Category: loss

creativity, imagination, loss, love

Step 352: Re-imagine

Christa Avampato

“They say improve and maintain. I say destroy and Re-imagine.” ~ Tom Peters

Last week I was really struck by the beautiful op-ed that Yoko Ono wrote about John Lennon, how when she thought about their life together and their relationship what she remembered most were the simple moments of laughter. John Lennon encouraged us to imagine a life very different than the one we currently have, to expand our sense of what’s possible and to not accept things as they are but to work toward something better.

I’m not one for maintaining. I get bored maintaining what already exists. Once I’m in maintenance mode chances are I’m moving on soon. Movement makes sense to me. Movement helps to keep my imagination alive and active, and my imagination is one of the sole reasons I have the really wonderful, blessed life I’m grateful for every day. There are pieces of my life that could always be better, pieces that I would like to tear down and start over. It’s always possible to begin again, it just takes some extra strength and faith, and some courage, too.

Re-imagining is the activity I’m turning to post-holiday. For now, I’m in Florida, hanging out with my family and mixing some fun and some relaxation. Just the idea of that re-imagining work ahead makes me giddy with excitement and keeps me looking forward just beyond where I stand now. It is work, for sure, but it’s work worth doing.

The image above depicts Yoko Ono and John Lennon and was taken by Kishin Shinoyama.

dogs, faith, loss, love, pets

Step 299: Letting Go Helps Us Find the Path We’re Meant For

Christa Avampato

“On my yoga mat, I ask myself what I can let go of & what I can let in to be more connected to the essence of yoga.” ~ Planet Yoga via Twitter

Dogs are resilient. They leave the past where it should be – in the past. They take the learnings they need from their experience and move forward. I’m not sure how they figured that out and left us to the task of reliving our pasts over and over again. I do know that we have a lot to learn from our canine pals.

When I read Planet Yoga’s tweet on letting go, I was reminded of how much we have to gain from release. We think of letting go as just loss, but there’s a flip side to it, too. When we release and empty out, we make room for new chances for happiness and fulfillment. We give ourselves permission to move onward and upward.

Hanging on to the past doesn’t serve us. I think about what Phineas’s life would now be like if he couldn’t let go of the heartbreak he must have felt when his first family mistreated him. What if instead of being his loving, friendly self, he had let the mistreatment make him bitter and cold? He may have never found his way to me, and might never have been able to enjoy the truly charmed life he lives now. What’s more, he ran away from his abusive home without knowing if things would be better. I think he just knew that his conditions were bad, unacceptable even, and somewhere in his tiny dachshund heart he knew that there had to be a better life waiting for him someplace else. He went it alone, and in a way based on nothing but faith.

On Sunday morning, the sun was shining and Phin and I were making our way up West End Avenue under the brightly colored leaves that line the street. I could smell hot apple cider from the street fair underway and there was a saxophone player entertaining us with a song that could have set up the opening credits to a feel-good movie. We passed by the beautiful brownstones of the Upper West Side, and in that instant life felt absolutely perfect. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude at the simplicity and happiness of that moment, and carried it with me for the rest of the day.

In order to have that moment with Phin, I needed to let go of the pain I felt when Sebastian passed away a year ago and Phin needed to let go of the family that had abandoned him. We both had to learn how to love again. I may have rescued Phin from the Humane Society, but he rescued me right back. Right then, I made a vow to let go of sadness more often in favor of letting in more light.

The photo above shows Phin and I at the 8th Annual My Dog Loves Central Park Country Fair. It was taken by photographer James Riordan.

change, choices, courage, discovery, encouragement, frustration, gifts, gratitude, loss, opportunity, yoga

Step 201: Obstacles as Path

Christa Avampato

“For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin – real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.” –Alfred D. Souza

I keep thinking about the idea of “the path of least resistance.” I don’t know what that path looks like. I work and work and work, and eventually a pathway opens, but never constitutes taking the easy road. This quote helped me put this idea in perspective. When I think about the things I’m most proud of in my life, they all resulted from overcoming obstacles. It wasn’t always a fun journey, but the results were worth it.

