“In the fight between you and the universe, back the universe.” ~Frank Zappa
Have you ever just wanted to understand why something has happened, why life has unfolded in this particular way that doesn’t match the vision we have for ourselves and our futures? I spend a lot of time thinking about this idea, and when something doesn’t go my way I often go through the classic stages of grief. Because let’s face it, having life not pan out as we hoped, in big and small ways, is a kind of loss or at least a recalibration of expectations. And it feels awful.
No matter what I’m facing, the idea I come back to is the one Frank Zappa references in this quote. I’ve got grand ideas about how life should go, and they rarely, if ever, happen. But here’s what I know to be true—never, not even once, have I looked back on any time in my life and said, “If life had gone the way I wanted it to go, I’d be so much better off now.”
The Universe always gets it right, and I’m so grateful for that. It’s so much wiser, more experienced, and generous to us than we are to ourselves. That knowledge temporarily stops the whirring in my mind. It stops the incessant analyzing, bargaining, and blaming that I usually direct inward in a moment of disappointment. It helps me smile, pick up, and go on. Double down on the Universe—it’s there to support you.
“To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.” ~ Pema Chodron
Comfort feels so good that we never want to leave. The trouble is that if we never set out for higher ground, if we never throw ourselves out of our comfort zone and into unfamiliar territory, we don’t grow. We don’t learn just how strong we are. We only build resilience, determination, and grit by remaining focused in the face of discomfort. Life is a continual adaptation to change.
Sometimes, I wish this weren’t the case. I wish we didn’t need a burning platform to truly change our ways. I wish we could learn how to be calm in the face of discomfort without ever having to actually be uncomfortable.
It doesn’t work that way. Life is a full contact sport. We actually have to live it – all its ups and downs and the ride in-between – in order to understand what it’s all about.
For this reason, I don’t get frustrated or angry when the going gets tough. I may briefly feel sad or unhappy that something I wanted didn’t go my way. As a general rule, I give myself about 10 minutes to feel as terrible as I want to feel without passing any kind of judgement. I can sit in the dust of disappointment, shake my fists at the sky, and ask “why, why, why?” as loudly as possible. And then I need to pick myself up, shake off the dust, and get on with my day, grateful for the tough times upon me that help me to wake up and feel truly alive.
So often we hope that the clouds hanging above our heads will magically part but what I’ve found is that the clouds part through our own volition. We decide that it is time to clear them away. We climb up and with our own two hands, we brush them out-of-the-way to let the light in. We are happy, free, empowered, and awake by choice, not chance. We restore comfort in our lives by creating it in every circumstance of our living.
I know this is true: because I have no fear of rejection, I have been able to do a lot more with my life than I would have done otherwise.
I’ve been rejected so many times, I’ve lost count. And you know what? None of those rejections killed me. Some of them hurt, badly, but none of them kept me down.
Rejection, that nasty, endless tape of “You can’t…”, “You aren’t good enough to…”, “Who are you to…” is worthless. It runs its mouth and there is no pleasing it. You can’t compromise with it. You can’t reason with it. You can’t take something good from it. It is rotten to the core. All you can do is shut it down.
Here’s the best outcome: you will do something you really want to do, gain confidence, be happy, and then work on your next dream. Awesome.
Here’s another possible outcome: you will pitch yourself into something and it will not work. You will fall down, you’ll perhaps sustain some bumps and bruises, and then you’ll get up. Big deal. You’re strong. You’ll become more resilient with each fall and rise. You’ll live to fight another day.
Here’s the worst possible outcome: you will let the spokesperson for the fear of rejection keep you from trying to do something you really want to do. And you’ll never do it. That’s just sad.
“When you are inspired by some great purpose … dormant forces, faculties, and talents become alive, and you discover yourself to be a greater person by far than you ever dreamed yourself to be.” ~ Patanjali
I’m not sure how or why the world conspires to grow great ideas.
I have seen in my own life that when I’m inspired by a mission, a mission that seems greater than I can contain on my own, the resources to bring it to life show up in the most unusual places. I wished to move back to New York City after I graduated from Darden to work in product development. Once I committed to moving, the pieces finally aligned after months of effort. When I deeply wanted to find my teaching purpose, Compass Yoga fought its way from just a tiny seed in my mind to a growing organization of people passionate about improving the health of New York’s under-served communities.
The support for my personal missions has come from sources that I never even imagined were possible, much less probable. I work hard to find them, to prepare myself for a lucky break, though I’m still always surprised when that lucky break arrives. Relationships that I thought were long-since withered away find another bloom. Talents I never thought I could cultivate become so prevalent that it’s as if someone else is performing them. I’m often surprised that my own story resonates so soundly with others, and so I keep telling it, hoping that it opens the door for someone else to dream and do.
So why should this latest jump I’m planning be any different? I have no proof to the contrary. The odds of the way opening are up to me. I just need to believe, and then act accordingly. I’m willing to bet that the same is true for you, too.
“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” ~ Mary Oliver via DailyGood
There is a world beyond what we can see, hear, and touch.
Every once in a while I get a glimpse of this world, usually in the deep recesses of the night, and it snaps me awake, not in a shake-me-out-of-bed sort of way, but in a very cosmic everything-is-going-to-be-okay sort of way. It happened last Tuesday in the wee hours of the morning. On Monday night I had a session with Brian that left my mind churning about exciting new possibilities as I commit to taking this leap in my career.
I thought I was dreaming as I heard a very gentle calling from an old woman to the effect of, “If you can put your trust in me, I promise you it will be okay. You will be okay.” My eyes gently opened upon hearing this and I found that the light of the moon shone very brightly through my window. I’d never seen it in that position outside my window, and it had never shown through that brightly. It felt like a spotlight on me. It looked full. I cocked my head to one side (similar to the stance Phineas takes when he hears an unexpected sound on our walks), realizing very clearly that the voice was coming from the moon. And it didn’t seem the least bit odd.
I climbed out of bed, walked over to the window, pulled back the curtain, and saw that without the curtain the moon was only half full. I put the curtain back in place and again it appeared full. I have no idea why and I didn’t question it in my sleepy state.
I crawled back into bed and gazed at the moon. “So all I have to do is trust? Trust that leaping is the right thing to do?” I asked. And she glowed back a nod and a gentle “yes.” That was it. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
A few hours later, I woke to my alarm, bundled up, and then bundled up Phin. He led the way to Riverside Park without hesitation, and I gladly took his lead as I turned over in my mind my encounter with the moon. Did that really happen, or was I dreaming? In the rising daylight, I reasoned that of course I had been dreaming.
And then Phineas stopped. Just stopped right by a tree and sat down, facing west. I stood in place next to him and looked out over the chilly Hudson to see a low orange moon, full now (for real), setting on the western horizon as the sun was making its way up in the East. She didn’t say anything this time. She just sat there and looked at me as Phineas and I looked back, all resolute in the fact that yes, of course it would all be okay. It has to be because we’re on the path we’re meant for, and when our actions fall in line with our destiny the world oddly, beautifully, inexplicably cooperates.
Doors open by the light of the moon, and all we need to do is walk through them.
“A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.” Winston Churchill
I had gotten an unwieldy situation under control. I was feeling good about the progress and the step-wise solution that was in place, and then it all came apart in 48 hours. Like pulling a loose thread in a sweater, every piece unraveled. All the forward movement had been erased and then some. I showed up at Brian’s office a little worn out. Depleted. How and more importantly, why, did this happen?
Brian sensed my frustration the moment I walked into his office. “You’re living on a ledge. What kind of existence is that?” he counseled me. “What the universe, what your yoga, is trying to tell you is that you can be more. You can do more. What you’re doing now is just watching the time pass, and that’s no way to live. I’m a little worried that you’re too adaptable, that you’re too good at coping. Go where you can be well and inspire wellness in others.”
He’s right of course. Sometimes I try to prove him wrong. I discount his counsel, and I waste my time in doing so. So here’s to leaving the ledge, to picking up one foot and then the other, and not looking back. There’s the message I was looking for…
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both, and be one traveler long I stood, and looked down one as far as I could…knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back…Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” ~ Robert Frost
While on vacation I started and finished reading the book Hanuman: The Devotion and Power of the Monkey God. Since beginning a deep study of yoga philosophy about a year and a half ago, I have felt very close to Hanuman. A tiny monkey, he is the most loyal servant of Lord Rama. The child’s version of the story of Hanuman is that he leapt across the world to rescue Sita, Lord Rama’s wife, when she was captured by the enemy during a long and brutal war. The truth is a bit more complicated, as truths tend to be.
In incredible detail, the book elaborates on the story of Hanuman, his dual-characteristics of great devotion and great might, his ability to be a fierce warrior and to lay in wait when that is what’s needed, and his dark and light sides. I had envisioned him as an adorable and adoring little monkey. He is so much more.
I won’t spoil the story for you – you should read the beautiful prose that author Vanamali lays out in exquisite detail. What I do want to share in this post is a role that Hanuman plays that i never knew before reading this book. He is the protector of the crossroads, those places in-between in our lives, the transitions. Ironic (or perhaps just synchronous) that I would learn this now when I feel that I am at such a huge junction in both my personal and professional lives, as I craft a living and a life with Compass Yoga.
In my daily meditations for the past few months, I have felt change arriving slowly, like a light slowly rising, like a clearer vision coming into focus that honors my experience and celebrates my potential offering to humanity. While I am crafting an extraordinary life, I am fully aware that I am also lovingly building a legacy. This is my soul’s work.
In my meditations I have heard a faint and distant voice conveying what I know is very important, though I cannot yet decipher its exact words. I think maybe it has been Hanuman unrolling the map of the decisions I must make, laying out the carpet that takes two directions of which I must choose one.
Joseph Campbell is famous for elucidating the hero’s journey, a choice between two roads that is never easy. Both roads contain trade-offs, good and bad experiences, joy and sorrow, pain and freedom, light and dark. Our goal is not to choose the “right” road, but to choose the “right road for us”. I am at the crossroads, but Hanuman is here with me and so I don’t have to be alone or afraid in my choosing. He will protect and defend while I decide. He will do the same for you, too, and you should take great comfort in that. A bit of help makes the choosing easier, right?
Today I went into my old apartment for the next to last time. I was there with the insurance adjuster and the movers. I marked what things I hoped they could salvage, they boxed it up, and took it away for cleaning. At first it was a routine exercise though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t tear up a little. It’s a difficult thing to see all of your belongings damaged, things you worked so hard for, things that have sentimental value, things that connect you to people you love and times long ago. The severing of that tie, despite its materialistic nature, can be hard to bear.
The dry cleaners were supposed to be scheduled for today as well but there was an appointment mix-up so I’ll just meet them tomorrow. They’ll be there at 10:30 tomorrow morning and once that piece is done, I’ll close the door for the last time on an apartment that I had high hopes for. I imagined dinner parties with friends, out-of-town guests, a little dog livening up the place. I’d be cooking in my eat-in kitchen, writing away. It was to be a little den of creativity for the next year. Instead it taught me the lesson of a lifetime – how precious and short every day is. We so often live close to the edge and don’t even know it. One minute, I’m writing on my computer, buying iTunes songs (‘Landslide’ by Fleetwood Mac was downloading at the time the fire broke out), and then my kitchen floor is crackling and heaving the next moment. Life’s funny that way. So unpredictable.
At 1:00 this afternoon, I signed the lease to my new apartment and by the kindness of the building managers I can move in immediately. The building was designed by Emery Roth, a renowned architect, whom I’d never heard of until this afternoon. He lived in the building for many years, just down the hall from me, in a 9-room apartment (much larger than mine!). He designed many well-known iconic residential structures in New York City including the El Dorado, the San Remo, and the Warwick Hotel. His firm, Emery Roth & Sons, continued on long after his death and designed many well-known New York City buildings including the World Trade Center (a little spooky that on 9/11 I’d sign a lease at a building designed and inhabited by the man whose firm designed the World Trade Center), the Bronx High School of Science, and the Hemsley Palace Hotel.
As the leasing VP if my new building said, “it’s almost as if you were meant to end up here rather than your other apartment.” At first I thought she was just saying that to make me feel better. Now, I’m wondering if there’s more to her comment than just that simple, surface sentiment. According to Wikipedia, “The extensive architectural records and papers of both Emery Roth and Emery Roth & Sons are now held in the Department of Drawings & Archives at the Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library at Columbia University.” Once I am settled in, I will have to pay that library a visit. There’s some kind of story here, and now that the wheels of my mind are turning this way again, I know I’m well on my way to being my old self again, with an even greater appreciation for life and all of the mysteries it holds.
The photo above is not mine. It depicts the San Remo designed by Emery Roth. It can be found on Wired New York, an on-line community created by Edward Sudentas for people who love New York City art and architecture.
This week I got approval and funding for a project that I’ve been pitching for a year. A solid year of effort, and beating a drum that most had no interest in hearing. For the past year, I’ve felt alternately foolish and hopeful. One minute I thought I just didn’t get it, couldn’t see past my own stubbornness. The next minute I’d think, no, it’s everyone else who doesn’t get it.
I now realize that it wasn’t a matter of people getting it; it was entirely a matter of timing and circumstances. I wanted an idea to flourish ahead of its time. Had I gotten approval a year ago for it, the idea would have crashed and burned, no doubt about it. And then I would not have only felt foolish – I would have looked foolish, too.
The universe tries to protect us from ourselves. It throws down roadblocks to test our passion and perseverance, and also to give the rest of the world time to catch up with us. At the time that I first developed the idea, I didn’t see it that way. I was so willing to toot my own horn, thinking that I knew something others around me didn’t. In reality, the universe was saving me from me. It’s a difficult, necessary lesson to learn; when the path is cluttered with resistance, it really is best to wait it out with quiet strength.
This is not to say that we should all zip it and go stand in line waiting for our turn. I still maintain that it takes the ability to step up and out for an idea we believe in that really creates progress. However, the next time a project is not going exactly according to plan, I’ll have more patience with myself and with those around me. If the idea’s a good one, it’s time will come. Perhaps not on the schedule I’d like, though at the time when it has the greatest chance to not only survive but thrive.
I’ve recently been reading the work of Gretchen Rubin, a lawyer turned writer and happiness researcher. She started a blog call The Happiness Project in preparation for her book of the same name that is due to hit shelves in January 2010. Because of my own interest in the subject, I’ve started following her writing regularly.
Last week, Gretchen published a post about life’s cruel truth: you get more of what you already have. It got me thinking about how we always want something our of reach, something that’s different than what we have, though not necessarily better. And it’s never enough. We want more money, more notoriety, more free time, more love, more, more, more. As Gretchen points out, though we keep striving for something new and different, we end up with more of what we’ve got.
Luckily, this principle can work in our favor as well. I’ve found this year that by seeking out something hopeful every day, I’m finding much more hope than I ever thought I’d have. Once I had a little bit, I was able to gather more. I’d notice hope all around me, just by the being more aware of its presence. It’s always been there – I just wasn’t paying attention. It’s lmost as if a little hope is a magnet for more hope. Happiness, love, friendship, luck, and karma work this way, too.
Turn the tables, and we’ll find just as many examples that work against us. Anger begets anger. Sadness begets sadness. And so on for things like frustration and disappointment.
So the choice is ours for the making: do we want to feel hope or despair? What is it that we want to attract to our lives? It is possible to think ourselves into luck and good fortune. It’s just as easy to turn the tables and make a mess of our lives. Yes there are always outside influences beyond our control, but our lives are largely what we make of them.
One of my mom’s childhood friends tells a great story about a trip she and my mom took to New Orleans when they were in their early 20’s. A fortune teller on the corner asked them if they’d like to have their fortunes read to them. Without missing a beat, my mom responded, nicely, “No thanks. I make my own fortune.” That statement holds more truth for all of us than we realize.
Christa Avampato 