I tell wonder-filled stories about hope and healing
Author: 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.
We are what we think, and what I wanted to think about were the blessings of life, large and small. I wanted to be wowed; I wanted to laugh; I wanted to stay positive and send that positive energy to my dog, Phineas, as I waited for the results of his tests by the neurologists.
So I meditated, helped my nieces get ready for school, and watched CBS This Morning. I wrote some articles about the trend of curation in education, jobs that won’t be lost to advancing technology, the wine industry in Northern California, and personal finance lessons learned by women in their 30s. I read about the restoration of wild Amur tigers in Russia, a 200-year-old mummy found meditating in lotus position, astronomers’ discovery of a planet that has a ring system 200 times the size of Saturn’s ring system, and Nerdgirl’s blog contest to celebrate her 39th birthday at Noma Tokyo with a blind date.
And you know what? It helped. It helped a lot. Of course I was still nervous for Phin. Back surgery, especially for a dachshund, is a very serious procedure. Phin isn’t like family to me; he is family. His rehabilitation could be long and tedious. With proper care, his recovery is highly likely but not guaranteed. So the best I can do now is keep my head up, my ears open, and my thoughts as optimistic and as realistic as possible. Writing, reading, and laughing helps.
Buddy the Elf and dogs really know what’s important
When Will Ferrell took to the screen to play Buddy the Elf, I’m certain he was channeling the disposition of a dog – a happy-go-lucky, life-loving dog. While we spend a lot of time wallowing in our own unique brand of self-pity (Why is this happening to ME? When is my life going to make sense? Why is the world such a MESS?), dogs acknowledge what’s happening and soldier on. We’ve much to learn from them. I’m convinced they heal faster, love more deeply, and enjoy life more because they don’t drag themselves down with self-loathing.
We obsess about our appearance. We let our worries rob us of our blessings. We let yesterday and tomorrow ruin today. Instead, a dog lives every moment. “Yeah, that scar’s pretty ugly; can we go outside and play now?” “I’m not feeling so great today; I’m going to take a nap, right after I get you to give me a belly rub.” “It’s been a tough day; how about a treat?”
Dogs are Buddy – joyful, singing, smiling, let-me-cover-everything-with-maple-syrup-to-make-life-sweeter Buddy. Someday, I hope I’m as wise, and as happy, as they are.
I like to look out over the time horizon. I like to dream and plan and plot. I love outlining and developing a strategy. But truthfully all we can do is take life in one day at a time. Everything else is speculation, wonderful speculation yes, but speculation all the same. We don’t know what circumstances will await us tomorrow, and once we do know we’ll need to adjust our plans with the new information we receive.
That’s not going to stop me from making plans; it’s helpful and healthy to pick our heads up and see the possibilities of the future. But what I am doing is living much more in the moment, appreciating blessings great and small and everything in-between. The now has many gifts, and if we’re not careful we’ll miss them in the blink of an eye. I want to live fully, today and every day after.
Go ahead, illness. You don’t stand a chance against this heart.
My dachshund looked drunk. And for a dachshund, a breed prone to spinal issues, a collapsing of the back legs can be a death sentence. I rushed him to the ER, and he was immediately admitted to ICU. I got in my car, alone, and sobbed loud angry cries of “No! Not yet, not yet. I’m not ready yet.”
It really forces you to draw your own character into question when a 5-year-old 16-pound weiner dog who was abused and abandoned as a defenseless puppy is braver, stronger, and more courageous than you are. He was disoriented and uncomfortable, likely in deep pain that he refused to show anyone, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He soldiered on. He believed. I would have been ashamed of myself upon realizing this, but I was too bogged down in my grief. Thankfully Phineas just smooched my face before the nurses took him back, and got down to the business of healing.
The sad and subconscious deal you make with the devil when you adopt a dog is that you are very likely to outlive him or her. At some point, they will cross over and your life will go on in this plane without them. I try never to think about this fact. When I do, it overwhelms me like a mammoth wave of brackish water. I feel sick, lonely, and afraid. I’m usually able to pull myself back from the ledge, but with Phineas facing a grim prognosis in ICU two days ago I was helpless against the wave. It batted me around good and hard until it coughed me up, face first on the scratchy sand. Just stab a knife through my heart and turn it. It hurt that badly.
I was preparing myself for the worst. And in his typical stubborn style, Phineas refused to follow my lead. He wasn’t going down that dark path I set for myself, and for him. No, he was going to carve his own path. He went his own way. Screw the odds. That little guy is fighting, to be well, to live, to be whole and happy, and to be with me. The thought of giving up never crossed his mind.
I woke up several times in the middle of the following night sobbing. I’m glad it was dark because I’m sure I looked hideous. I’ve never been a pretty crier. I don’t trust anyone who is. I’m quite certain my guts were on the outside of my body after each crying fit. I buried my face into one of Phineas’s blankets and somehow fell back into a shallow sleep. Around 7am I phoned the hospital to see how he did overnight. He’d done it; he had begun to respond, very slowly but steadily, to medication and rest and the prayers that friends and family have been saying nonstop since I took him to the hospital. He took all of that goodness in and used it to his advantage. I was shocked. The doctor was shocked. Phineas was not.