I’ve written about Ganesha, the Hindu god of obstacles, and how much I learned about him during my yoga teacher training. Some people have interpreted his role as a remover of obstacles. That view is mostly right. It needs the addition of “removed of obstacles on our life’s path.” Sometimes, as Alfred Souza so eloquently states, obstacles need to be placed in our way to help us realize our path.

There’s no shame in having obstacles; there’s no need for us to bemoan their presence. They can be our reasons to be grateful. They show us our strength, and if we can recognize their gifts and their reasons for being, we can often find our way around them.

creativity, determination, frustration, learning, Life, loss, luck, mistakes, presentation, producer, television, trend

Step 199: Why I Hate Reality TV Shows With Elimination Rounds

Christa Avampato

I have a hard time watching reality TV, especially when elimination rounds are involved. I get nervous for the contestants as if I’m on the show myself. I never knew why until my brother-in-law recently shared his view on these shows: “You don’t get judged on the body of your work; one mistake and you’re gone.” This is a horrible lesson to reinforce in our society.

Real success comes from trying a lot of different ideas, taking risks, and learning from failures as well as achievements. To support the idea that one false move means you’re down for the count is just plain dumb. Real life isn’t like that, making the idea of this kind of “reality” TV anything but.

My brother-in-law had an idea: why don’t we let all of the contestants stay until the end and have the judging be on the full season of work, not just one dish, one task, or one song? Have the weekly winners actually win something extra. Let people learn from their weekly mistakes, and actually see what they do with what they learn. That would be a reality TV show worth watching.

friendship, hope, letter, loss, nature, women, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Owning Pink’s Tribute

Christa Avampato

I usually only publish one hopeful inspiration per day on this blog. Today is special for a lot of reasons, so I’m publishing two.

One month ago today, my apartment building caught fire, and set off a month of changes in my life that I never saw coming. Quite, frankly, none of them were changes I wanted. They were uncomfortable, sad changes that made me question everything in my life. Everything. One month ago today, at this very moment, I ran out of my burning building, fire crackling underneath my kitchen floor. I was standing on the street with nothing but my keys, watching my building burn. I was crying, scared, and alone. And much to my surprise, I emerged from this month, today, a stronger, happier, more confident person than I ever was before.

So it is with such heart-felt thanks I wanted to pay a big Pink tribute to a group of women who are one of the very best parts of my life. Today my lovely friends, Lissa and Joy, over at Owning Pink, an on-line community I belong to, honored me by making one of my recent blog posts, a letter I wrote to October, their mainstage story. I barely know what to say. I had no idea that my little post would inspire such beautiful writing from others women whom I respect and admire so much. I cried when I read the story that Joy and Lissa wrote about my post. I really don’t have any words to tell them how honored and fortunate I feel to have them in my life.

Today I realized with clarity how much good we have to offer by sharing our stories. One of my favorite quotes is by Isak Dinesen: “All sorrows can be borne if you can put them into a story.” I am living proof of this. As the telling of our stories frees us, they also allow others to free themselves through their own writing. The ladies of Owning Pink also made me realize without a doubt that I can make a go-of-it as a full-time writer. It’s a gift that I am not sure how to repay.

Owning Pink is a community I am so fortunate to be a part of. They have gone above and beyond the call for me during the last few weeks of my life that have been so difficult. Their love and support is a gift in my life that I truly cherish and I look forward to being there for them in the months and years ahead. Here’s to a beautiful, enlightened October for all of us!

To view the story on Owning Pink’s website please visit:
http://www.owningpink.com/2009/10/05/mojo-monday-exercise-write-a-letter-to-october/

art, hope, loss, nature, opportunity, sadness

My Year of Hopefulness – A letter to October

Christa Avampato

Sweet October,

Thank you for arriving. I had enough of September and all the trouble she brought my way. A fire that threatened to trap me inside, claiming my home and most of my belongings with smoke, and then lost my dear sweet dog. A sad, sad month.

Now you’ve arrived and I’m so glad to see you, old friend. You are my favorite month because you bring the start of my very favorite season – holiday time. On Halloween two of my very good friends will be getting married and I’ll be celebrating with them as a beautiful and joyous way to kick off these last few months of the year.

