While I was in business school at Darden, I had an interview with an executive who took one look at my resume and said, “You’re an explorer.” He didn’t mean this as a compliment, but looking back I certainly see it as one. An explorer, a modern female Indiana Jones, is all I ever really wanted to be and now as a writer, I certainly, unabashedly, am. My only job as a writer is to see and hear things as clearly as I can, to uncover what lies hidden, to ask the hard questions of myself and others, to try on different lives in an effort to understand someone else’s reality. The best way to live in the world is not to fight our nature, but to embrace it with both arms.
I planned to Twitter and Instagram my way down the East Coast as I made the move from New York City to Florida. Fate intervened and long story short, my phone was stolen at JFK airport on my last day in New York. Because I didn’t have time to get a new phone before I left, I made the trip without one. I was forced to enjoy the scenery and be in the moment for over 1200 miles of our beautiful country. It was wonderful to disconnect from my device and connect with the world, even for someone like me who loves technology.
I was able to capture a few pictures with my digital camera. Here are some highlights (literally) from the road!
Selfie before hitting the road with my sister, Weez
A seriously packed SUV thanks to Weez!
In traffic with the CEO of Space X
Lincoln Center, one of my favorite places in the world
Weez and I outside It’s Only a Play
Phin on our overnight in South Carolina
Weez shopping for NYC souvenirs
Florida greeted me with a serious rain storm
Florida storm rollin’ in!
One this I love about Florida is the crazy cloud cover
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.” ~Gilda Radner
I choked up as I looked at the New York City skyline one last time before my move to Florida, and then I felt a tremendous amount of stress drain out through my fingertips. My last day in New York wasn’t perfect; far from it. Now I’m starting a new and uncertain chapter. I know this new chapter will help me learn and grow in ways I can’t yet imagine. And I’m ready for all of it, whatever it is.
Today my sister, Weez, arrives to help me with my move to Florida. We’re planning to go to our favorite Mexican restaurant and see the Broadway show It’s Only a Play. (We’re huge fans of Rupert Grint!) Tomorrow, we’ll pack up the car and set our course for the Sunshine State.
My friend, Ellie, recently did this drive, and she and her siblings kept a captain’s log of the trip. I’m going to do the same and you can follow my adventure with Weez and Phin down the Eastern seaboard via Instagram @christainthecity and Twitter @christanyc. Hey, it’s a looooong drive. We’ve got to keep it interesting.
Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco. I leave mine here in New York. On these streets. With these people. And before I go, I’ve got to say thank you.
To the people, all these people. I’ll miss you most of all. The rude, the crude, and the kind, in masses and exceedingly long lines. Busy, moving, climbing, and often blocking my way. New Yorkers and their never-ending opinions, loud, boisterous, and strong. You have to admire a city of people who never admit they’re wrong. You taught me everything through your energy, drama, and noise. The doormen. The fruit vendors on every uptown corner. The city workers who make this city work. The musicians who play their hearts out on the street, in the subway, in the park, in the great concert halls and small hidden clubs that dot every neighborhood. The writers. The dreamers. My boss Charlotte Wilcox who taught me how to survive (on $396/week) and my boss Bob G. who taught me how to thrive. My many bosses in the land of never-ending cubicles, some hideous, some clueless, and some wise. My pot-smoking granny neighbor and the hoarder who set my apartment building on fire. Even the guy who just now almost knocked me over as he passed. Even you. Thank you all. You have given me material—it’s all material! —to craft, create, and grow a body of work and a life of meaning.
Of course to my friends. Friends who are family, my framily, in New York. Those who are still here and those who have gone on to new adventures in new places. You inspire me, keep me reaching, keep my striving, and that is no small gift.
To the food. I cannot leave without thanking all of the chefs and servers in food trucks, behind counters, in kitchens great and small. Some who charge a fortune and some who charge almost nothing at all. (Especially to Lenny’s, Tal’s, and H&H, thanks for all your fine bagels and schmears over the years.) You’ve all fed me well, in fat times and lean, and inspired me to see what I could create in my own tiny kitchen. You filled my belly and fed my soul. So thank you.
To the dogs of New York and their parents who love them. Thank you for giving Phin and me a community of kindred spirits, human and animal. To the Spot Experience for taking such good care of my little guy when I had to travel and couldn’t take him with me.
To Central Park and Riverside Park, you were sanctuaries to me in all kinds of weather. I would come to you when I was happy and sad and disappointed and confused because you would just let me walk and be.
To the trains, planes, buses, boats, cabs, and my own two strong feet that take me all over this small place so packed with life that it feels hundreds of times its physical size. Thank you for showing me the world without leaving the island.
To the museums. You have been some of my happiest homes in New York – from AMNH to MoMA to the Met – I often found myself wandering those halls, lost and found in equal amounts.
