout the world. Each person reading these words has already been given a gift. We are all here for a reason, believe it or not. Trust me when I say that strong positive habits can and will carry you far in life - to heights you cannot imagine. The Connect Magazine is not the secret tool to change your life. However, it is a positive platform to assist you in viewing the world more abundantly. I made up my mind several years ago that I will serve and help others while maneuvering through this mystery we call life. I challenge you to be intentional about helping others while remaining positive - regardless of unwanted outcomes. Make an effort to be a blessing to a stranger. That feeling deep inside after being a blessing is the first step to living successfully. Listen to the voice inside your heart while making every decision. For those reading this with a negative spirit, please take five minutes to close your eyes and be still to hear that whisper in your mind. It is there if you listen beyond the fearful chatter. In closing, I declare this my Season of Hope for one reason only: The whisper inside of me is speaking to individuals right now. To Be Continued…………

CEO/PUBLISHER SPRING 2017 | THE CONNECT MAGAZINE

EMPOWERMENT

WRITTEN BY: LACEY JOHNSON | THEDAILYDOLL.COM

ONCE WATCHED AS a rose garden bloomed. The flowers were contained within a wooden box at the entrance of a café I frequented each morning. In between sips of coffee, I gazed with foggy eyes and admired the buds as they gradually appeared - as though cutting through the final winter frost and announcing the ascension of spring. Every day I glanced over at new colors emerging, like witnessing a fresh stroke of paint onto a canvas. Before long, harmonic explosions of fuschia, blood orange and crimson created a symphony of movement and texture. And, when the petals formed together in completion, they were like the pivotal line in a love song that punches you in the gut. All you can do is clutch your heart and sigh. I have never forgotten the spiritual significance of observing that garden as it formed so gradually and poetically. It offered a lesson in the beauty of trust and patience. All human progressions evolve the same way. We do not become something new overnight, nor do we build something new overnight. Reinventions are gradual, rhythmic doings which honor all seasons of life. And, the garden’s caretaker and environment will always be the result of its bloom. WHAT IS NATURE TRYING TO TELL US? If fall is a romance between nature and man, spring is an incitation for reinvention. If fall is for slowing down and crawling into corners, spring is for coming alive and growing out of them. Look at it this way: If the magic of autumn puts us under a spell of stagnation and winter is spent buried under it, spring is an announcement that the spell has been broken. This shift is more than just a luring from hibernation. Spring asks us to drop those layers of heavy covers we have been hiding under, sweep through the residual dust of our disappointments and mistakes, step out of the shadows and dare to be born again. It is a migration from what is cozy and familiar, and an entrance into open-aired vulnerability. All reinventions require a departure from comfort, but their pathways though laced with unknowing - always lead us to the fun. On the first day of spring, Earth’s axis is tilted neither toward nor away from the sun. This is also true on the first day of autumn. The difference is this: autumn marks the progression of turning away from the sun, while spring marks the progression of tilting toward it. SPRING IS FOR SWEEPING OUT & BURSTING INTO BLOOM One of the most bittersweet spring seasons of my life was when I was 20 years old and recovering from a broken heart. A relationship I had sworn would last forever finally ended after months of stalling in a state of ruin. I could not cling anymore, nor could I spend another day feeding our dead garden. I was trying so hard not to know it, but our trees were barren. And, that realization was gutting. But, I say it was bittersweet because - though excruciating - I was cultivating seeds of independence. Having recently signed a lease for 14