Even better, you’ll bring a visit from my sister, my very best friend, along with my brother-in-law, and toddling niece who is one of the greatest joys of my life. We’ll go up to see the rest of my family where we can pick apples and pumpkins and run through corn mazes together. We’ll laugh together and play together and cook together. It’s a vacation I need so much as this heart of mine sets about healing itself and my soul takes a much needed break from the events of September.

And let’s not forget the vibrant, bold colors you decorate all of the trees with. Soon I’ll be jogging underneath a great umbrella of gold and orange and red, thankful for the cool breezes that rustle the leaves and clear my head. My mind is weary and it needs to see nothing but beauty to right itself again.

Taking inspiration from your expert paint palette, I begin this month at the very bottom of my own blank canvas. I imagine that I’m very small and the canvas is very big. I’m looking up at it, holding my paint brush with so many gorgeous colors to choose from. I’ll dab a little here, and dab a little there, only the colors that make me happiest, painting only the things that make my heart sing. October, you will witness someone shining through the sadness and disappointment and frustration and loss. Someone rejuvenated and smiling. And that someone will be me.

Thank you for coming to my rescue. Thank you for welcoming me in with a warm hug and a kind and understanding ear. Thank you for letting me lay down my troubles at your feet and walk on through your days to live my best life yet. I promise I’ll repay you with a painting more magnificent than anything I ever thought these two small hands of mine could make.

books, loss, nature, relationships, sadness, writing, yoga

My Year of Hopefulness – Rest and Relaxation

Christa Avampato

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.” ~ Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Though it’s just turned to Fall, I’ve found myself drawn to re-reading one of my favorite essays every night this week – Winter by Nina Zolotow. I first saw it in Rodney Yee’s book Yoga: The Poetry of the Body. I understand this essay now more than I ever have in the 7 years since I first read it. I pull it out in times of trouble, in times when I’m feeling sad and worn out and confused about how to move forward. Her conclusion makes me a feel a little better, gives me a bit more license to give myself a much-needed break. I love that the only period is at the end of the essay, and that all of the other sentences and phrases run together in one long, cohesive thought, just like life.

And now here I am at the final day of September, ready to release this month in favor of a happier, sunnier October. And some much needed rest and relaxation. A tired heart and mind can only be rejuvenated by rest and care, not by further trial and challenge. So that’s my goal for the next little while – a simple one, really. To just take care of this heart who has endured so much this month, to surround it with love, to nurture it back to its original state. It has done some heavy lifting this month and earned some well-deserved down time. Just like the fig tree, it will certainly be revived.

Last night, I listened to Professor Michael Sandel’s lectures at justiceharvard.org. They were just what I needed. He spoke about how to value life and the utilitarian philosophy that seeks to maximize pleasure over pain. I was lulled into a relaxed state as he told me about Sophocles and Plato, J.S. Mill, and Jeremy Bentham. And fell into a deep sleep between my comfy sheets made of bamboo fiber and topped by a fluffy duvet. I buried myself into my new bed, cocooning and nurturing my weary body and mind, and didn’t stir until the sun came up. So this is what it feels like to heal.

Winter by Nina Zolotow
“In their garden there was always a wild profusion of tomatoes ripening on the vine, and leafy basil, arugula, and lettuce, and glossy purple eggplants, and red and yellow peppers, and zucchini with its long, bright blossoms, and there was always lunch at the wooden table on hot summer afternoons, with plates of pasta and bread and olives and salads with herbs, and many bottles of red wine that made you feel warm and drowsy, while bees hummed and the sprawling marjoram, thyme, and rosemary gave off their pungent fragrances, and at the end of the meal, always, inexplicably, there were fresh black figs that they picked themselves from the tree at the garden’s center, an eighteen-foot fig tree, for how was it possible – this was not Tuscany but Ithaca – Ithaca, New York, a rough-hewn landscape of deep rocky gorges and bitter icy winters, and I finally had to ask him – my neighbor – how did that beautiful tree live through the year, how did it endure the harshness of a New York winter and not only survive until spring but continue producing the miraculous fruit, year after year, and he told me that it was quite simple, really, that every fall, after the tree lost all its leaves, he would sever the tree’s roots on one side only and, on the tree’s other side, he would dig a trench, and then he would just lay down that flexible trunk and limbs, lay them down in the earth and gently cover them with soil, and there the fig tree would rest, warm and protected, until spring came, when he could remove its protective covering and stand the tree up once again to greet the sun; and now in this long gray season of darkness and cold and grief (do I have to tell you over what? for isn’t it always the same – the loss of a lover, the death of a child, or the incomprehensible cruelty of one human being to another?), as I gaze out of my window at the empty space where the fig tree will stand again next spring, I think, yes, lay me down like that, lay me down like the fig tree that sleeps in the earth, and let my body rest easily on the ground – my roots connecting me to some warm immutable center – luxuriating in the heart of winter.”

