Category: home

faith, friendship, home, luck

My Year of Hopefulness – A Lucky Place to Lay My Head

Christa Avampato

My friend, Liz (another unwitting angel), was able to connect me to a friend of hers regarding an apartment. Her friend sent me the management company’s contact info. I emailed them right away and they were able to show me a studio apartment that’s available immediately, in my same neighborhood, in my price range. This story is miraculous enough with just these details though the other coincidences are striking.

My apartment building caught fire on Saturday afternoon and by tonight, I have a new place to live. It’s a pent house studio with outdoor space, lots of light, a dishwasher, full-size appliances, a very large closet, doorman, elevator, laundry in-building, art deco building, only one month security, no broker fee, beautiful view of the skyline and the Hudson River. Skeptical? Me too. It gets better.
It’s one of the first buildings in New York City that takes American Express as a form of payment for rent. And until this morning, the apartment had been listed as having an application in. It’s been that way for weeks. However, the application fell through some time ago and the list did not update for some odd reason until this morning.
Tomorrow I will get two checks for the realty company and at lunchtime will hop uptown to sign the lease. This apartment hunt all wrapped up in less than 48 hours and I got a space where I feel safe. Life changes so fast. All we can do is be ready – for good luck and bad luck. Both are bound to turn up in our lives at one time or another. And while I hope I have seen the later of these for some time to come, I’m so abundantly grateful that during this difficult transition I’ve still been able to find, receive, and recognize blessings.
courage, fear, home, story

My Year of Hopefulness – Honest conversations

Christa Avampato

This morning I broke down a little. After the initial shock of the apartment building fire, I went into panic mode when considering the legal binding agreement of my lease. Could I be held accountable for the remainder of my lease? If I didn’t pay it, could I be sued? I wound myself up, immediately firing off emails asking for advice. I even talked to a personal friend and family friend who are attorneys. Then I met with a broker who showed me a few apartments and he wound me up all over again. By the time I sat down at 11:00AM my head was hurting and spinning.

So I took it to the extreme, my usual MO when trying to calm myself down. Okay, what’s the worst that could happen? I wouldn’t get my deposit back. I wouldn’t get my September rent back. I’d be held liable for the remainder of my lease or be taken to small claims court. That’s the worst. And it sucks, but as I learned this weekend, it just sucks.
So rather than continuing to wind myself up, I decided to pick myself up, cart myself off to my own apartment, and meet with my landlord, explaining that I just cannot stay. And I took LOTS of photos. It’s just not livable and it’s not safe. The whole subway ride I just kept repeating to myself, “I just want out of that place and into some place safe.” And I could swear someone said “okay”.
I took a deep breathe and explained my feelings to my landlord. I choked up a little bit and was mad at myself for that. He looked at me with a bit of surprise. He couldn’t believe that I even thought he would hold me to the lease, keep my deposit, and keep my September rent. Not at all. He released me from the lease, will return my deposit, and refund my September rent. Of course. No problem at all. My lease is null and void and his insurance will cover the lost rent and deposit.
That’s all it took – an honest face-to-face conversation and knowing exactly what I wanted and why. Sometimes the stories we tell ourselves are far worse that what actually comes to be. Far better to get it all out there in the open than bottle it up. The result is likely to be better than anything we imagine.
friendship, home, luck

My Year of Hopefulness – Go the Other Way

Christa Avampato

I went to the US Open today. It was a welcome relief from yesterday’s chaos and the fallout that is about to ensue. I’m not at all pleased with the landlord’s response to the fire in my building. There will not be any additional safety measures taken to secure the building and they will not do any cleaning of the units. In his words “You should probably feel safe living there.” Thanks, for nothing. So as soon as possible, I’ll be on the move again and in the mean time I am grateful, as always, for the amazing friends in my life who are helping me out through this difficult time. I am blessed to be alive and surrounded by so many incredible souls.