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my first apartment, it was to me a 600-square-foot palace. That voyage, though unwanted, marked a “crossing over.” And, it was colored with explorations such as figuring out which foods I enjoyed cooking - even discovering that I had culinary potential at all. I was learning the kinds of art I wanted on my walls, the varieties of candles I enjoyed burning before bedtime and the genre of movies which most engulfed me when I wasn’t consumed with entertaining a lover. I was discovering me. My heart had endured a beating and was undoubtedly impaired, but it was still pumping blood. Together, we were teaching each other how to be strong. I was hurting, but I was crawling back to life. I was being stretched, but it ached so sweetly. Ever since, I have never forgotten that awful yet beautiful feeling of awakening. I now approach every spring with a special fondness for not only my own resilience, but for life’s opportunities for reinvention. I think of spring as being like a child who will not allow me to hide behind the bushes or rest on the sidelines. It instinctively knows my hidden longings. It beckons me with the ripeness of its fruit and lures me with its lushness. Its emerging sun pursues me, pulling and tugging at my arm, demanding, “Let’s play! Let’s play!” It asks that I put down my steaming mug of comfort and become a participant of its verdant playground. That I sink my bare feet into its fertile soil. That I pump my bicycle tires full of air and go along for the ride. That I bare my shoulders, zip myself into its backless dresses and lower my inhibitions. Cherry Blossoms woo me with enchantment, and budding trees beckon me to climb and hang from them. Spring asks that I - that we all - come back to life. It asks that we dance in its rain, shout in its parades and delight in its festivals. Just as the songbirds spent the winter months incubating their eggs and preparing to hatch when it warms, spring is an incantation for us to give birth to something we have never done before. No matter who you are or where you have been, you are being summoned to grow and reinvent. Whether an album’s worth of aural euphoria, a movie script full of hilarious characters, an innovative marketing idea, an entrepreneurial venture or a health and fitness endeavor that has been inside of you incubating for too long now - dying to come out kicking and squealing, this is the season to bring it forth. Because spring extends its invitation for reinvention to all. It only requests that we take an honest assessment of our internal gardens, discard what isn’t growing, step outside of our zones of comfort and ultimately - burst into bloom. Just as nature has. TheDailyDoll.com is the brainchild of writer and celebrity journalist Lacey Johnson. The site was created to encourage readers to get real, get liberated and live boldly by serving up beauty, wellness and inner life illumination. Stay tuned for her upcoming e-book, “The 21-Day Inner & Outer Life Illumination Reboot,” landing to the site early summer 2017. THECONNECTMAGAZINE.COM

BUSINESS

F R O M S I G H T L E S S T O V I S I O N A R Y,

Dr. Ming Wang Is One Unstoppable Immigrant

N THE DARKEST days of his life, renowned ophthalmologist, scientist and founder of Wang Vision Institute in Nashville, Tenn., Dr. Ming Wang, was a 14-year-old boy trapped in the Chinese Cultural Revolution. He never imagined - in his wildest dreams - that he would one day immigrate to the United States and later create jobs for Americans. This grim period was defined by the Chinese government forcing Wang to abruptly slam the books on his high school education. Because of this, he began waking hours before the sun rose each morning filling the cold blackness with sonorous melodies from his erhu (chinese violin). His fingers maneuvered across its strings until rendered numb, swollen and bleeding. His were never songs of pleasure and solace, sadly; instead, they were of sombering and sightless desperation. Becoming a professional musician was his only hope of being spared the devastating fate of deportation and, thus, a life sentence of hard labor and abject poverty. Wang practiced his violin compulsively for 15 hours a day, curiously drawn to the music of blind composer A-bin - as though pouring his painful uncertainty into those notes and allowing the instrument’s vibrato to resonate as his heart’s cry. “I connected with A-bin’s music emotionally because, much like the composer could not see physically, I could not see any future at all,” said Wang. Through every bow and strum, there amplified a deeply-held desire to one day dedicate his life to helping those confined to a life of darkness be granted the deliverance of sight. Although his musical pursuits did not continue, the internal experience of that shadowed period would resound throughout his personal 34

