September 2009 – Page 2 – Christa Avampato

books, discovery, fear, friendship, patience, yoga

My Year of Hopefulness – At the End of the Test

September 20, 2009 Christa Avampato

One can’t learn much and also be comfortable. One can’t learn much and let anybody else be comfortable.

On Friday night I went for a walk with my friend, Dan. We wound our way through Central Park talking about recent events in our lives, challenges we’re facing, things we’re excited about. We got onto the subject of testing. When recently talking to a friend of his about a particular circumstance he’s working though the friend said, “Like Job, you are being tested.” Dan’s response was a simple question, “What do I get if I pass the test?” I’ve been thinking about that question all weekend.

As I was working through my yoga practice this morning, I was thinking about the idea of comfort versus discomfort. Times of testing are often uncomfortable times. We just want to get through them as quickly as possible. We want the shortest path to relief. Yoga teaches us to be comfortable being uncomfortable, sinking into the pose, going deeper, as opposed to pulling away often helps us. Perhaps the shortest relief to discomfort is through, similar that old saying of “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Every day that saying makes more sense to me.

Maybe Charles Fort is correct: If we shrank away every situation that was challenging, every situation that brought some kind of fear or discomfort, perhaps we’d never learn anything. If we embrace fear, discomfort, and confusion for the sake of learning, maybe challenging times become easier to bear. Maybe learning is the prize at the end of our test. All that’s required of us is patience and commitment. We just have to keep showing up, for ourselves and for one another.

death, dying, gratitude, happiness, peace, religion

My Year of Hopefulness – Trinity Churchyard

September 19, 2009December 7, 2009 Christa Avampato

A happy side effect of losing close family members at a young age is that I never feel uncomfortable with the concept of death. I often talk to my relatives who have crossed-over. I think about them all of the time; I find reminders of them everywhere; I feel their presence in my daily life. On and off in my life I’ve done volunteer work in nursing homes, with hospice, and in critical care facilities in hospitals. It’s something I’m considering doing again – there’s so much to be learned about life from the dying.

Because of my comfort with death and dying, I find comfort in places like cemeteries. They’re such peaceful places. On my lunch break yesterday, I went to do an errand and went past Trinity Churchyard, this tiny plot of land that sits at the corner of Wall Street and Broadway. It’s a small green haven among the concrete and constant construction in the area. It is the final resting place for a number of famous New Yorkers, Alexander Hamilton being the most iconic figure there. I couldn’t resist stepping inside for a moment. Once I crossed through the gate, the noise of the city seemed to dissipate. I don’t know how that happened. The sunshine seemed a little brighter, the air felt a little sweeter. It actually felt homey.

Much to my relief, many other people were seated on the benches that are dotted along the cemetery paths. People enjoying their lunch, talking with friends, sitting quietly, thinking. It was a sweet thing to see the living and the dead co-exist in such an easy harmony. It’s exactly what a final resting place should be.

I felt drawn to take a look into Trinity Church as well. I felt like I was peeking into someone’s home. It’s a fairly small church when compared to the likes of St. Pat’s or St. John the Divine, but it feels warmer, like a place where you could take your problems and worries and ask for help. In the main hall, I felt like I was so close to something holy, a kind and empathic ear.

In the back of the church there is a small chapel meant for quiet contemplation and prayer. There was a man at the front weeping, softly. He must be going through a very hard time. I lit one of the candles just outside the chapel and took a seat in the back. I thanked God for helping me through these last few weeks, offered up my immense gratitude for my wonderful friends and family who have been so supportive and helpful.