At the US Open, I was watching the Del Porto vs. Koehlerer match. It was an amazing competition to watch. I was sitting next to a few young kids, probably high school age, who wanted to get the wave going. They tried in one direction and got barely any traction. After a few unsuccessful attempts, they gave up, and then someone from a section in the opposite direction told the high schoolers to pass the wave over to them. It caught on like wildfire, and went all the way around the stadium, several times, including through the section that hadn’t taken it up when the wave was passed directly to them.

Fun to watch, the wave helped me adjust to my changing situation. I was getting so upset about my apartment, about not having a place to live, again, having to crash with friends, again, and the general attitude and lack of concern from my landlord. Keith put things in perspective for me. My apartment building is not safe, and I’m so disturbed by the lack of concern that my landlords are showing for their tenants that I’m never going to be comfortable there. So better to just adjust, pack, and go someplace else. “Yes, it sucks,” Keith said. “But that’s all. It just sucks. You’re okay, a lot of your things are okay, and all you have to do is move.”

I have accept that this change has happened, and now I have to change, too. Getting frustrated and angry at the situation won’t help, no matter how angry or frustrated I get. Just like the high schoolers and the wave, I need to go in the opposite direction. It’s the only way forward. So here I go again…

health, home, New York City

My Year of Hopefulness – Fire

Christa Avampato

Today I was more scared that I’ve ever been. I’m blogging tonight from the a comforting home of a friend, smelling soot and ash from my laptop that is likely ruined. My apartment building caught fire today.

I’m fine. Most of my belongings are fine. At around 1:00pm I heard the floor of my kitchen crackling and the floor began to heave. I grabbed my keys and went downstairs to tell my neighbor to stop doing whatever he was doing. And then the stairwell filled with thick black smoke.

I couldn’t see anything – it was as if I had a blindfold on. I got as low as I could, scrambled down three flights, and yelled as loud as I could. Apparently my yelling helped some of my neighbors get out of the building. No smoke alarms went off, or at leas none of the ones I pass on my way downstairs.

It was a curious thing. I felt like I was flying down those stairs, as if someone was carrying me. My apartment is largely untouched, despite that most of my neighbors around me have apartments that are virtually destroyed. And just this morning I was talking about the importance of renters’ insurance and how I’d never had anything like a house fire happen to me. It’s all a bit eerie. I’m worried I may never feel at home in that apartment again and yet, I’m also very much aware that someone, somewhere was and is protecting me.

My greatest fear was that I’d pass out on the stairs, dying from smoke inhalation. And even though I got a face full of soot, I never once felt like I was suffocating. I only had the fear of suffocating. Very different. Truthfully, I came out that front door with a scratch, bump, or bruise on me. I was just fine. Only shaken.

And now I wonder if this one event is enough. As if I weren’t already painfully aware of time passing by, now I think I might be turning a corner, again, in my quest for a whole, joyful life. It seems that now I really don’t have any reason to be afraid. That there is no time like the present to grab ahold of everything I ever wanted to do or be. A few more minutes in that building, and the ending of my story could have been much different. I might not be writing this blog post tonight.

We’re all always on borrowed time. Now, it seems impossible to me that I could ever forget that. And for this borrowed time, I am most grateful. I learned today that I really don’t need any possessions I have. All I needed was my health. I just needed to be okay. The rest can be replaced. All of it. Amazing how it takes something so traumatic to truly know something so basic.

Already I feel the gloom lifting and the light settling in. Already I know that I will be more than okay, that today I begin never, ever looking back. Today I start moving forward with a new energy to build the greatest life I possibly can. And again, I feel like I am flying, as if someone is carrying me. And I know they are.

apartment, home, peace, writer, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Writing Peace

Christa Avampato

“We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand. Choose a place…and stand in it for all you are worth, facing the sunshine.” ~E.M.