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WRITTEN BY: LACEY JOHNSON

ambitions for decades into the future. Wang passionately ached to study medicine; even doing so privately and illegally while under the constraints of the government. And, he was determined to fulfill this unmet desire. Once the revolution ended and Wang was permitted to finish high school and attend college, the whims of fate tuned to the vibration of his dreams, granting him an opportunity to impress a visiting professor from America. This led to him being offered a paid teaching assistantship with the University of Maryland in 1982, where he would earn his graduate degree in laser physics. But, his story would not become an unwavering anthem of celebration and victory from there. Further emotional hardships, loneliness and periods of adjustment would threaten to consume him. “In my waking hours, I was in America studying, attending and teaching classes, and taking myself to the movies in order to learn the language and culture. But, every night in my dreams, I was always back home in China,” confessed Wang. “It was like living two lives.” Although the early days of transition were difficult, he held tightly to his mission - a young man determined to further his education and “realize the American dream,” which - for Wang - meant devoting his life’s work to providing the visually impaired the luxury of illuminating their connection with the world. Wang pushed forward, earning postgraduate degrees from Harvard Medical School and Massachusetts Institute of Technology (magna cum laude). Since, he has built a remarkable career spanning more than two decades. Wang has performed more than 55,000 successful eye reconstructive surgeries (an approximate 4,000 of them having been on THECONNECTMAGAZINE.COM

BUSINESS

the eyes of fellow doctors), has taught 3D LASIK and cataract correction seminars and privately trained thousands of other surgeons all across the globe. Most astoundingly, he founded a nonprofit - helping countless blind orphan children see the world for the first time. The aforementioned are only a fraction of his personal and professional accomplishments, yet the energy and tenacity sustaining his ambitions will not be taking a bow anytime soon. Rather, his drive is only increasing in volume and expanding its presence into yet another endeavor. After a 15-year affiliation with Aier Eye Hospital - a rapidly-growing Chinese eye hospital chain, currently operating 154 hospitals in China and dominating 10 percent of the country’s eye care market - Wang decided to merge his already-successful practice, Wang Vision Institute, with the chain and launch a U.S. operation: Aier-USA. “This is a unique project connecting two countries. For China, it is a huge investment opportunity which will improve education and technology for doctors. For America, this means Chinese money will be used to improve the U.S. economy by creating a huge number of jobs,” said Wang. Though the financial investment will come from China, 100 percent of the workforce of Aier-USA will be American citizens - employing doctors, nurses, technicians, administrative and support staff. Wang echoes an immense sentiment of pride to be the one heading the effort: “As a minority and an immigrant, I cannot imagine any better accomplishment than creating quality jobs for the people of my adopted country - a country I have come to truly love.” When asked how many clinics were being planned for the AierUSA project, Wang was not yet certain. Although acquisitions are THECONNECTMAGAZINE.COM

being considered and planned for 2018, he warns that Aier’s growth in the U.S., while powerful, will not necessarily be resemblant of its trend in China. “For one, not only are the countries’ governments different, but the healthcare regulations and eye care markets are different,” said Wang. “Also, the room for growth in China is much broader than it is in the U.S.” Wang Vision Institute will serve as the flagship and headquarters for all Aier-USA clinics he and his partners plan to gradually build. Creating a mutually beneficial relationship between the country of his birth and the country of his adoption in order to synergistically improve the economy and further help the visually impaired is a grand culmination of Wang’s already-extraordinary journey. “This is taking everything I have done professionally and bringing it to a higher level,” he said, proudly. As our interview was nearing its conclusion, I asked Wang why, in light of him having already achieved a level of prosperity many of his colleagues may never realize, he remains so driven and unstoppable in his efforts to continue being personally responsible for more and more eyes realizing the experience of sight. He paused for a moment, glancing upward at the row of framed newspaper features, degrees and awards lining the walls of his office. With a blend of caution and vulnerability, he replied, “I think it is because, although my suffering was not physical, I remember well the hopeless feeling of being in darkness. I call upon that often, and am driven by it. In some ways, I am rescuing myself over and over again through my work.” SPRING 2017 | THE CONNECT MAGAZINE