So New York, this is where I leave you. The end of another chapter in my New York life. For those keeping track, this is the third and I’m sure not the last. New York, you and I will always be together, at least in spirit. I’ll come back to visit and probably, eventually, to live. We’ll both be a little bit different and a little bit the same. Times change, we change, places change. Change can’t be stopped. You taught me that change is never to be feared, but embraced – fully, lovingly, and constantly. And that I’ll take with me everywhere I go. Thank you, for everything.
I was angry on Lexington Avenue. Phineas likes to take his morning trot down it from our home on 90th Street because he likes to be in the middle of the action. Against my better judgement, I let him. Yesterday was particularly busy with trucks, horns, angry commuters pre-coffee, and pallets of God-knows-what headed for God-knows-where. Plus it was Monday.
My heart started beating faster just trying to get Phin through the crowds, and then I just stopped (in my mind, not with my feet because on Lexington Avenue if you stop, you’re dead. You’ll get run over, by people.) It was sunny and cool and I realized it was my last Monday in New York. At least for now. I smiled, took a deep breath, and everything felt a little better.
Yes, this place is crazy and it’s often a pain in the ass. But that’s what makes it New York. Nothing’s easy so we’re grateful for everything, at least deep down anyway. On the surface, we keep on truckin’ because that’s the speed of life in New York. What I finally got, after all these years, is that life moves fast when we’re on our feet, but in our minds, we can slow it down. We can acknowledge the magic of this place even while our feet are running just to keep up with the crowd. More than any place else, New York is what it is and what we make of it at the same time, all at once.
I was on the subway when an older woman sat down next to me in slow motion. I had to compliment her.
“You did that so gracefully,” I said.
“Well at my age, you have to do everything gracefully,” she said.
“How old are you?”
“100. Today.”
“Today’s your 100th birthday?”
“It is.”
“How does it feel?”
“Good, just like my other days. I have a great life.”
“Have you lived in New York your whole life?”
“I have. What about you?”
“I’ve lived here for a number of years, but I’m moving to Florida this week.”
“You’ll come back.”
“You think?”
“Oh, yes. Everyone always comes back eventually.”
“Well, I’d love to come back with more money,” I joked.
“You will. You’ll see,” she said without any trace of joking. “Oh, this is my stop.”
She stood up just as gracefully as she sat down.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Irene,” she said, shaking my hand. “What’s yours?”
“Christa.”
“You go enjoy your life, Christa. I’ll see you when you get back.”
She smiled wide and exited the train. It’s encounters like this that make me realize New York is a great city and that angels live among us. Once the subway doors closed, I seriously wondered if I had just met a person named Irene or if imagined her. Either way, I plan to take her advice.
“Now that she had nothing to lose, she was free.” ~Paulo Coelho
Last week I wrapped up my final pieces of consulting work to make the leap to write full-time. Leading up to that moment, I felt a bit of trepidation. I’ve done well as a consultant for 2+ years and I worried about letting go of a good thing. The letting go was difficult but being in this new space isn’t. I don’t have anything left to lose and that is a very good feeling. It’s freeing and empowering. All I see ahead is open space where I can create. Now, everything is a canvas and I’ve got all the colors I need to paint something that matters. I’m home.
People say they care about issues, but what people really care about are people who have issues they care about. To motivate someone to reflect and then act, we need to give them a flawed character, someone who’s far from perfect but incredibly likable. Give us a hero or heroine to root for in an against-all-odds quest that forces him or her to grow, evolve, and rise up to a seemingly impossible challenge. We care about that, and that is the seed of all fiction. It’s about character.
My novel, Where the Light Enters, is about Emerson Page, a 15-year old girl who’s been dealt a tough hand and is forced to take an improbable journey that only she can take to save a world she never knew existed and that we all desperately need to remain intact. My book is really about the two greatest sources of magic we will ever have: love and stories. It’s about being brave enough to follow the light that is within us. It’s about the goodness we create when we have the courage to manifest the gifts and talents we are all born with and to celebrate our ability to craft a world in which we take care of each other.
Fiction isn’t invented. It’s with us all the time; it’s the very best part of us. It’s grounded in our potential and our aspirations. Fiction is who we are and who we want to be. That’s why I’m writing a novel: to inspire everyone who reads it to figure out who they are, who they want to be, and how to cross the bridge that connects the two. That’s my issue.
“I always think it’s a good thing to move toward the light.” ~ one of my senior yoga students about my move to Florida
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry in front of my seniors at our last chair yoga class yesterday. For the past two years, I’ve smiled, laughed, practiced, and meditated with them. They’re amazing inside and out, and they gave me so much more than I ever gave them.
So I cried, in front of them, on my way through the park toward home, when I opened up the thank you cards and gifts that they bought me, even now while I write this simple post. My friend, Kristy, said it best: we’re so lucky to have these incredible connections and it’s so hard to see them change. I wouldn’t trade my time with my seniors for anything, and I also wish I didn’t have to let them go. It’s all bittersweet and happy-sad, and I’m so grateful for all of it.
Christa Avampato 