Category: story

family, future, history, peace, story, writing

Beginning: Writing Out and Learning from the Ugly Parts of My Experience

Christa Avampato

From http://kichigaikikyokagome.deviantart.com
“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.” ~ Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love

We run from the imperfect. We want everything to be flawless. We praise beauty; we seek it out; we convince ourselves that we can’t live without it. Ruin is something we have come to dread. To feel ruined it to feel busted up, disappointed, and taken advantage of. We desperately cling to the perfect – in ourselves, in others, in a moment of time. We try to rush through ruin as quickly as possible, and with closed eyes. By running from ruin we are missing so many opportunities for growth and personal evolution.

Dancing with our disappointment
I know this dance well. I have been running from ruin and toward perfection for many, many years. Brian calls this my intricate skill of “maximize this, minimize that.” In other words, I make the most of the good things and try very hard to ignore the bad things, hoping that those bad things will just magically go away. For the record, they don’t. They accumulate until their collective voice is so loud that they must be reckoned with in one way or another.

We can learn a lot from sadness if we’re willing to sit with it
I received a lot of positive feedback from my last two posts – the first about how my dad taught me that the only advice we can take is our own and the second about how a chance encounter with an ex taught me about feeling and transcending anger. So much so, that I’ve decided to take my writing in a very personal direction. I’m at a point in my story where some previously disjointed pieces are starting to fit together in a very powerful way. Steve Jobs said that, “We can’t expect to understand our lives living forward, but only by looking back.” That’s why reflection is so important, why writing it all down and sharing it is critical to our own understanding. All burdens can be borne if we can put them into a story.

Some of the pieces of my story are jagged and uncomfortable and some of them are smoothly crafted. Somehow, they’re all finding a way to come together and co-exist side-by-side, not stealing the limelight from one another, but sharing in it equally. It’s quite a surprise, even though I’ve been working on this very hope for such a long time. I never thought I’d realize it, and certainly not so early on in my life. And while this surprise is of tremendous benefit to me, I want it to benefit you, too, because I want you to have the same experience of holding up a mirror to the parts of you, of others, and of your experience to see that the good, the bad, and the ugly are all extraordinary teachers.

For a long time I vilified my dad, and many of those reasons were justifiable. What I shunned for too long were all of the lessons he taught me, albeit in a manner that I would never wish on anyone else. He was a cold, austere, sad man, and my family bore the brunt of that for a long time. What I didn’t know as a teenager, what there was no way for me to know, was that his behaviors and his personal history that caused those behaviors, would give me the tools I need to do the work I was meant to do with Compass Yoga.

This is about honoring our whole self, not about making lemonade
And this is not some pathetic attempt by a hopeful gal to make lemonade out of lemons, to make the most of what she’s got even if that isn’t much at all. It’s about honoring every part of our past; it’s about recognizing that in every moment, in every experience, there is a very deliberate, necessary teaching that sets us up to live our dharma, our path. We need the painful, sad parts of our past just as much as we need the joy and light. And I would argue that we need them in equal measure. The poetic Dolly Parton is famous for saying, “The way I see it, if you want rainbows then you gotta put up with the rain.” Truer words were never spoken.

So here in my promise to you: you will learn about my own personal story, layer by layer, piece by piece, even the ugly parts. Especially the ugly parts. It will be revealed in as thoughtful and sacred a manner as I can muster, and you will eventually see the complete picture. None of it will be gratuitous and all of it is intended so that you can benefit from these two learnings:

1.) where and what we come from has every bit to do with who we eventually become

and even more importantly,

2.) the depth of our roots does not determine the spread of our wings. We can fly as high as we choose to fly regardless of how far down we find ourselves at any point in time. It’s all based on our will to find our way. And I intend to find mine.

generosity, patience, story, success

Beginning: A Lesson on Generosity, Patience, and Building Our Own Road, Courtesy of a Grasshopper and a Snail

Christa Avampato

“AH gaining yet MORE wisdom grasshopper!!” ~ My friend, Anne, on one of my posts

When Anne left this note on my Facebook page, I had no idea what she was talking about so I Googled it and found the fable of the grasshopper and the snail. I highly recommend reading the story in its entirety here. Here’s the condensed version:

“A challenge
A snail with a lot of supporting friends challenges a grasshopper to a race. The grasshopper considers not accepting the challenge since it’s obvious that he will beat the snail and he’s worried that he will make the snail feel badly. However, after enough negative prodding by the snail’s friends, the grasshopper accepts.