TRAVEL/CULTURE

WRITTEN BY: LACEY JOHNSON

Y LIFE BEGAN in rural Mississippi, in a small town about 30 miles south of the state’s capital. It was a place where I stomped on ant piles and made lightening bugs my captive every long and muggy summer, and said an unrequited prayer for a dusting of snowfall every winter. It was a cozy pocket of America - where family ties were made of a fireproof fabric, then threaded through the simplicities of day-to-day life. It was where strangers became instant acquaintances, worthy of a greeting and a smile. But, it was also a sanctuary of unspoken rules: the most important being that if you did not bow your head and raise your hands while suited in your Sunday best, you were branded an outcast. Every Saturday venture to the nearest mall contained an offering of billboard sightings - many warning those who were unprepared for Jesus’ rapturous return. And, every time a mighty storm rolled through and the trees began to sway, I held my Bible tightly to my chest. My flesh trembled in fear at the thought of my soul being left behind. Fire and brimstone were occasionally served with dinner, but we all soothed the burn by washing it down with sentiments as sweet as our tea: “But, you know Jesus loves you despite that you were born evil; don’t you?” By the age of seven, I had dined on so much fear, guilt and contradiction, I was burping it all back up in rebellion. And, there were other unspoken rules I took notice of - rules of a far different breed. These were the rules every shred of innate decency within me wanted to reduce to ashes. One summer afternoon when I was about seven or eight years old, I was nearly trampled upon as I stood on hot pavement, my body dripping wet and shivering - not because I was cold, but because I was an immobile and synergistic blend of shock and confusion. I watched as several dozen children and their parents - most of whom were my classmates, neighbors and fellow church attendees - splashing and ejecting themselves from our community swimming pool. The expressions 44

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on their faces sort of resembled the masks the boys in my neighborhood wore on Halloween. I thought something filthy or horrendous lurked in those waters. Is there a dead animal afloat? Is someone drowning? It was bordering on a frenzy - reminding me of the way the ants reacted anytime I dared to aggravate their pile: scattering and fleeing in terror. I quickly learned, though, that their frantic movements had not been provoked by any danger in those waters. No. Rather, it was because three black children - newcomers to town - decided to join other children their age for an afternoon swim.

Race & Reality

IN AMERICA

You see, these newcomers were not acquainted with the unspoken rules. They were unaware they had crossed over into ‘forbidden terrain’ - for the pool they selected that day was the “white pool.” How dare they not know they belonged at the “black pool” - the smaller, dirtier, ‘lesser than’ pool on the ‘lesser than’ side of town. It was the end of the 1980s - early in the Bush administration, and more than two decades following the end of segregation. But, not long enough to dispel the culture of racism still alive and well within that town. THECONNECTMAGAZINE.COM

TRAVEL/CULTURE

Everyone in the pool’s vicinity continued to scramble. There were a collage of sun-drenched white bodies wrapped in brightly-colored beach towels, all huddled together in clusters along the fence railing. Some raced to the bathroom in hiding. Some tiptoed to the sidelines. Some fled to the parking lot. And, some abandoned their pool day entirely, seeking ‘safety’ in their cars - locking every door and driving away in haste. But, not a single one of them remained in the pool. Not one. My sister - seven years my senior - grabbed my arm and dragged me behind her in order to dodge the commotion. She rushed us to the payphone to call our father, who served as the town’s mayor and was among the rarities in that mecca of Bible studies and southern hospitality: a young white man who was boldly unwilling to swallow the racist messages he was expected to digest. And, as a result, we were occasionally penned “n*gger lovers.” “Your dad helps n*ggers!” a boy had hissed at me on the playground one day. I remember thinking he looked like a demon when he said it, and it provoked me to wonder why I was so worried about being penned as the weirdo. I scanned the pool grounds for a moment before landing on his face. He was with the other classmates who were snickering about the black children’s swim caps. Their folded arms conveyed that they were impatiently waiting for the ‘lesser than’ visitors to leave. I thought about how ironic it was - how funny that they deemed themselves superior. They all looked like stumbling drunks - delusional, intoxicated, and toasting to their cocktail of white supremacy and vile religious hypocrisy. Wait, I thought; If Jesus loves me, doesn’t Jesus love them, too? Doesn’t Jesus love “all the little children of the world? Red and yellow, black and white”? The color of skin and the texture of hair could not possibly make such a difference in regard to a person’s value. So, why did it? Wasn’t this venomous hatred a slap in the face to the savior they bowed their heads, raised their hands and wore their Sunday best for? It didn’t make sense. I remember one of the black children in particular - a girl about my age. It was as though the sun had sought her out, as though ravished by her. And, though I was not brave enough to approach her, I badly wanted to. In my mind’s eye, I can vividly see her, still - her spine straight and long legs dangling in the pool. I can see the drops of water creating a collage across her frail, mahogany shoulders. I remember the way the sun shone like a spotlight over her, illuminating her profile softly - such beauty seeping through her veil of oppression and pain. I never locked eyes with her, but empathy asked that I take a front row seat. And, a trajectory of grieving, vulnerability and expansion swirls around that memory. I wish that I could stretch back in time to that moment and - with mighty fists - grab ahold of her shoulders. I would announce what a powerhouse of courage she was. I wonder how her recollection of that day differs from mine. I wonder what other stories she lived to tell. I wonder these things not because of mere curiosity, but because she did something I have never forgotten in all of these years: She stayed in the pool anyway. She stayed - despite the snickers and side glances, despite the arrogantly-folded arms and tapping feet. Daringly, she stayed - as though her will were as strong as the cement. An innumerable amount of times since that sweltering Mississippi day, I have been moved to tears reflecting upon it. I sobbed into my pillow when Barack Obama was elected in 2008. I wondered if the girl from the pool was somewhere crying, too. I then sobbed even harder watching Oprah sob as he delivered his acceptance speech. And, I sobbed at Michelle Obama’s words at the Clinton rally mere months ago - when she so eloquently defended every objectified THECONNECTMAGAZINE.COM

