One year ago today what I thought for many years was impossible became possible through the tremendous dedication, love, and talent of an incredible group of people. My play, Sing After Storms opened in New York, and when that final black out happened I cried. A lot. A year later, life is so different, and that play still remains the piece of work that I’m most proud to have ever been a part of.
Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who supported that effort and most especially to Rob, Ellie, Joe, Kate, Jaclynn, Amelia, Brianne, Oheri, Brittany, Mia, Celia, and Marita. Thank you a million times over!
“The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.” ~Aristotle
Art has a way of reaching us in ways that facts can’t. Though it’s composed of fiction, biased perspective, and opinions, it helps us discover truths about ourselves and the world around us. It gives us something to react to, to revel in, to disagree with, to love, and to hate. It makes us uncomfortable and can also bring us solace. We can struggle in it or rest in it. It helps us to know that we aren’t alone, in our joy nor in our sorrow. Art is a shared experience, a way to communicate what we experience and how we feel. It’s a mirror that we never knew we needed until it was right in front of us.
Last week, I mentioned a poem my friend, KaRyn, wrote and then gave me a framed copy of as a 21st birthday present when we were in college. She is an amazing poet and this framed poem is one of my prized possessions. It’s one of the very few things that survived my apartment building fire almost 6 years ago. And I think that says something extraordinary about its power, and the magic of the poem and the person who wrote it. Thank you, KaRyn! Here’s the text:
“It is a renewal of Spirit that makes you uncomfortable Butterfly.
Whetted wings of resistance
stick to walls of old paper that advertise nothing—needing nothing.
So Flyer, fly—and make your peace with the blue sky.
Swear you don’t wear pastel.
Take on black, brown, gold
and become a richness of soul.
Beauty is a hidden trick
most hands would capture with pins
and fettering glass,
starving the greeness from the grass.
But some hands are freeing.
Some hands are strong enough to come home empty
and some hands will hold but not contain.
Those are the hands to land on.
Let your Spirit Wings of Water wake
and rise unweighted.
There is a threshold of reason
and one of power;
These are yours to cross and attain.
Voice your wings, my breaker of cocoons.
~KaRyn Daley
For Christa Avampato – a true breaker of cocoons with hands strong enough to come home empty.
March 17, 1997”
Marian Cannon Schlesinger is 101 years old and the ex-wife of Arthur Schlesinger Jr., historian and special advisor to President Kennedy. She’s also my new idol.
“She’s still painting, writing, watching Rachel Maddow, and reading two newspapers a day,” said The Atlantic in a recent interview with her. What struck me most about the interview was her advice to free-spirited women: “Do your thing no matter what…Early on I decided being a painter was what I wanted to be but I wanted to be a lot of other things too. I wanted to write…play tennis…have a lot of friends [and] beaus. I think I’ve been very lucky. But I think that I’ve made some of it for myself. I never gave up. I wanted it all, in other words, and I think I really almost got it all too…Just keep going.”
“The truth is always dangerous because once you know it you have to do something about it.” ~Azar Nafisi
Yesterday I went to hear Azar Nafisi, one of my favorite authors, speak about the cultural landscape of Iran and how understanding that landscape can open the way to cross-cultural dialogue. The quote above is my favorite from her talk, and it resonates so deeply with me because of the past year I’ve had when so many truths within my own life and in the world itself have come to light in stark, and often frightening, reality.
Once we know the truth, we can’t unknow it. We can try to ignore it, even deceive ourselves into thinking it’s not there. Truth is relentless—it will grow louder, larger, and stronger until it finally gets its share of the limelight. It will not move on quietly. It demands to be noticed and addressed.
The truth will set you free, though free in this case has a very specific meaning. It will free us from old paradigms, habits, and routines, and this isn’t always easy. Actually, it’s almost never easy. Truth sets us free to see ourselves and those around us as we truly are, not as we imagine. Truth rips off the veil; it strips away the lens and the filters that alter our reality. And this is a very good, albeit difficult, thing.
With the truth, we can have a real and lasting impact. We can move forward with confidence and conviction, and we can help others do the same. The truth makes us lighter, makes it possible to imagine and then create new realities that are sustainable and richer than the half-truths that we had before.