Just before I left, I found myself saying a little prayer for the man at the front of the chapel. I don’t know him, will probably never know him. I don’t know what he’s going through but it must be something very difficult. I prayed that the same strength I’ve found in the past few weeks will touch him as well, that somehow the strength and positive outlook that’s been such a gift to me will find its way to him also. With all of the abundant blessings in my own life, I felt that it was the least I could do.

books, children, dreams, goals, literature

My Year of Hopefulness – Motivation and The Little Prince

September 18, 2009December 7, 2009 Christa Avampato

“If you want to build a ship, don’t herd people together to collect wood and don’t assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I love The Little Prince. It was one of my favorite books as a child. I love his wide-eyed questioning of life, and his desire to explore things that are strange and unexplained. As children often do, he was able to make connections between seemingly disparate activities and relationships, and in the process showed us how to think about our lives in a larger context than just our day-to-day collection of tasks. He asks us to consider our role in and contribution to humanity as a whole.

I was thinking about The Little Prince this morning, eating my Cheerios and looking at the water towers that dot my view from my apartment. The water towers look like brave guards, standing watch; they almost seem to breathe. They make me feel safe. The city looks so different from 17 floors up. I’m always struck by that – as I get down to the street-level, my neighborhood transforms. Up above, I have the ability to be more idealistic. The height helps me dream and consider my larger motivations in life, apart from the actual tasks I’m engaged in; it helps me think like the Little Prince.

This quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupery is helping me frame up my own desired contribution to humanity. I want to help as many people as I can to use their creativity to improve our world. That’s not going to happen in a business plan; it’s not going to happen through mandates and time lines and a to-do list. It can happen if I follow Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s advice in every area of my life, with every interaction I have with every person I know and meet. It’s that desire to play a part in building a better world that I must foster in all of my relationships. Individuals will find their own way to make a contribution. They all have their own talents and interests that can be used toward this common goal; my role is to be their biggest cheerleader, their champion, their advocate, and where applicable, their guide.

art, fear, film, government, happiness, kindness, love, safety, Tibet, war

My Year of Hopefulness – Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean

September 17, 2009December 7, 2009 Christa Avampato

On Tuesday night I attended an event at the New York Society of Ethical Culture. The event was a talk moderated by Ann Beeson, Executive Director for U.S. Programs at the Open Society Institute and former Associate Legal Director at the ACLU. She interviewed Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean on the eve of the release of a documentary entitled The Most Dangerous Man in America: Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers. Judith Ehrlich and Rick Goldsmith, the film makers, were in attendance as well. I’m looking forward to seeing it some time soon, and you should, too. We all should. While its set around the events of the 1970s, its moral implications are just as relevant today.

From the moment the footage began to role, my eyes started to tear up. With scenes of the massive amounts of missiles that we poured into Vietnam, 7.8M tons, it was hard to not consider all that we have been doing in Afghanistan and Iraq for years. And while the specific circumstances and players may differ, the outcome is likely to be the same. Innocent people are placed in the line of fire, and harmed. Those people are looked at as casualty numbers, the equivalent of statistics in some government report. In truth, those people are someone’s parent, sibling, child, friend, neighbor, lover. And after years of watching the news night after night, watching the death tolls climb higher and higher, I can’t find a logical reason to have incurred any of those losses.

Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean, government insiders, stood up once they realized that we could not win in Vietnam, once they had proof in black and white, via the Pentagon Papers, that there was no morally, ethically, or even legally correct reasoning for our occupation of Vietnam. At great personal peril, they risked everything, even their own freedom, their own lives, to reveal these findings. It would have been easier, far easier, to turn a blind eye – at least in the short run. In the long run, they just didn’t feel like they could live with themselves if they didn’t release the classified information they had that showed the fallacy of the war. They saved, literally, thousands, tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, of lives by standing up with every odd stacked against them. Their courage is immeasurable.

As I sat in the audience I considered the bravery and fear these men must have had for years, how they risked everything of personal value for the good of the world. It was completely humbling to be in their presence. The most fascinating piece of the talk was the last question they answered: “What would you say to other potential whistle blowers out there who are contemplating taking the path you took?” John Dean couldn’t recommend it. Daniel Ellsberg asked those people to seriously consider taking the same road he took. I left understanding both of their points of view, wondering what I’d do, what my friends would do, if faced with similar circumstances.

