In the last few months, I’ve been thinking about my father a lot. I had a very poor relationship with him and he passed away in a very unfortunate manner before I ever had the chance to build a better one with him. That was 19 years ago.
All this time later, I am still trying to make sense of it all – his own path and how it has influenced mine. The pieces are starting to come together as I make my way forward with Compass Yoga, but we have a long way to go and because he’s no longer here, I am left to figure it out on my own. Someday when it makes sense in my own mind I’ll tell you about it – why our short and sad story unfolded the way that it did and all the good that came from the hard lessons I learned along the way. Until then, I have just one lesson he taught me that plays over and over again in my mind: the only advice you can really take is your own.
People are opinionated by nature, some of us voice our opinions louder and more clearly than others. We all have the ability to judge, and we exercise that ability often. Whenever you tell someone about an idea you have or the plans you’re making, there is bound to be someone who tells you that it just isn’t possible to do what you want. And to that, my father would certainly answer those skeptics with, “I know better than you because I’m the one who’s living my life.” For a long time, I thought this was a very pompous point-of-view. Now as an adult it makes so much sense to me. Our greatest wisdom comes from within and so we are our own best coach.
Certainly we can and should listen to the advice of others, whether we want it or not, if for no other reason than the voices of the skeptics will actually help us to refine our own opinions. What my father would caution us against is allowing someone’s opinion about our choices to become our truths. The only truth you can live authentically is your own. It comes from your heart and your gut. It is prajna, that knowing beyond knowing. It can’t be articulated or justified through logic, only felt. It is calm, collected, and without end. In Sanskrit we pay tribute to it with the mantra Om Tat Sat – all that is the truth. We access it by getting quiet, and allowing it to have its wise and thoughtful say.
So on this Father’s Day, I’m not missing my father but rather working on feeling grateful for what he had to teach me for the short time I knew him. All these years later, we are still a work in progress, he and I, and slowly I am beginning to find the great value that lies hidden even within our toughest experiences. I’m working on making them mean something, and not just for me, but for the world, too.
Published by Christa Avampato
The short of it:
Writer. Health, education, and art advocate. Theater and film producer. Visual artist. Product geek. Proud alumnae of the University of Pennsylvania (BA) and the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia (MBA). Inspired by ancient wisdom & modern tech. Proliferator of goodness. Opener of doors. Friend to animals. Fan of creative work in all its wondrous forms. I use my business skills to create passion projects that build a better world. I’ve been called the happiest New Yorker, and I try hard to live up to that title every day.
The long of it:
My career has stretched across Capitol Hill, Broadway theatre, education, nonprofit fundraising, health and wellness, and Fortune 500 companies in retail, media, entertainment, technology, and financial services. I’ve been a product developer and product manager, theater manager, strategic consultant, marketer, voice over artist, , teacher, and fundraiser. I use my business and storytelling to support and sustain passion projects that build a better world. In every experience, I’ve used my sense of and respect for elegant design to develop meaningful products, services, programs, and events.
While building a business career, I also built a strong portfolio as a journalist, novelist, freelance writer, interviewer, presenter, and public speaker. My writing has appeared in The Washington Post, The Huffington Post, PBS.org, Boston.com, Royal Media Partners publications, and The Motley Fool on a wide range of topics including business, technology, science, health, education, culture, and lifestyle. I have also been an invited speaker at SXSW, Teach for America, Avon headquarters, Games for Change, NYU, Columbia University, Hunter College, and the Alzheimer’s Foundation of America. The first book in my young adult book series, Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters, was acquired by a publisher and launched in November 2017. I’m currently working on the second book in the series.
A recovering multi-tasker, I’m equally at home in front of my Mac, on my yoga mat, walking my rescue dog, Phineas, traveling with a purpose, or practicing the high-art of people watching. I also cut up small bits of paper and put them back together as a collage artist.
My company:
I’m bringing together all of my business and creative career paths as the Founder of Double or Nothing Media:
• I craft products, programs, and projects that make a difference;
• I build the business plans that make what I craft financially sustainable;
• I tell the stories that matter about the people, places, and products that inspire me.
Follow my adventures on Twitter at https://twitter.com/christanyc and Instagram at https://instagram.com/christarosenyc.
View all posts by Christa Avampato
In the last few months, I’ve been thinking about my father a lot. I had a very poor relationship with him and he passed away in a very unfortunate manner before I ever had the chance to build a better one with him. That was 19 years ago.
Christa Avampato 
Christa,
Thank You.
Writing this post must have been especially challenging for you, emotionally.
We, your readers, appreciate you for sharing about one of the deepest and most profound relationships we will ever have–relationship with our parents.
I only encouraged you to write about your father and your relationship with him because I found that your father was missing from your blog posts. You would mention your mother, but your father seemed conspicuous by his absence.
So, I thought I would suggest that you should maybe write about your father and your relationship with him. That could be something worth exploring.
In my case: I avoided meditation for too long and it had negative effects on my health. However, when I faced up to the fact that I needed meditation in my life, well, I am happier for it .
Similarly, writing about your father can have such a feeling of catharsis. Write only about what you feel comfortable with, by the way, but it would be great to know from you. Family is central to our existence, after all. Cheers.
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Hi Archan,
Thank you for encouraging me to begin taking this writing journey. It is indeed a very difficult subject for me, though often what is difficult for us to do is exactly what we need to do for our own growth and evolution. It has taken me a long time to digest all the information flowing from my relationship with my dad and I know that it is now a critical piece to work out as I move along on my yogic and life path.
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Christa, I think this is the most personal thing you’ve ever posted here, that I can remember. Thank you for being brave enough to share something so personal w/ us. I found it very moving and couldn’t agree with you or your father more. In my 20s, I was constantly dissatisfied with my work. I knew I needed my work to be meaningful to me and that it was possible to find more joy and fulfillment in life. Many (most) of the people around me thought I was naive, and possibly annoying (!) — “just suck it up, Amanda. It’s work. Work is work. Your expectations are unreasonable.” But my expectations weren’t unreasonable… they were my truth. They still are. Now, in my 30s, I am enjoying the rewards of my persistence — I have shaped, and continue to shape, a life that is deeply meaningful for me, and I have the confidence I lacked in my 20s that no matter how hard it gets to forge my own path… it is the only reasonable option for me. Thanks again for sharing.
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I agree completely, Amanda, and so appreciate your support and sharing your story. It gives me a lot of strength.
Writing about this topic, even thinking about this topic, is very difficult for me. Most of the time it’s done through teary eyes and a little twinge of pain in my heart. Though as Archan so beautifully said, it is certainly cathartic and has been a missing piece of the puzzle for some time. It’s also a critical piece for the journey I am taking with Compass and has explained my long-time desire to help people challenged with trauma, and especially helping their family members and caregivers. All the parts of us and our experiences, good and bad, inform us on our paths. To ignore the painful and difficult pieces would deny us all that we have to learn from themn. Pain and difficulty are teachers just as much as joy and ease. We need them all.
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