Maybe you’re in the midst of confronting some prickly truths, realizing that things were not as they so long appeared to be. I certainly am, and so are many others. You’re not alone in your discoveries, and you’re certainly not alone in trying to make peace and purpose with them. This is a part of the human experience. It’s something that binds all of us together, across every culture, race, religion, gender, language, and even across time. We’re in this together.
“If you see a whole thing — it seems that it’s always beautiful. Planets, lives… But up close a world’s all dirt and rocks. And day to day, life’s a hard job, you get tired, you lose the pattern.” ~Ursula K. Le Guin
If we just look at life day by day, it can seem frustrating. All we’ll see is the small step we took today, and the long road ahead of us that we still have to travel to get to where we’d like to go. Whenever that overwhelms me, I reflect. I look how far I’ve come from where I started. I step back. That perspective helps me to get back to work. Like the ingredients of a cake, or the brushstrokes of a painting, daily life becomes so much more than dirt and rocks, so much more than the sum of its parts. Together, those days create meaning and purpose. Together, they make a difference.
Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein by accident. Lord Byron was visiting Shelley and her husband. There was a terrible storm that kept them all inside the house. To entertain themselves, Byron suggested they all write and then share horror stories. Byron’s and Mr. Shelley’s stories were mere entertainment for the trio. Mary Shelley’s became a classic novel (after much revision on that first draft!)
You never know when you’re creating the greatest work of your life which is why the very act of continuous creation is so important. And why it’s important to remember that from unlikely, and frankly unwanted, experiences, can come wonderful gifts. Mary Shelley didn’t know she was writing a novel destined to be a classic. She just knew she cared about its theme and wove an entertaining story around it. She didn’t leave her thoughts to spin around in her mind. She fearlessly wrote them down and sent them out into the world. We should, too.
Last week I watched the movie Chef. It’s about a restaurant chef who achieved a certain level of success, settled into the mediocrity of popular food, experienced an ugly and public fall from grace, and then dismantled everything in order to rediscover his passion for his craft. There are many lessons embedded in the movie that got my wheels turning:
To launch an arrow, it must first be drawn back. We can choose to make setbacks the guts of a new foundation.
To succeed, our work has to be rooted in love. There is no luster without light, and love is the light.
If we are drones, in work and in life, then a serious shake-up is required. This won’t be comfortable but it’s necessary.
If we say we will never do something, rest assured that is exactly the thing we eventually must do.
Our failures are the basis of some of our very best work if we allow them to be. With a steady mind and a wild spirit, anything is possible.
What we do with our days is of course what we do with our lives. I used to think that crossroads were a few times in a lifetime experience. Now I see that my whole life is a daily series of a crossroads, especially as an entrepreneur and a writer.Some crossroads are larger than others. Certain times of year, like the end-of-year holidays, magnify them.
At the moment, I’m at a pretty significant crossroads in every area of my life. Moving to a new city, and subsequently setting up a new life, brings everything into question because life literally becomes a blank slate. All my old habits and patterns are gone. I could start something completely brand new, re-jigger what I’ve already got, or continue along the same path in a new way.
I don’t have any definitive answers yet, but I do have three key questions that I’m spending a lot of time with now. If you’re in this same place, I hope the following questions help you, too:
1.) Internal question: Look in. Take money out of the equation; we’ll put it back in later. What would make you excited to hop out of bed in the morning and get going?
2.) External question: Look out. What’s happening in your city that sounds like something you’d like to be a part of? Whether it’s a community of hobbyists of some kind, a certain activity, or a place where people come together, what’s already there that you could build onto rather than starting alone completely from scratch? If there’s already a conversation happening, or a group of people have assembled around a particular interest, then there’s some indication that there’s already some level o forward momentum that you can leverage.
3.) Blended question: Move the two answers above toward one another. Where’s the overlap? Where’s the disconnect? The answer I’m looking for lies not in the internal, nor the external, but where the two come together.
Like the start of a new relationship, the start of a life in a new city (or even in your same city) is filled with a jumble of feelings: trepidation, confusion, excitement, joy, and uncertainty. Let the wild ideas flow. Building is messy, but it’s also fun. Enjoy the ride.
One year ago today what I thought for many years was impossible became possible through the tremendous dedication, love, and talent of an incredible group of people. My play, Sing After Storms opened in New York, and when that final black out happened I cried. A lot. A year later, life is so different, and that play still remains the piece of work that I’m most proud to have ever been a part of.
Christa Avampato 