I fell asleep Tuesday night thinking about the Dalai Lama’s letter to the world after September 11th. We later found out that he didn’t write the letter at all; it was a hoax written by someone else who was very concerned that in the wake of the attacks, we would find ourselves entering a deadly war that we could not win. The author may have felt that it had more relevance coming from the Dalai Lama; perhaps the author felt more people would listen to its reason. Perhaps that person didn’t have the ability or the knowledge to be as courageous as Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean. No matter; the author’s intention was the same – he or she felt compelled to stand up, speak up, and try to encourage others to do the same.

The letter is a beautiful one and bears repeating. I still cry when I read it; it’s that powerful. It’s reproduced below and can also be found on the website of The Government of Tibet in Exile. Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean seized the time of their teaching. I wonder if we will have the courage to seize ours, too, not just in issues of war but in issues of every day life as well.

“Dear friends around the world,

The events of this day cause every thinking person to stop their daily lives, whatever is going on in them, and to ponder deeply the larger questions of life. We search again for not only the meaning of life, but the purpose of our individual and collective experience as we have created it-and we look earnestly for ways in which we might recreate ourselves anew as a human species, so that we will never treat each other this way again.

The hour has come for us to demonstrate at the highest level our most extraordinary thought about Who We Really Are. There are two possible responses to what has occurred today. The first comes from love, the second from fear.

If we come from fear we may panic and do things -as individuals and as nations- that could only cause further damage. If we come from love we will find refuge and strength, even as we provide it to others.

This is the moment of your ministry. This is the time of teaching. What you teach at this time, through your every word and action right now, will remain as indelible lessons in the hearts and minds of those whose lives you touch, both now, and for years to come.

We will set the course for tomorrow, today. At this hour. In this moment. Let us seek not to pinpoint blame, but to pinpoint cause. Unless we take this time to look at the cause of our experience, we will never remove ourselves from the experiences it creates. Instead, we will forever live in fear of retribution from those within the human family who feel aggrieved, and, likewise, seek retribution from them.

To us the reasons are clear. We have not learned the most basic human lessons. We have not remembered the most basic human truths. We have not understood the most basic spiritual wisdom. In short, we have not been listening to God, and because we have not, we watch ourselves do ungodly things.

The message we hear from all sources of truth is clear: We are all one. That is a message the human race has largely ignored. Forgetting this truth is the only cause of hatred and war, and the way to remember is simple: Love, this and every moment.

If we could love even those who have attacked us, and seek to understand why they have done so, what then would be our response? Yet if we meet negativity with negativity, rage with rage, attack with attack, what then will be the outcome?

These are the questions that are placed before the human race today. They are questions that we have failed to answer for thousands of years. Failure to answer them now could eliminate the need to answer them at all.

If we want the beauty of the world that we have co-created to be experienced by our children and our children’s children, we will have to become spiritual activists right here, right now, and cause that to happen. We must choose to be at cause in the matter.

So, talk with God today. Ask God for help, for counsel and advice. For insight and for strength and for inner peace and for deep wisdom. Ask God on this day to show us how to show up in the world in a way that will cause the world itself to change. And join all those people around the world who are praying right now, adding your Light to the Light that dispels all fear.

That is the challenge that is placed before every thinking person today. Today the human soul asks the question: What can I do to preserve the beauty and the wonder of our world and to eliminate the anger and hatred-and the disparity that inevitably causes it – in that part of the world which I touch?

Please seek to answer that question today, with all the magnificence that is You. What can you do TODAY…this very moment? A central teaching in most spiritual traditions is: What you wish to experience, provide for another.

Look to see, now, what it is you wish to experience-in your own life, and in the world. Then see if there is another for whom you may be the source of that. If you wish to experience peace, provide peace for another. If you wish to know that you are safe, cause another to know that they are safe.