Forester, A Room with a View Yesterday I read a post on Theatre Folk that talks about how the physical place where a writer is located effects the quality of the writing. So often, we think writing is some elusive, muse-like magic that just shows up when it’s good and ready. I’m still waiting for my muse to walk through the door, so I figured that while I’m waiting I should follow the advice of E.M. Forester and hang out in the sunshine.

Right now as I’m writing this post, sunshine is streaming through my living room window, dappling the keyboard. My apartment faces into the courtyard (which sounds lavish, but I can assure you it’s not) so I can see the goings on of all my neighbors if they’re at their windows. This also means I avoid a great majority of the street noise, though because I’m on a higher floor, I also get the sunlight. It’s a win-win for me and my writing. There are some trees and butterflies outside right now. The blue sky is swirled with clouds and the breeze in gently blowing. It’s a peaceful kind of place.

By my desk I keep three things taped to the wall. One is a card with the quote from Thomas Jefferson, “The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do.” The art of brevity and good editing. The second is a card that has my 2009 to-do list. I wrote it up in December of 2008 and so far, I’m doing pretty well. I’m actually on track to complete all 10 by the end of the year. They are things I am really interested in, and just needed to dedicate the time to them. For example, I wanted to cook more, get a new apartment, and expand the reach of my writing. Done, done, and done. The third thing is a card with a simple quote by John F. Kennedy: “Peace is a daily, a weekly, a monthly process.”

I used to think that peace was a destination. An achievement. Since I was a teenager, I made one simple wish on birthdays, when I’d see the first star at night, whenever I’d blow an eyelash from my fingertip. I just wanted to feel at peace. Sounds like such an easy thing to have. Just stop worrying and feeling anxious and scared and stressed, right? Right. And all of that was very hard for me. Much harder than I wanted it to be so in addition to feeling all of these things I also felt frustrated. Where was that damn peace of mind hiding?

Now I know that peace wasn’t hiding at all. In order to access it, I had to go out into the world and live. Peace doesn’t have a permanent place at all. It’s an active, living, breathing way of life that moves with us, within us. It’s accessible at any and every moment. And just because we feel it at this moment, doesn’t mean it will be readily apparent the next. It is a state of mind that we must continually commit to, and share with others. And eventually, it just becomes a part of us. We will, with time, patience, and practice, be a living vessel for peace, and I hope my writing takes on that form as well. Though to tell you the truth, sunshine on my keyboard certainly helps.

The photo above is the view from my desk in my living room, where I do most of my writing. If you look closely you can see my reflection in the bottom left corner, snapping the photo.

choices, dreams, happiness, home, New York City

My Year of Hopefulness – Dream Reality Dream

Christa Avampato

“Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.” ~ Anaïs Nin


The set-up of my new apartment is nearly complete. It’s beginning to feel like a home, so to celebrate I took myself for a stroll around my new / old neighborhood. Even though I only moved four blocks north, it feels like a whole new life here. Somehow, even my old haunts look different, refreshed from this vantage point.

Everywhere I looked there were signs of new life: business springing up on every corner, new restaurants that were bustling, sidewalk artists, musicians on the streets, fresh fruit vendors. One hair salon was having a day of gratitude, thanking customers for their loyalty during these tough times. It was enough to make me giddy. Maybe we are going to be okay.

All of this new activity got me to thinking about dreams and how I’d like my life to be going forward, starting today. This year has been filled with great lessons on the power of intention. Hoping and praying for something to come to pass has its power, though on its own it’s not going to get the job done. While I believe in the energy of the universe, I believe that energy is there for us to use, not admire. I’m beginning to question this idea of what we’re “meant to do”. We may just be meant to do whatever we set our minds and hearts to.

There is a peculiar play between dreams and action. I’ve found that I have some dreams that are filled with so much passion that it would be impossible for me to not work on them. And that work is what brings them to life. And seeing my dreams brought to life begets the confidence to create new dreams. And on and on we go. This cycle enables us to live to our full potential.