woman - of every racial background - since the dawn of time. I watched from my bedroom with my husband and dog on either side, wondering if the girl from the pool was also cheering and shouting at her television screen. I’ll never know for sure. This I do know: There has been astounding racial progress since that afternoon at the pool, but there remains a monumental divide we have yet to close. And, it’s time we get honest with ourselves about it. Recently, I read a field experiment conducted by The National Bureau of Economic Research in 2003. It determined that racism was still enormously rampant in the workplace - one of their findings being that college graduates with “black-sounding names” - in order to receive a “call back” - had to send out 50 percent more job applications than an equally capable individual with a “white sounding name.” And, although those findings are 14 years old, the Bureau of Labor Statistics determined in 2016 that the unemployment rate of black Americans was 8.8 percent - more than double that of white Americans. Furthermore, it doesn’t take much google-searching to be smacked with evidence that the residue of racism still reveals itself among our day-to-day interactions. A video of a passionate Trump supporter enraged and leaning into an automobile on a street in Memphis, Tennessee, shouting, “Black lives don’t matter!” landed in my phone on the day of the 2016 presidential election. And, it is one of many of its kind I have stumbled upon since. I will never know what it is like to be black in America. I may never realize all of the ways I, too, have mindlessly expressed racism in my public interactions and private thoughts. But, I do know this: It requires an impenetrable amount of bravery to be a black person in America - a kind of bravery I cannot fathom and do not believe I will ever grasp. But, I know it exists. I know it because I have seen evidence of it: To know that your opportunities may be fewer than your fairskinned neighbor, but to perfect your resume, steam your shirt and devote yourself to excellence anyway. To know that the security guard at the movie theater stared at you suspiciously and, perhaps, a little longer than he did the white gentleman three feet from you, but to buy the popcorn and enjoy the movie anyway. For the cells in your body to be alive and well with the memories of the generations before you who lived through oppression, slavery and violence, but to rise with your community in hope anyway. To sit alone - surrounded by the echo of snickers and the dissonance of prejudice, but to stay in the pool anyway. That isn’t freedom, but it is bravery. And, I suppose that is what black Americans have been doing for generations: They sit on the edge of this country’s vast pool of opportunity - not deaf to the snickering, not blind to the side glances and not oblivious to the oppression. But, they swim anyway.

Conversations on

Race

a talk worth having TheDailyDoll.com is the brainchild of writer and celebrity journalist Lacey Johnson. The site was created to encourage readers to get real, get liberated and live boldly by serving up beauty, wellness and inner life illumination. Stay tuned for her upcoming e-book, “The 21-Day Inner & Outer Life Illumination Reboot,” landing to the site early summer 2017. SPRING 2017 | THE CONNECT MAGAZINE