If you wish to better understand seemingly incomprehensible things, help another to better understand. If you wish to heal your own sadness or anger, seek to heal the sadness or anger of another.

Those others are waiting for you now. They are looking to you for guidance, for help, for courage, for strength, for understanding, and for assurance at this hour. Most of all, they are looking to you for love.

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.”

happiness, home, peace, simplicity

My Year of Hopefulness – Living With Less

September 16, 2009 Christa Avampato

My friend, Laura, and I have made a pact of simplicity, a promise to keep each other on the path of less is more. My apartment’s furniture consists of a yoga mat, my friend, Jamie’s, air mattress, and a couple of IKEA plastic chairs that I plan to use on my little patio. It’s sort of like camping indoors. I lie awake at night staring out the windows at the beautifully illuminated view, and I say a little prayer in the hopes that I will always feel this content.

I don’t know that I’ve ever been happier with the decor of an apartment. In my old apartment, I was in such a rush to get it “perfect”. I actually made that statement out loud several times and each time it felt wrong. Now that I think back on that old apartment, there was always something just a bit off about it. I felt shut in despite all of the space. Now with less room in my new apartment and fewer belongings I feel a freedom that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before at home.

On Tuesday I saw my first sunset from my patio. I face west toward the Hudson River and my view is dotted with those beautiful water towers that are found everywhere in New York City if we turn our gaze upward. The sky was a deep ruby red and lined with puffy clouds that took on a dusty blue hue as the sun sunk down behind New Jersey. There’s an odd, comfortable feeling of belonging in this new space. I can’t explain it except to say that it feels just right, imperfect and unfinished.

My life prior to this most recent move was too full. I felt too obligated, too burdened, a little claustrophobic and over-committed. I just didn’t know how to simplify, how to free up my energy and my time. Now that I am through the stress of the most recent events, I am searching for every bright side possible. I’m too grateful for today, for every day, to not look for the bright sides. I’m turning over every stone to make sure I find as much happiness as possible.

In the past few days, I’ve found myself more relaxed and at ease, reluctant to rush or buy much of anything, reluctant to give away my time and space for anything less than those people and things that I truly, truly treasure. It’s a sweet feeling to be surrounded only with what fills us up with joy.

art, children, dreams, education, school

My Year of Hopefulness – Dreaming in Bits and Pieces

September 15, 2009December 7, 2009 Christa Avampato

“The end of wisdom is to dream high enough to lose the dream in the seeking of it.” ~ William Faulkner, American novelist

Now that life is returning to normal, I’m turning my attention back to my education project. I’m in the early stages of contacting public schools to find one that will serve as a pilot test. In a nutshell, I am looking to use theatre as a tool to teach innovation and product development to 6th graders at New York City public schools. The program will be of no cost to the school or to the children who participate. I just need a space, an internet connection (if possible), and 10 curious 6th graders. I would personally finance the pilot. The idea is to run it for 12 weeks beginning in January of 2010.

At this point I’ve had about 15 people read the proposal and provide their feedback and suggestions. Their creativity and excitement has spurred me even further. They’re helping me dream bigger, far beyond the pilot. Just as Faulkner suggested, this thinking bigger has allowed me to move beyond just seeing this program as a dream. It’s something that I must do. It’s quickly becoming my greatest passion, and that’s exactly what I need to happen in order to get it off the ground.

For the past few days, it’s all I’ve been able to think about. Things I see and experience and read are all tying back to this dream. This morning I was so excited about it that I could barely stay in my chair at my computer. I’m getting little inputs from everywhere – what schools I could partner with, what material I should include, what mechanisms I should use to deliver the material. Like small interconnected building blocks, all these bits and pieces are fitting together, filling in the canvas I’m dreaming on.