Someone recently told me that she’s afraid to work on her dream because she’s actually afraid of achieving it. A part of her just wants to put it away in a little box for safekeeping so that it always stays in her mind’s eye, exactly the way she envisions it. This sounded so strange to me. Who actively doesn’t want their dream to come true? And then we got to what she’s really afraid of: if she achieves her dream, then what will she do after that? What if there isn’t anything else? What will she do when she’s run out of dreams? Will she just be hanging around waiting for life to go by?

There is another beautiful layer of truth hidden in Anaïs Nin’s quote that speaks to this fear. She’s saying that deeply embedded in every dream is the seed to a new dream that’s activated when we see the first dream become real. In other words, having a dream, going after it, and achieving it guarantees that a new dream is on the way. There’s no need to hold back. No need to give only part of the energy we have. Pour yourself into your endeavors, all of them. The well of strength and possibility is deeper than we could ever imagine. The dream you have right now, at this moment, is only the beginning.

The photo above can be found here.

change, friendship, good fortune, grateful, gratitude, home, moving

My Year of Hopefulness – New Home, Sweet Home

Christa Avampato

Moving day! Once again, I had a stellar experience with Flat Rate Moving and got some much needed, much appreciated help with my own bags from the past weeks. When arriving at the apartment this morning to see the new renovations, I had the impulse to skip from one end to the other. I actually hugged the new kitchen countertop. This apartment is such a huge improvement over my last place that I can hardly believe it’s mine!

While packing and unpacking are tough chores, I do relish the feeling of a fresh start, a new beginning filled with possibilities. My home isn’t just where I get some sleep and store my belongings. I do most of writing here. I practice my yoga which in akin to a religion for me. It’s a place where I laugh and cry and dream with my friends, where I have multiple out-of-town guests. The rest of my life springs from these walls, and with new walls, in some sense, I get a new life.
Once the movers collected my last signature and quietly closed the door on their way out, I did do a run through the maze of brown boxes that now lined my new place, and at the end made sure to do a little dance of gratitude: to my friends, Rob and Linda, who took me in for two weeks when I really needed a place to stay, for the movers who took such good care of my belongings from beginning to end, to the wonders of Craig’s list that made finding this apartment possible. I was so happy that I wanted to give the world one great big hug, and I wanted to make sure that I took a moment to remind myself how good this world and our experience in it can be.
Now I’m collapsing into bed with a wide smile. My feet haven’t been this tired in years and my legs aren’t used to the three flights of stairs just yet. And yet none of that matters. I’m home again.
change, economy, home, moving, New York City, recession

My Year of Hopefulness – While You Were Out

Christa Avampato

Today I went to pick up all of the keys for my new apartment. At 9am tomorrow, I’ll be happily skipping around my new, renovated, larger, cheaper apartment a mere four blocks from my old one – a very positive, unintended consequence of the recession.

I was too excited sleep this morning, so I was up and out the door early. I missed my old neighborhood, even though I’ve only been gone two weeks. I wanted to take some time to walk around before meeting my new landlord.

When I hopped off the train and walked a few blocks, I was surprised to see how much has changed. More store fronts have closed up, and a few formerly vacant ones are now occupied. A 10-story condo building is going up a few doors down from my new digs. The 96th Street subway construction looks like it may actually be finished some time relatively soon. And two blocks away, I’m not just getting a Whole Foods (which has me smiling widely) but an entire retail complex called Columbus Square (get it?) that includes a Crumbs (gasp)! I may never have to leave my new little haven of hope.
I’m one of those folks who’s always surprised that any place I’ve been changes while I’m away. The way it is in my mind at last sight, is the way it remains frozen, captured in time. Like my friend, Brandi, I should be walking around with a camera at every moment so that I can quickly snap images of our ever-changing world. Tomorrow everything could be different.
My experience today makes me realize why exhibits like Camilo Jose Vergara’s beautiful tribute to Harlem are so powerful, poignant, and necessary. Just as we are always in a process of becoming, so are the communities where we live. Just as we want to tell our own stories, so do our cities.
The image above was taken by Ruby Washington/The New York Times.
forgiveness, home, moving, New York City, worry

My Year of Hopefulness – Seized Engine

Christa Avampato

The movers from Flatrate Moving have arrived! Only about an hour late – though very nice guys. I’ll take late but nice; far better than on-time and cranky. They were late because they put the wrong fuel in the truck, or someone at the company did. They had to go get a Budget rental truck to complete my move. I can’t imagine how nerve-wracking it is to be a mover.