Throughout the following day, he continued to climb out of the abyss I had relegated him to. He walked a few feet, slowly and with some difficulty, but all on his own. He took oral pain medication without getting ill. The door to the kennel where he’s staying has a sign that says “will bolt”, meaning that if a nurse isn’t careful when he or she opens the kennel door Phin will dive right out of the kennel with the IV flapping behind him so that someone will play with him. Just call him The Unsinkable Phineas Brown. He’s not ready yet, either. That’s one thing we both agree on.
This picture of him is from last year when we were snowed into our apartment in NYC
Hi everyone. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all the love, good vibes, and prayers that so many of you are sending to sweet Phineas. They’re working!
I just came back from the animal hospital and got to see and hold Phin. He’s still in ICU, but miraculously he’s making very slow and steady progress on meds and bed rest. He is waddling very slowly, but is eating, drinking water, going outside when he needs to, and is alert and affectionate.
Best of all, his x-ray doesn’t show any breaks or fractures in his spine and he’s not paralyzed in his back legs. He could have swelling in his spinal cord or discs. We would only be able to see that swelling on an MRI which is a very serious procedure for a dog that they don’t do unless they have to.
We are going to re-evaluate tomorrow morning when I go back to visit him. If he continues to improve, we’ll keep him in the hospital and on meds and rest until he is well enough to come home on crate rest and oral meds. We may be able to completely avoid an MRI and surgery if he continues to get better.
THANK YOU again for sending him your thoughts and love. We’re sending you our love back! Thinking of all our friends and family up north. Stay safe!
I set a goal to review my 2015 goals at the end of each month to check in and see how I’m doing. Here’s how I’m doing:
– I’m continuing to explore the Orlando market to see if it’s possible to build the kind of career I want to have here that’s rooted in content and product that builds a better world. While I’ve found some, it hasn’t been as much as I hoped so I’ll be spending a lot of time in February further evaluating my next steps.
– My writing, personally and professionally, is going well and I love every second of the time I spend on it.
– I’m starting to have more days when I hit 10,000 steps per day (my fitness goal) but not nearly enough days so I have to ramp that up. I am doing more weight training and exploring a variety of fitness routines, too.
– I’ve made a concerted effort to meet new people while also connecting with lots of friends far and near.
– I’ve started planning a few trips since I didn’t travel as much in 2014 as I would have liked.
– I’m reading more books, fiction and nonfiction, and loving it.
As I said earlier in the week, I read a short passage of The Poisonwood Bible before going to sleep and it’s working wonders. Here’s another bit of writing that’s come from my dreams and I scribbled down in the wee hours of the morning while half asleep:
“Maybe she’ll grow up to be like us. But I hope she’s braver and more courageous than that; I want her to grow up to be herself.”
The storm danced toward the sunny shore, consuming it, not out of will but because it was called to do it. I just didn’t know by whom. A thousand strands of light struck from cloud to ground. It was artful in its destruction, if it’s possible to do something so terrible with grace. It was strange to face the sea and the sun, and then turn around and see the advancing rage of the darkest swirling clouds.
I did my best to find the notes of subtlety and press play.
Are you in the in-between, that place where you’ve stopped doing something to make room for something else, even if you don’t quite know what that something else is just yet? I’m with you! That place isn’t just something to get through; it’s something to be honored and treasured. It happens a handful of times in our lives after we’ve gone through an intensive learning period, made some changes, and now we’re turning our eyes to our future that’s just around the bend.
Before we plunge headlong into the future, let’s turn around and reflect. Let’s enjoy the view created by getting some distance from where we were. Let’s celebrate the effort it took to create that distance. It’s okay to pause for a moment, take a deep breath, and congratulate ourselves for doing something that was difficult. The future will be here soon enough.
I have started to work on several longterm writing projects. I wouldn’t call them book ideas just yet, but rather historical events that I want to deeply explore and write about. One of my majors at Penn was history and my reasoning for choosing it was very simple—everything has a history so no matter what interests me, not matter what work I do, history will always be important. We have to know where we’ve been to understand where we are. And where we are now is the start of everything yet to come.
The planning process of any aspect of life can be frustrating. Preparation can sometimes feel like just something we have to do before we get on with our real work. It’s not. It is the work. When my patience with preparation is wearing thin, I think about playing pool. When you play pool, you keep your eyes focused on where you want the ball to go, not where it is. He or she has to line everything up correctly. The slightest adjustment can make a huge difference. The same is true in life.
Right now, you may be making small steps and lining up your circumstances for that moment when you are ready to strike. All this planning may cause you to feel a lack of progress because you don’t actually see anything happening. It might seem so slow that you want to give up. But like the pool player, you need to give yourself the best chance at making the best shot with the landscape you have. That takes planning and patience. Rest assured that all this planning, all these small adjustments will pay off. Play the long game.
We are what we think, and what I wanted to think about were the blessings of life, large and small. I wanted to be wowed; I wanted to laugh; I wanted to stay positive and send that positive energy to my dog, Phineas, as I waited for the results of his tests by the neurologists.