The more I consider the pilot program, the more I realize that it is inevitable. All the clues I’m picking up are showing me that there is much more need for this program than I ever realized. It began as this tiny speck of an idea, and the more I nurture it and love it, the more new opportunities it presents. It’s the most beautiful thing about ideas and dreams, and people for that matter: the more care you put into them, the more understanding and freedom you provide to them, the lovelier and more viable they become. They reveal mysteries to you that you never even knew were possible.

The image above is not my own. It can be found on the Cardiomyopathy Association site.

happiness, New York Times

My Year of Hopefulness – Happiness is Contagious

September 14, 2009 Christa Avampato

In this weekend’s New York Times Magazine there is an article about the contagious nature of happiness. I’ve been thinking a lot about the connection between the mind and the body lately, how easily our emotions manifest into physical conditions. I usually think about this in the negative sense, most often considering the effects of stress on the body. The article in the NYT Magazine points out that good conditions like physical fitness and happiness are contagious, too. You want to be happier and healthier, hang out with happy, healthy people. You’re still going to have to do some work, though it certainly makes the work easier if you have some inspiration around.

Some of my friends and co-workers are a bit shocked to see that a week after I lost my apartment and a good amount of my belongings that I’m walking around grinning. Today, one co-worker commented to me that if this happened to him he’d be “in the fetal position in a corner crying his eyes out.” I never got there. I was a little shocked, a little worn out, and tired. For a few minutes I was really angry at the woman who set the building on fire. And when I said out loud how mad I was at her, I immediately felt terrible. I still feel a little terrible for that moment of anger.

On a couple of occasions, I’ve found myself bursting into tears for the past week. For one moment, I’d become overwhelmed by the thought of what could have happened if I’d waited a few seconds longer to get out of the building, or if I hadn’t heard the kitchen floor crackling, or if I’d still been in the shower. It sends a shiver down my spine. And then I take a deep breathe and remember that someone, somewhere was watching out for me last Saturday, keeping me safe. And I am okay. Better than okay. In one week, I put my life back together while holding it together for most of the time. How could I not be happy? My smile returns.

On a more serious note, happiness is helped along by a good sense of history and remembering your own personal triumphs as well. There are defining moments when we learn just how strong we are, where we learn our capacity to recover, where we find our smile after a long period of difficulty. That defining moment for me happened a long time ago. And while it was devastating to have it happen to me at such a young age, in many ways I am grateful for it. It’s helped me weather many storms since; it most certainly made the loss from the fire last week far easier than it would have been otherwise.

It’s a funny thing about happiness – it so often occurs right alongside great unhappiness and has little to do with the actual events. In many cases we have the opportunity to choose happiness or sadness, we get the chance over and over to decide how we will react to a situation and what we will take away from it. We’re always so much better off choosing happiness, and so are the people around us.

art, books, children, family, friendship, values, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Value we can’t see

September 13, 2009December 7, 2009 Christa Avampato

A week ago, I found myself in Barnes & Noble nosing around in the children’s fiction department. In order to begin working on the scripts for my education program, I wanted to get a feel for a 6th grader’s vocabulary, sentence structure, and plot complexity. I was wandering around the store feeling underwhelmed. Where were all of the good children’s books?

And then just as I was leaving a small set of books caught my eye. Published by Scholastic, Blue Balliett wrote a set of kids mystery books that involve several main characters that carry over in the series. I picked up The Wright 3, a book about three 6th grade friends who find themselves in a race to save the Robie House, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Chicago masterpiece, from demolition. I found it oddly comforting over this last week because of several key messages it offers in a very forthright fashion – just the way that kids do.

1.) “Don’t give up. In darkness, much work can be accomplished.” I think about how much darkness was in that stairwell of my old apartment building during the fire. So much raced through my mind as I scrambled down the stairs – from “stop drop and roll” to things I never got a chance to say people whom I care about to “I will get out of this building unharmed”. In darkness, we develop a keen sense of sight and insight for things that we cannot see in broad daylight.