I thought I was anxious about the move because I would watch all my stuff being carted away – off to storage for two weeks – hoping I’ll see it again in some decent form. Turns out I was anxious for an entirely different reason which I only realized while talking to my sister, Weez. I was worried I’d disappoint my movers. Did I pack the boxes incorrectly? Did I not use enough tape? Did I pack too much in them. Are they going to be cursing my name and playing catch with my belongings?

As Weez pointed out, this is ridiculous, especially considering that I triple taped every box, put my initials and box numbers on at least 3 sides of each box, and set them out in numerical order. (I feel my OCD coming out.) They had their engine seize and were late – they felt badly about it; I was worried about the packing of my boxes and I felt badly about it. We worry so much about disappointing one another; as it turns out, the cure to disappointment is forgiveness and understanding – something we can all do.

One of my movers looked around at my things and said, “this is it?” “Yep, minus the lamps – I’m giving those away to goodwill this afternoon.” “Don’t worry,” he said. “We plan for everything – it will all be fine.” Were my nerves showing?

And then my landlady, Ann-Marie stopped by, to inquire about the keys, my forwarding address, etc. She gave me a hug, kissed me on the check, and wished me well. Since I’ll still be in the neighborhood, I’ll be seeing them around. She and her husband, Joe, have been very good to me, and I appreciate everything they did to help me in my transition back to NYC two years ago.

30 minutes after their arrival, the move’s almost done. The wondrous sound of packing tape are the background music for this post and it’s music to my ears; maybe my triple taping wasn’t enough. No problem though, the movers have me covered. The knots in my stomach are finally beginning to disappear.

home, moving, New York City

My Year of Hopefulness – A Sea of Brown Boxes

Christa Avampato

I’m writing to you tonight atop of a sea of brown boxes containing the tangible contents of my life. The sorting and packing processes are complete. Everything’s taped up, awaiting the movers who arrive bright and early tomorrow morning at 9.

Because my new apartment’s renovations won’t be complete until mid-August, my belongings are headed for the world of storage for safe keeping. I’ll be staying with friends with only two suitcases and a backpack. I still think I’ve overpacked for two weeks. (Do I really need those pink espadrilles for the next 14 days?)

To give myself some peace of mind, I started making an inventory of what’s contained in each box – just a general overview – in the event that my things get misplaced during the move. Trouble is that I thought I could remember what they contained after I’d sealed them. Turns out I haven’t the faintest idea of what’s inside about half of them. Now this could be because it’s nearly midnight and I’m tired. It could be because I’m in post-packer’s coma, and more than slightly incoherent after a long, long day of packing, cleaning, and tossing.

It would be nice to use a logical excuse here to explain my forgetfulness. Truthfully, I know why I can’t remember what’s in half these boxes – because it doesn’t matter. I’m not a “things” person. Why do I need 25 brown Home Depot boxes packed to the gills and sealed with duct tape? I don’t – and even though I sent a lot of my belongings out to retirement, I still have much more than I thought I did. And much more than I actually need.

Too late now, though. Flatrate Moving will be ringing up my Amex card around 10am tomorrow for a larger amount than I ever imagined I’d pay for movers. My bed is calling me for one last rest within this apartment that has been an incubator of creativity and exploration for me these last two years. It’s been a fun ride. New adventures in a new space are already calling me, and being a person who is unable to turn down adventure, I must answer them.