A realization
The race starts and rather than crushing the snail with his speed, the grasshopper spends a lot of time thinking about his life as the snail creeps along at a very slow, steady space. After all of his thinking, the grasshopper decided to let the snail win. All the animals cheered for the snail and looked down on the grasshopper as a slow poke, never challenging the grasshopper to another race again. No one appreciated the grasshopper’s generosity toward the snail. At first the grasshopper was very depressed that all the animals made fun of him but later he began to appreciate the chance to enjoy his life without any pressure from constant challenges to race. He could choose how to spend his time and make his own decisions in his own time. For the first time in his life, he felt truly free to decide how to spend his days.

A fork in the road, literally and figuratively
After his win, the snail becomes so cocky that he accepts a challenge from a lightning bug to cross the road. Upon hearing this, the grasshopper gets very upset because he worries the snail will get killed trying to cross the road at his slow pace.To protect the snail from this terrible idea, he decides to race the snail across the road, determined to beat him so quickly that the snail will turn away from the road and go home. The snail smugly accepts, convinced he will beat the grasshopper again.

A second chance
The day of the rematch, the snail starts to creep across the road at his usual slow pace. The grasshopper waits patiently for a safe time to leap across the road in one action. The snail makes fun of his patience, until the grasshopper finally sees his opening and makes the leap to the other side of the road. The snail, shocked and embarrassed, turns around after barely getting his start and never leaves his home again. The grasshopper, knowing the dangers of crossing the road, stays on his new side of the road and lives out his days as a great teacher of patience, generosity, and modesty.”

I was completely confused by this story when I first read it. “Slow and steady wins the race” – I understand that lesson. “Don’t be cocky about successes” – yep, that makes sense, too. But what was Anne saying by casting me as the grasshopper here? What could I possibly have in common with this guy?

I’ve known Anne for a long time. She’s bailed me out of tough situations, and more than once she’s given me a one liner that has snapped me back to reality after I’ve gotten too caught up in my own story. This is another one of those times.

For a time now, I have enjoyed being under the radar in a few different areas of my life. I’ve been waiting and watching patiently, stringing together different learnings and experiences, before I make the leap to go off on my own and create an unconventional career that breaks from tradition and what I “should” do. I feel fine with following rules as long as I’m the one who makes them and decides when to break them. And I do feel like my gift lies in teaching based upon my own experiences, positive and harrowing alike.

Anne was right, as always. I’m more like the grasshopper than I realized. It’s funny how sometimes we can look right into a mirror and not recognize our own reflection. It takes another passerby to connect the dots and awaken us to ourselves.

care, courage, dreams, education, inspiration, integrity, story

Further Thoughts on MLK Day

Christa Avampato

This post is available as a podcast on Cinch and iTunes.

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” ~ MLK via CharlesMBlow

Charles M. Blow is The New York Times’s visual Op-Ed columnist. His column appears every Saturday.

“Dr. King delivered the “I have a dream” speech at age 34 and lived only 39 years.” ~ via Drew Allen

I read these two tweets on Monday morning with so much gratitude and then so much awe for the person Dr. King was and the person that he asked all of us to be. He was the age I am now when he delivered the I Have a Dream speech and his life was cut far too short only 5 years later. Those two pieces of information weigh heavy on my heart, particularly when I consider how far we still have to go to create a more peaceful society where everyone, regardless of race, creed, gender, personal economics, or upbringing, can advance through hard work and determination.

Coincidentally I am now reading Condoleezza Rice’s book, Extraordinary, Ordinary People, which reminds me of how much hope we have in our society. While I don’t agree with her politics, the inspiration of her story can’t be denied. She grew up in pre-Civil Rights Birmingham and rose to be one of the most influential people in the world because of her hard-won education. She has a quote in the book that hit me like a ton of bricks because of the courage and passion it coveys. She says of her parents, “Somehow they raised their little girl in Jim Crow Birmingham to believe that even if she couldn’t have a hamburger at the Woolworth’s lunch counter, she could be President of the United States.”

I understand her fervent belief in education. I grew up in a family that didn’t have a lot of money but believed in education. I studied hard, worked hard, and pushed myself, sometimes far beyond my limits, because even at an early age I knew that my education would improve the quality of my life in the long run. That bet, that long, sometimes-difficult-to-believe-in bet, paid off. My education, and the will it took to get it, are two things that I am incredibly grateful for every day. I live a really good life as a result of my education. I like to share that story, particularly with children, through my volunteer work. It gives them some hope to meet a real life person who understands where they are and where they can get to by working hard.

In the spirit of Dr. King, we need to share our stories through every channel we’ve got. We must continue to talk about what’s important to us and what matters. And we must do so without ever really knowing how or when or why it will affect someone else. Martin Luther King Day reminds us why it is so important to speak our minds and then live accordingly – because it makes a difference.

This blog is part of the 2011 WordPress Post Every Day Challenge.

adventure, books, career, celebration, change, choices, creativity, discovery, experience, family, friendship, grateful, gratitude, growth, happiness, ideas, meditation, New York City, story, writing, yoga

Step 365: What’s Possible? A 2010 Wrap-up.

Christa Avampato

“I am neither an optimist nor pessimist, but a possibilist.” ~ Max Lerner

As I cross over the finish line of 365 days of living and writing about an extraordinary life, I marvel at the passing of another year. On December 31, 2009, I wrote a post explaining that in 2010 I wanted to record something every day that put me one step closer to an extraordinary life.

This December 31st post is always fun to write because it’s a chance for me to reflect on the past year and realize how much has happened. Just like flipping through the New York Times’s Year in Pictures helps us remember what’s happened in the world around us, flipping through my posts from the last year lets me remember all the tiny steps that brought me to do this day.

My road to recovery from my apartment building fire:
I was in denial about the true effect it had on me and that brought me to Brian, my coach and therapist, who has helped my life grow in leaps and bounds. By June, I finally felt safe in my home again and could make my apartment feel like a peaceful space.

Stepping into the writing life:
I moved my blog over to WordPress and for the first time in the 3 years since I seriously began to contemplate living a writer’s life, earned enough money to be a freelance writer for hire. This year I connected with so many talented writers – Josh, Laura, Amanda, Erica, Sharni, Will, Sara, the Wordcount Blogathon writers, Katherine, the fab team at Owning Pink, Elephant Journal, and Michael.

I wrote and published my first e-book, Hope in Progress: 27 Entrepreneurs Who Inspired Me During the Great Recessions, a compilation of 27 of my interviews that I conducted with entrepreneurs through my Examiner column.

Yoga at the forefront of my life:
I completed my 200 hour yoga teacher training at Sonicstarted Compass Yoga, my own small teaching company, and will begin teaching a regular Sunday night yoga class at Pearl Studios NYC. Through Sonic I was inspired by the incredible teachers and the 23 amazing women in my class whom I hold so dear after our journey together. My yoga teacher training helped me to establish a regular meditation practice and cured the insomnia I’ve lived with all of my life. I found the joyful noise of kirtan, which re-ignited my interest in music. Yoga led me toward a true contemplation of my faith and spirituality that continues down a very healthy, peaceful path. There are not words enough to thank the people at Sonic for how much joy they brought to my life, but I gave it a shot in this post about our last class and the closing ritual of the training. I am forever and happily indebted to them.

Some wrong turns, too:
I studied for my GRE and despite doing well on the exam, Columbia sent me an email that began “we regret to inform you that you have not been accepted” [into a PhD program in education]. I wrote a curriculum for LIM College that I was tremendously excited about, and then the class was canceled at the 11th hour for reasons that still make me shake my head. I was so excited to be selected to serve on a jury and sadly realized just how imperfect our system is. I still think about the case on a regular basis.

Making peace with New York living:
In 2010 I fell in love with New York City, again and again and again. It became my home. Our love hate relationship ended its many years of turmoil and now we’re living together in a general state of bliss, with an occasional side dish of annoyance, just for good measure and because, well, it’s a very New York thing to do.

A few unexpected journeys:
I conquered my fear of swimming in open water while on a yoga retreat in Greece. I found that mistakes can be joyful.

Wonderful new additions to my family:
We happily welcomed my new little niece Aubree and after years of wondering whether or not I should get a dog, Phineas, a sweet little dachshund, has graced my life via the Humane Society and New York dachshund rescue.

And 10 valuable life lessons that I’m grateful for:
1.) Goodness is created and remembered by sharing what we have with others.
2.) Shouting dreams helps bring them into being.
3.) Stubborness can be a beautiful thing.
4.) We get what we settle for.
5.) Obstacles in our lives are valuable.
6.) We never have to wait to live the life we want.
7.) Letting go is sometimes the bravest and best thing to do
8.) Trusting our gut is the best way to get to get to the decision that’s right for us.
9.) Be thankful for less.

My favorite and most treasured discovery of 2010:
10.) Truly extraordinary living is found in very ordinary moments.

Wishing you a very happy start to 2011. Thanks so much for being with me on this journey that was 2010.

The image above makes me feel free. Find it here.

Christmas, holiday, story

Step 356: Fun With Popular Christmas Folklore – Figgy Pudding, Yuletide, and More

Christa Avampato

I was in church with my family on Sunday morning and the Minister told us the story of the candy cane, how it was shaped like the staff of a shepherd to symbolize the important role of the then-lowly shepherds in announcing Jesus’s birth to the world. At the time shepherds were considered unclean and unfit for enlightened life. The fact that they were chosen as the first people to greet the new-born king is no coincidence, and the idea of fairness and equality are themes echoed through out Christmas teachings. I’ve enjoyed numerous candy canes over the years and never thought twice about why they had that specific shape or how they came to be. That got me thinking about folklore and how many ideas and concepts have roots very different from our current understanding of their meaning.

I took the liberty of doing some holiday research to uncover the origins of several popular Christmas terms that have cool stories on par with the candy cane story I heard in church. Many thanks to Wikipedia for its endless collection of little known tidbits. Enjoy!

Sugar plum: what makes them so tantalizing that they’d be dancing in children’s heads? “Plum” in the name of this confection does not mean plum in the sense of the fruit of the same name. At one time, “plum” was used to denote any dried fruit. Sugar plums can be made from any combination of dried plums (aka prunes), dried figs, dried apricots, dried dates, and dried cherries. The dried fruit is chopped fine and combined with chopped almonds, honey, and aromatic spices, such as anise seed, fennel seed, caraway seeds, and cardamom. This mixture would then be rolled into balls, often then coated in sugar or shredded coconut. Okay, I get it. Sounds delicious!

Yuletide: turns out that Christians know a good party when they see it! Yule or Yule-tide (“Yule-time”) is a winter festival that was initially celebrated by the historical Germanic people as a pagan religious festival, though it was later absorbed into, and equated with, the Christian festival of Christmas.

Figgy pudding: with or without bacon (thank you John Denver and The Muppets), is this dish really as simple as it sounds? Figgy pudding is a pudding resembling something like a white Christmas pudding containing figs. The pudding may be baked, steamed in the oven, boiled or fried.

The history of figgy pudding dates back to 16th century England. Its possible ancestors include savory puddings such as crustades, fygeye or figge (a potage of mashed figs thickened with bread), creme boiled (a kind of stirred custard), and sippets. In any case, its methods and ingredients appear in diverse older recipes. Today, the term figgy pudding is known mainly because of the Christmas carol “We Wish You A Merry Christmas,” which repeats, “Now bring us some figgy pudding” in the chorus, indicating that it was a Christmas traditional dish served during the season and thus might potentially be given to Christmas carolers.

Tempted to make your own figgy pudding for your holiday table? Try this recipe.

Christmas stockings: why did Santa decide to tuck presents into wet socks? While there are no written records of the origin of the Christmas Stocking, there are popular legends that attempt to tell the history of this Christmas tradition. One such legend has several variations, but the following is a good example: Very long ago, there lived a poor man and his three very beautiful daughters. He had no money to get his daughters married, and he was worried what would happen to them after his death.

Saint Nicholas was passing through when he heard the villagers talking about the girls. St. Nicholas wanted to help, but knew that the old man wouldn`t accept charity. He decided to help in secret. He waited until it was night and crept through the chimney.

He had three bags of gold coins with him, one for each girl. As he was looking for a place to keep those three bags, he noticed stockings of the three girls that were hung over the mantelpiece for drying. He put one bag in each stocking and off he went. When the girls and their father woke up the next morning, they found the bags of gold coins and were of course, overjoyed. The girls were able to get married and live happily ever after.

This led to the custom of children hanging stockings or putting out shoes, eagerly awaiting gifts from Saint Nicholas.

Silent Night: I love this story behind one of the most loved Christmas songs of all time. The carol was first performed in the Nikolaus-Kirche (Church of St. Nicholas) in Oberndorf, Austria on December 24, 1818. Mohr had composed the words two years earlier, in 1816, but on Christmas Eve brought them to Gruber and asked him to compose a melody and guitar accompaniment for the church service.

In his written account regarding the composition of the carol, Gruber gives no mention of the specific inspiration for creating the song. According to the song’s history provided by Austria’s Silent Night Society, one supposition is that the church organ was no longer working so that Mohr and Gruber therefore created a song for accompaniment by guitar. Silent Night historian, Renate Ebeling-Winkler Berenguer says that the first mention of a broken organ was in a book published in the U.S.

Some believe that Mohr simply wanted a new Christmas carol that he could play on his guitar. The Silent Night Society says that there are “many romantic stories and legends” that add their own anecdotal details to the known facts. You can still visit the chapel today, and its is known popularly as The Silent Night Chapel.

I’d love to hear any other Christmas time legends and stories you may uncover this holiday season!

The photo above depicts traditional figgy pudding.

family, story, yoga

Step 117: Storytime and Yoga

Christa Avampato

When I was a kid, I loved story time. My mom would make up little characters and stories for my brother, sister, and I to hear before bedtime. One particular string of stories involved little fictional characters called the hoochie goochies who would run around in the forest and have all kinds of adventures. She’s make them up on the spot, and we could add in little details along the way. We’d read books like Superfudge, Tales of a Fourth Grace Nothing, and Dr. Seuss. Now when I go back and read those books, I can still hear my mom reading them and my siblings and I cracking up. This is the great thing about storytelling, particularly when it’s done out loud – the memories last a lifetime.

Storytelling has found its way into every area of my life – as a product developer, managing theatre shows, as a freelance writer. And now as a yoga teacher. Yoga, I am learning, is largely about stories, particularly when studying its philosophy and Eastern heritage. Even in my own teaching when I describe the energetics of an asana (pose), I give illustrations from stories. And in that way, my yoga comes from my life. Just like this blog. Just like the products I develop. Their commonality is story.

With this lens, yoga teaching isn’t scary at all. It’s just service – I offer stories and lessons I have by providing a physical expression of those stories. In Ujjayi breath, I hear the calling of lions that we tracked in South Africa. In asanas like Anjaneyasana, I see the excitement that my niece, Lorelei, gets from every day experiences like taking a walk outside and checking the mail. During Adho Mukha Vrksasana, I think of the simultaneous strength and freedom I needed to hang glide across the Tennessee mountains. My mom’s storytelling effected my life forever; it shaped who I am, what I do, where I go, and who I spend time with. And now every time I practice or teach yoga, I take her gift with me and pass it on.

The image above is not my own. I can be found here.

fiction, story

Step 73: Our Own Fictions

Christa Avampato

“There are no fictions more fascinating than the ones we tell ourselves to get from day-to-day.” ~ Me

These are some of my fictions that were shattered this weekend during yoga teacher training:
I’ve never had a pranayama (yogic breathing) practice. I learned the anatomy of it; I read about the power of it in countless yoga journal articles; I even tried pranayama once and told myself it felt like nothing so I didn’t try it again. “Who needs to practice breathing?” I laughed to myself. And then today I experienced my nervous system shifting because my breath shifted.

I have weak arms and have told myself for years that I will never be able to practice arm balance poses or hand stands. And then today, I flew into handstand, assisted, but flying none the less.

I’ve never had a meditation practice. I’ve tried meditation a few times in my life and it’s never really worked for me. I just couldn’t get my mind to settle and to compensate for that failure, I told myself meditation was overrated. And then the quote above, and many more like it, have started to appear in my dreams now that I have to develop a meditation practice as part of my yoga teacher training.

It is incredible what stories we will tell ourselves to compensate for our own difficulties, stories that make it possible for us to avoid truth for a long time, sometimes for a lifetime. So next time I hear myself telling tales about my abilities, or rather my inadequacies, I am going to question them. Why is it that I can’t sit still? Why is it that practicing breathing sounds silly? Why do I think I have weak arms? All these fictions were in my mind, they were a matter of perspective that I created and then manifested in the world.

Sad, right? Not at all. The brilliant thing about fictions we tell ourselves is that we can change them, and change them quickly. We can make new ones, ones of strength and abundance and grace. We are enough, just as we are, in every way. We are all that is and all that is is us. And that’s no fiction at all – it’s just a simple, powerful truth.

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

failure, history, story

Step 33: Lessons from Scars

Christa Avampato

On Sunday, I found my way to In Over Your Head, Julien Smith’s blog, via a tweet from Tim O’Reilly. He recently wrote a post about the importance of scars. We spend a lot of time avoiding disaster, avoiding the eventuality of hurt and pain. I’m not suggesting that we head out into the world searching for trouble. I’m just saying that I think scars are under-rated and we should be less afraid.

I started to think of all the times I didn’t say something or do something or feel something because the prospects of failure and hurt were just too great. I insulated myself in an effort to protect my feelings, my heart, and my spirit. There are times when I wonder what would have happened if I refused to ever be afraid, or at the very least if I never, ever let fear stop me from doing what I want to do. What if I never worried about getting scars?

Julien artfully connected stories with scars; he frames up the need for scars as a way to track our personal histories. The idea is simple and powerful. Take a look at your hands and your heart. Take note of the scars and blemishes and the imperfections. Hang on to the lessons of heartbreak, failure, and disappointment, and let go of the sadness they brought along with them. We need those lessons because without them we’d forget where we’ve been.

art, story, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Writing Ourselves Free

Christa Avampato

“Words do not label things already there. Words are like the knife of a carver: They free the idea, the thing, from the general formlessness of the outside. As a man speaks, not only is his language in a state of birth, but also the very thing about which he is talking.” ~ Inuit Wisdom

Today I finished up the book The Soul of Money by Lynne Twist, and the Inuit quote above kicks off one of the last chapters. So many of her ideas about money helped me to reconsider the role of money in my life, both when I was very young and had no money and now when I have a well paying job. Her words helped me to see money as just another form of energy which we can utilize to shape the world around us. In her words I was able to make peace with finance, a difficult thing to do in our consumer-driven, debt-ridden culture.

Words are powerful tools not just for communicating ideas, but also to form them. So often I come to a blank screen on my computer, unsure of what I’ll write or where my writing will lead. Over time, I’ve learned to trust the process of writing the way that a carver trusts his knife. In my imagination there is always a story waiting to be told, similar to the figure that is within a slate of marble. The skill of the writer or artist releases the form.

I’m now weeks away from meeting my goal of writing about hope every day for a year. I started this journey as someone who felt let down by the world, someone who was worried about her future. Now that I have spent nearly 365 days actively seeking out what’s hopeful in our society, I am emerging from my quest with a confident, revitalized soul. I wrote myself free form the burden of worry.

So often we think a lack of commitments frees us. We give up relationships, jobs, materials goods, and tasks in pursuit of greater flexibility and freedom. And sometimes that works. Though before I give up anything or anyone, I remind myself of Willa Cather’s quote in O Pioneers! – “Freedom so often means that one isn’t needed anywhere.” I want my freedom to mean that I choose to do everything in my life, not that I am forced to do something which I don’t want to do. My writing frees me because it lets me express what I’m feeling, and gives me the opportunity to connect with others. I’ve found that my connections to others frees my own heart rather than binding it up.

I found my writing voice not by closing down and shutting off, but by opening up to the experiences of the world and making the commitment to come here to this blog every day and share those experiences. I became a better writer by committing to the craft. I think life is shockingly similar to writing in this way – we live it better by practicing, by stepping out and stepping up, by committing our heart to others and to the world around us. And as we do this, I hope we’ll all take some time and write it all down. Having the courage to tell others our own stories ironically frees them to do the same.

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

change, happiness, New York City, story

My Year of Hopefulness – Stories We Tell Ourselves and Others

Christa Avampato

Today was not a good day in the ordinary sense. I had a conversation that disturbed me on a very deep level, one that really made me question who I am and what I’m about and what I mean to do in this world. Luckily a friend of mine set me in the right direction – he helped me see that this conversation is a very good thing for me. It’s helping me to realize the next step in my life in a very clear way.

After work I went with my friend, Col, to the West Village’s The Bitter End to see The Moth, a group that does a themed open-mike night of storytelling. After my day, I needed to laugh and lose myself in someone else’s stories and The Moth provided just the release I needed. 10 brave souls took to the stage, after their names were drawn from a hat, and discussed their stories that revolved around the theme of disguises. They told us about experiences where they had to pretend to be someone they’re not to accomplish something – to earn a paycheck, to meet someone whom they wanted to meet, to realize who they truly are. They were all poignant and hilarious, and Sara Barron, the MC, is a brilliant comic.

Traveling home, I kept thinking about the stories from The Moth that revolved around people who put on a mask, sometimes literally, and then put down that mask to be who they really are. For some, it took an unhappy situation, like the one I experienced today, to make them truly embrace who they are. They had to be forced to pretend to be someone else before they could actually find their own true voices. And in their own true voices, they were able to tell their own stories, their own truths. It was exactly the lesson I needed to transform a tough personal day into a day of learning.