The photo above is not my own. It was taken in Centennial Park in Sydney, Australia by Mike Bogle. I can be found here.

animals, family, friendship, hope, loss, love, pets, sadness

My Year of Hopefulness – Lunch with God

Christa Avampato

On Monday afternoon, I got angry. Throughout the day I found myself running into the ladies room for short spurts of tears, and then cleaned myself up and returned to my desk. I don’t like to work this way but the heavy load demands it at the moment. In the shower this morning, as I was crying, again, over the loss of our family dog, I started to shake my head in disbelief. How could the Universe let this happen?

At lunch time, I went to my favorite little sandwich shop and took a seat in Trinity Churchyard near Alexander Hamilton. I’ve been going to Trinity a lot during lunch lately. Last night I didn’t sleep too well and I thought a walk over to Trinity might help me clear my head. And then something very odd happened, as if Hamilton’s feisty spirit and his inability to ignore injustice inspired me. I was tearing up behind my sunglasses and then this burst of anger came to the forefront of my mind. It was a little un-nerving because I am not at all an angry person by nature. Anger, mine or anyone else’s, makes me very nervous. Without being able to stop it, I began to have a stern conversation with God, silently.


“I really hope you’re happy because now you’ve really done it. You have screwed up royally here. It wasn’t enough to have my apartment building catch fire, have me almost get trapped inside, and then destroy most of my belongings with smoke. You had to take my dog, too? Really? You must be really proud of yourself up there, divine and content, messing with all of us down here. My sister’s crying. My brother-in-law’s crying. I’m crying. I accept that most of the losses that I’ve had in my life were timely. Sebastian’s was not. He was only 7! Our last dog lived to be 17! A full decade longer! I hate to say it, God, but you were wrong on this one. Completely wrong. I must emphatically disagree with you; it was not Sebastian’s time yet. You pulled the plug on him way too early and I’m really pissed off at you for that. We needed some more years with him. He deserved some more years with us. I really hope the next time something like this comes up, you think a little bit harder about what you’re doing. And by the way, I have had more than my fair share of sadness this month. Actually, I’ve had enough for the remainder of the year, maybe for the remainder of the next few years so you are really going to have to back off. I’m sick of going through boxes of tissues in a day. I’m sick of feeling disappointed and sad and frustrated and scared. There’s a big ol’ lesson in all of this for me. I get it. I hear you. ‘Nothing is permanent.’ Fine. ‘We have to be flexible.’ Got it. ‘We need to accept that with great love must also come great loss.’ Check. ‘Some days, we’re the pigeon and some days we’re the statue.’ I understand that, and I’m telling you I’ve reached my quota of statue days. Enough!”


And then I let out a big, big sigh. I looked over at Alexander Hamilton, and then around at the other people sitting near me having lunch. And though my thoughts just now raged inside my mind, it seems that no one else heard me. Except God. He heard me. I knew he did, and I think he’s a little ashamed of his recent behavior toward me. And he should be. The piling up of this month’s events was really uncalled for. Whew – that was scary but it felt great. I needed to get that out.


As I got back onto Broadway and headed North, I found my smile again. I even laughed a little. I just yelled at God – really yelled at him. (I’ve never yelled at anyone like that ever. Actually, I can’t even remember the last time I raised my voice. I was probably a teenager!) Tiny little me, 5’2”, 110-pound me, just yelled at the Creator of the Universe. And he listened. He didn’t try to deny my grief or anger or sadness. He didn’t try to make it better or soothe my weary mind. He showed up and just listened. He eeked out a very small “I’m sorry” and I whispered back “I accept your apology.”


We have a funny relationship, God and I. Throughout my life I have at times adored him and doubted him. Sometimes I have flat out walked away and left him in the dust. And then I realized that I wanted him back, and when I peeked around the corner of faith again, a little embarrassed that I stormed off, there he was. Right where I left him. Waiting patiently, just like Sebastian would wait for us to get home. They’re more alike than I realized. Animals are more virtuous that we recognize – they might be the closest we ever get to a holy presence on Earth. I think God and I are going to be okay now. And I think Sebastian is okay, too.


As I got closer to my office, I felt that awful terrible weight from Sunday lift off my heart slightly. It’s still there. I got over my apartment and belongings going up in smoke, though I really miss Sebastian, and always, always will. I miss knowing that he’s not in the world anymore. That I won’t be able to hug him again, or take him for a walk, or rub his cute little belly. I would have liked just one more hug, and sadly that wish will not be fulfilled until I cross over to where he is now. Waiting for us, as he always was here on Earth. God better make sure Sebastian’s up there, well taken care of, and ready for me to take him for his walk when we all get back together again.


My friend, Amy, is a conflict resolution and trauma expert. I spent a long time on the phone with her on Sunday night, talking through what I’ve been feeling this month. She refers to this process of grief as the glass of water analogy. We can think of difficult times as being a specific amount of water and ourselves as glasses. Each time we encounter something difficult, the respective amount of water gets poured into our glass. I could have dealt with any one of the sad circumstances from this month, but putting them all together within 3 weeks’ times was just too much and my glass has overflowed with sadness.


The overflow happens sometimes, and as my pal, Laura, said to me “it sucks and it’s okay to feel like it sucks for a while.” Eventually the only thing to do is to sop up the excess water and start to empty our glass, even it’s just one little teaspoon at a time. The love and support from my friends and family this month has been such an amazing source of strength, and they’re helping me bail out the water from my glass. It’s going to take me a little time to get that glass emptied but I am 100% committed to getting it done. Alison Krauss, one of my favorite musicians, sings a song that goes “Just get me through December, A promise I’ll remember, Get me through December, So I can start again.” Her December is my September, and I am almost through it. After a very long, sad month, I feel like I’m moving in the right direction.

The photo above is not my own. It can be found here.

animals, dogs, family, loss, love

My Year of Hopefulness – Sebastian

Christa Avampato

“Dogs are good people.” ~ A very wise man

“Animals are reliable, full of love, true in their affections, predictable in their actions, grateful and loyal. Difficult standards for people to live up to.” ~ Alfred A. Montapert

September certainly has been a rough month. My most recent loss, the passing of our sweet family dog, Sebastian (known to us by the affectionate nickname of “Val”), broke my heart. The other losses I’ve incurred this month were painful certainly, though the loss of a family member who’s love never wavered, who always wanted to be around us, who saw us through so many days – good, bad, and indifferent – is almost too much to bear. If I had to sum up our brave little dachshund in one word, I would have to say that in everything he was constant: constant hopefulness, constant love, constant loyalty.
My sister brought him home in the winter of 2002, and immediately upon meeting him we fell madly in love with one another. He was the best snuggler. He always knew exactly what we all needed – a smooch, a smile (yes, he actually did smile!), or a funny pose to make us laugh. I learned so much from him. In all his wonderful dog-ness, he made all of us more human.
Early on Sunday morning my sister, Weez, called to say that my brother-in-law, Kyle, had taken Sebastian to the animal ER. His back legs had given out and he was unable to walk. At the ER, they took some x-rays and found that 4 of his vertebrae had collapsed together, putting tremendous pressure on his spinal cord and leaving him in a lot of pain. Because this ailment is very common to the breed and almost near impossible to treat, there isn’t anything the vet could do that would cure the condition. Now that it had happened once, it would continue to happen, and each time would be worse. The only humane and decent thing to do was to let him go to greener, pain-free pastures. And though rationally we know that this was the best choice given the circumstances, the loss is still so difficult to bear. It was pouring rain, everything outside seemed wet and gray and sad. In other words, it fit the news of the day.
Harry S Truman once said, “If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.” How true those words are, not just for Washington, but everywhere. A dog is the one presence in our lives that never disappoints us, never lets us down, that always, always makes every situation we face better. Somehow we are braver in their presence because they are always so willing to bear our burdens and share our joy with us. They always show up. If only people could be more like dogs.
It’s with a heavy heart that I imagine the upcoming holidays without him, this year and every year going forward. I always made him his own special Thanksgiving plate and we unwrapped Christmas presents with him. He always had a Christmas stocking with his name on it stuffed with doggy treats. I looked forward to naps with him as we curled up on the couch after a good meal and watched TV. We sang together, danced together, ran together, played together. That backyard at my sister’s house suddenly seems very empty without his tiny stature standing in the middle of it.

After these awful events unfolded, I had to get out of the house. I took myself for a walk in the rain, minus the umbrella, to the grocery store. Though the rain was falling heavily at the time, I just couldn’t feel anything. I was numb all over. I’d been through several boxes of tissues by then and quite frankly needed some more, along with some kind of food since I hadn’t eaten all day. I passed by the Petco (“where the pets go”), my neighborhood vet, and an all-natural pet supply store. Reminders of Sebastian everywhere.

Coming straight at me was a long-haired black and tan dachshund, bigger than Sebastian, with nearly identical markings. He was galloping along, just like Sebastian used to do, chasing a couple of pigeons. I smiled. I’ve long-considered dachshunds that cross my path my good luck charms. I couldn’t help but think that our brave little friend sent me that dachshund to let me know that he is okay now and that I shouldn’t worry about him. And then I started to cry all over again, right in the middle of the sidewalk. I guess there’s no way past this kind of pain except through it.

After the grocery store, I went up to the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. On Sundays at 4:00 they have an Evensong service. I sometimes like to go hear the opening number and stop into the Children’s Garden that depicts Noah’s Ark. In the Garden, they do the blessing of all the neighborhood animals every year. I’m not much for organized religion, but that Cathedral is a special place. I feel like I enter another world when I walk through those doors. I can take my sorrows there and cry them out, drowning in that glorious sound from the choir. In those walls, I am certain that the Universe can hear me and comfort me. I lit a little candle for Sebastian and for my family who is taking this loss so hard. I tried to smile, but my face wasn’t having any it. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. After all the good days that Sebastian gave us, I can spend this one just remembering him and paying tribute to his indomitable spirit.
Of all the dogs I’ve loved in my life, and my family has been beyond fortunate to have had so many over the course of 40+ years, Sebastian was the one I loved the most.
August 10, 2002 – September 27, 2009
R.I.P. Sebastian, our best and most faithful friend
fame, learning, loss

My Year of Hopefulness – Lessons of Icons

Christa Avampato


Today the world lost two titans of our time, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. Cultural icons, Fawcett and Jackson were young, 62 and 50 respectively. As I get older, I pay more attention to someone’s age when they pass away. This exercise forces me to consider how much time I may have left. This might sound morbid. I find it motivational.

Fawcett and Jackson were originals, risk takers, at once controversial and enormously intriguing. We couldn’t take our eyes off of them. While Michael Jackson has become a recluse after his 2005 controversy, Fawcett became more public in the last years of her life. Jackson was in the midst of planning a hopeful comeback. Fawcett had made her comeback; her documentary on her experience fighting cancer aired recently to wide acclaim and extensive viewership. There is even talk of a posthumous Emmy.

Fawcett and Jackson stand in stark contrast when we consider the last days of their lives. Michael Jackson was interested in claiming what was – he wanted to get back to his fame and the reputation he had before his 2005 fall from grace. Fawcett took a different road. While the pin up pictures and her world famous smile and hair might be the first images that spring to mind when we hear her name, she wanted to make sure that people saw other, less glamorous images of her. She wanted people to see, up close and personal, what it was like to fight cancer with every weapon possible. She was living in the now, and she wanted us to live it with her.

What they shared in a very deep, emotional way was their desire to live as full as life as possible. They went after everything that this world has to offer. Fearless, unflinching. And that’s a lesson we can all learn from.