2.) “Sometimes when you lose something, you end up getting something else. Only you can’t know about the second thing until you’ve lost the first…losing is sometimes gaining.” It’s human nature to lament a loss of any kind whether it’s our home, our belongings, our jobs, a relationship. What’s so often under-appreciated is that losing something makes room for something new, and often better than what we had before, and it gives us a new appreciation for the things and people we do have in our lives. It takes a while to see that trade-off as a good one. In the past I have hung on to a sense of loss for far too long. I am trying to change that.

3.) “It’s sometimes hard to tell the line between real and unreal.” This world and the energies it contains work in mysterious ways. Magic and things that cannot be explained are constantly at work. Our life is full of coincidences. People appear in our lives, then disappear, then reappear again. An opportunity comes around, we may pass on it, and then it comes around again for a second and third chance. This world always has something to teach us.

4.) “Sometimes little things can appear big, and big things little.” This idea is especially powerful for me this week. I used to think I needed so many things. My apartment was filled with things I loved, things I could not imagine living without. In the end very little of it mattered. Actually, none of it really matters too much. My health and the people I love are really the only things that matter to me now.

5.) “What you notice first isn’t always what you’re looking for.” This is my favorite idea from The Wright 3. We’re so quick to judge, categorize and title a person, place, or thing. And sometimes the value we connote to an item or a person isn’t permanent. Some things and people become more valuable to us with time, and it can be a long, slow process to figure out just what the right value should be. We owe it to ourselves to give things and people a chance to prove their worth. The reality of a situation is not always what it initially presents itself to be.

family, friendship, learning, love, relationships

My Year of Hopefulness – Super-powers

September 12, 2009 Christa Avampato

“It’s no trick loving somebody at their best. Love is loving them at their worst.” ~ Tom Stoppard, The Real Thing

Our capacity to love is so much bigger than we can imagine. So big that it’s something I was afraid of for a long time. My ability to let someone into my life in a loving, intimate way is the one thing I feel I do exceptionally well. Tonight I was reminded of a boyfriend from a long time ago, someone whom I loved very much for a long time, and in many ways continue to love albeit in a much different way than before. Of all the gifts he gave me over the course of our relationship, the one I treasure most is that he showed me what an enormous capacity for love I have.

Over this past week I have felt so loved and protected and cared for. So many people from so many areas of my life stepped up to help me carry the burden of this building fire. I lost my home. I lost a lot of my belongings. It is an almost unbearable thing to imagine. And I’m getting through it, smiling, shining, rising, because of the amazing people in my life. Without them, I’d be lost. And I learned that Tom Stoppard’s quote isn’t just a clever line in a play – it is an absolute truism. Anyone can smile and love and laugh through the good times; it takes something altogether different to love someone and be there for them when they are down and out. I’m truly blessed to have so many people who’ve loved me, and continue to love me, through this tough time.

Some of my clothes might be salvageable. Today the specialty dry cleaners came in to get every item of clothing I own so that it can be cleaned properly, if possible. That sent me out to do a bit of shopping. I hate clothes shopping. One of my least favorite things to do. I wound up with some underwear, two shirts, a pair of pajamas, and a pair of shoes. One of the t-shirts says in big bold letters “Give Love”. After this week, I had to buy it. For all the love I’ve been given, especially as of late, I wanted a reminder that I must continue to give love back, even more so than I have before.

I was thinking about super-powers tonight. When I was little, I wanted to be able to run at the speed of light. I guess I thought that if I could run that fast, I could outrun any bad times. Then earlier on tonight, I thought the power of a never-fail immune system would be the ultimate super-power. With that, I could live forever. And there is so much I want to do that this super-power seemed like a very good idea. Now though, as I write from the lobby of my new apartment building (I don’t yet have internet in my apartment), I know exactly what super-power I want. I want to be able to keep loving, no matter what. I want a heart so big that it is impossible to discourage it. I want to be able to keep loving, come what may. And the best thing is that this super-power isn’t just something I can only wish for. It’s something I can have, that we all can have, starting now.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: