I tell wonder-filled stories about hope and healing
The latest post on TJCC:
A few weeks ago, I went to the 92Y to hear Dr. Muhammed Yunus speak. He is considered by many to be the founder of the micro-credit movement and he’s one of my heroes.
By his own will and ability to inspire hope in others, he has lifted thousands up out of poverty, or rather helped thousands lift themselves up out of poverty.
He glows with good energy.
To read the full article please visit: http://www.thejcconline.com/the-power-of-5/
I’ve been thinking a lot about aging this week. During my yoga practice I noticed that my lower back had some weird pain, just a small twinge, when I flatten out my back and lift up. I’ve never had that pain before and I don’t know what could be causing it except maybe that I’m not as young I used to be. Not that I’m old by any stretch. Not by a long shot. I just have to actually be conscious of my health now.
This weekend, my niece is visiting me. She is 21 months. I’m having a blast chasing her around. Today we went apple picking and I got to experience that joy all over again with fresh eyes. I forgot how much fun it is to be out in the fresh air, picking apples, and running up grassy hills. When we got back to my apartment tonight, I went into the bathroom to wash my face and noticed that I look shockingly younger. And it’s not that I have some magic moisturizer. I think it’s just the glow of happiness that we gain by being around a little ball of energy.
Earlier this week, I heard Jean Chatzky speak. She’s been thinking a lot about aging lately, too. And she’s been doing some research involving neuroscience. Specifically neuroscience that relates to aging. As it turns out when we are very young, our grey matter is growing, too. Literally, the number of neurons is increasing, making us, well, neurotic. So all those crazy thoughts and emotions and mood swings we have in our teens and 20’s are to be expected. Blame it on the growth of grey matter. After our 20’s, the growth of grey matter slows and the growth of white matter, the part of our brain that connects our neurons, grows well into middle age. So this process of becoming older and wiser is not a nice metaphor to make us feel better about aging. It actually has some serious science behind it. As we age we become less neurotic and more able to see connections between thoughts, ideas, and experiences.
What keeps coming to the forefront of my mind is how do I keep my body young and my brain moving forward at the same time. The greatest question of our time, I suppose. How do we make sure to keep our outlook fresh while also preserving the wisdom we’ve worked so hard to attain? How do I keep the energy of youth and take comfort in having an old soul? Perhaps it’s just a balance – holding my youth in one hand and my age in the other. There is a time for age old wisdom and a time for a new outlook. The trick is to know when to utilize each.
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“One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.” ~ Andre Gide, Nobel laureate in literature
My sister, Weez, and her family are visiting me for a week. My brother-in-law, Kyle, is a painter and given the cold weather we’re having in New York City, this vacation is all about museums. For several weeks, he’s been scouting cultural websites to see what exhibits are currently open. One of the exhibits that caught his interest is at the Morgan Library, and includes original sketches, watercolors, and book notes from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. Being avid fans of children’s literature, we stopped in there today to have a look.
I have loved Where the Wild Things Are since I was little. I loved it because of its use of theatre and imagination. Max and his make-believe adventures made me believe that I could travel to distant and strange lands, too. Now as a writer, visiting this exhibit brought a whole new back story to the book. Originally the story was about wild horses, not the Wild Things we have come to know and love. Sendak abandoned the project for many years before completing it. During his first attempt he wrote that the story felt forced so he had to put it aside for now. He kept returning to it again and again to see if the story might flow more easily on another attempt. Eventually, he found an open door. My favorite margin note is “focus on Max.” Despite his mastery of storytelling, he had to deal with all of the same anxieties so many other writers deal with: not knowing what comes next, starting a story, dropping it, and picking it back up again at a more suitable time, and the feeling that his focus was sometimes a bit off.
As much as I love Sendak’s writing, his thoughts on his writing were even more interesting to me. The exhibit reaffirmed for me that writing is a physical workout in many respects. It’s something that must be practiced consistently, even when the writing doesn’t come easily. There will be periods of frustration when the words just don’t flow the way we’d like them to and that’s okay. Focus and commitment is something we must continually strive for, and some times we will need to write ourselves a prescription for them, a reminder of what’s really important. And that’s okay, too.
It’s so easy to think that genius in any form belongs to the few, the gifted. Realizing that people whom I admire so much, such as Sendak, are just ordinary people like me reminds me that there is a little genius in all of us. Within everyone’s imaginations, there is a brilliant story, our own Where the Wild Things Are, that is brewing. The land of the Wild Things is always right here beside us. To get it down, we just need to commit to showing up at our computers or at our notebooks with a wide open heart, a good set of ears, and an abundance of patience and determination in equal amounts.
The image above is an illustration by Sendak from Where the Wild Things Are
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” ~ Victor Frankl
I just finished the book Here If You Need Me, a brilliant memoir by Kate Braestrup. Kate is a writer who became a minster shortly after her husband’s death. Being a minister wasn’t her dream; it was her late husband’s dream and because he didn’t get the chance to achieve that, she offered up her own vocation for him. She is the chaplain to the game wardens of Maine, the group of brave public servants who conduct searches for people who are lost in the deep Maine woods, the person who falls through the ice, the hiker who ventures too far for too long. Their work can be dangerous and frequently ends with a tragic discovery. They need a good chaplain and they have a superb one in Kate.
The book is a fast, inspiring read. Of all the anecdotes that stand out in my mind, the most vivid in my mind is her description of her job as standing on the hinge of life. Kate is the one who waits with the families as the game wardens search for their loved ones that are lost or missing. She counsels the wardens after tragic circumstances are discovered. She stands with them in these uncomfortable, difficult moments that will come to define their lives. These are the moments that define their befores and afters.
All through the book I kept thinking about this metaphor, this hinge of life. I kept thinking about how many hinges I’ve been on lately. These moments that define my own befores and afters. Each one presents an opportunity for choice – we get to choose our attitude, our way forward, our outlook, and the learnings we take away from each experience.
September 2009 could have left a very deep scar on my heart. Instead, I had to make it a time of great learning and exploration. I had to make those days count by allowing them to teach me what’s truly important to me. They became a time of great commitment for me. Instead of being wracked by fear, I realized that I had nothing to fear because I knew I would be fine no matter what happened from here on out. I survived the perfect storm.
September was one big hinge for me and gave me the chance to recognize quite literally that the important things in life aren’t things. It taught me that I want very deep, meaningful relationships to be the core of my life. I set myself on a course to eventually write full-time. New York most certainly became my long-time home. On October 1st, I knew with certainty what I wanted from my life with a clarity I’ve never had before. And it feels great.
Hinges are difficult. They are filled with great expectations and great hesitancy. They are points of no turning back. Unless we’re people like Kate, we only get a few opportunities to stand at the hinge of our own lives. Life doesn’t offer up learnings and choices of that type of poignancy every day. And thank goodness because they can be incredibly stressful times. Though when we get the chance to stand at the edge of our lives and decide in a very profound way who we are and who we mean to be, it’s an opportunity we should approach with a grateful and open heart. After all, we will not be able to pass this way again.
Tonight my friend and colleague, Wayne, took me to the annual meeting for Children’s Health Fund (CHF). Knowing my interest in and past experience with nonprofit organizations, he knew I would be interested. What he didn’t know, and frankly what I didn’t know, is that CHF would be a perfect match for my interests on a variety of levels.
Personally and professionally, the mission of CHF to provide and advocate for quality medical care for every child resonates with me. Due to a drastic change in my family situation when I was a young child, my family lived below the poverty line and without health care for a good number of years. As an undergraduate, I did my senior economics thesis on the quality of healthcare for children below the poverty line living in West Philadelphia; the paper was based on my work-study job assisting one of the lead pediatricians at Children’s Seashore House (now a part of The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia). Additionally, I am considering the Public and Urban Policy PhD program at The New School because of my growing interest in inner-city education, and inner-city education requires caring for the whole child, healthcare included. There are certain points in our lives when the stars perfectly align, and tonight felt like one of those nights.
I had the great honor of hearing Karen Redlener, the Executive Director, and her talented staff speak about the 2008 accomplishments of CHF. 70,000 children received medical care through 210,000 patient visits and 613 medical professional received training through CHF’s programs in 25 cities across the country. In a time when so many organizations, for-profit and non-profit, are pulling back and remaining cautious, CHF is stepping up their game.
Jane Pauley, one of CHF’s dedicated board members and someone I greatly admire, explained why CHF is continuing to push forward and grow their goals as opposed to cutting back. In this recession, fear is everywhere. And while it might at first seem inconceivable that any organization could maintain their funding during this recession much less grow it, CHF keeps looking up and reaching higher.
Why, you ask? The sound barrier. Jane Pauley told the story of the first pilot to break the sound barrier. Previously, when pilots came up against the intense shaking caused by approaching speeds close to the sound barrier, they would pull the throttle back. A fatal mistake. Chuck Yeager did something different – when his plane approached the sound barrier, shaking badly, he pushed the throttle forward, went faster, and broke the sound barrier altogether. He is literal proof that if we press on, despite adversity, there are great rewards to be had when we come out the other side. CHF and Chuck Yeager are of the same mind.
Healthcare has been front page news every day this week; it’s been at the top of the Obama agenda for months; it was a major issue in the 2008 Presidential campaign. This is healthcare’s moment; this is CHF’s moment. For over 20 years, Irwin Redlener and Paul Simon, the co-founders, along with their dedicated, passionate team have been working tirelessly on behalf of children and their right to quality healthcare. The debates are raging on Capitol Hill and across this country. The plane is shaking, and we cannot pull the throttle back. We are so close to breaking through, so close to having quality, affordable care for every American. CHF is continuing to stand its ground with dignity and grace, fortified by the simple belief that all children everywhere have a right to be healthy.
We need them to succeed in this mission. By the end of 2009, 1:5 children in the U.S. will be below the poverty line. 1:5. Of all the facts and figures we review every day, that might be the scariest I’ve heard. We can’t afford to have 20% of our nation’s children grow up poor and unhealthy. Think the healthcare of others isn’t your problem? Think again. Their future is our future. And they need us. All of us. Someone has to stand up for them if we are to have any hope at all in the future of our nation. CHF is giving it everything they’ve got, and they need more. They need us. To find out how you can help, visit the Children’s Heath Fund website.
Yesterday was my first visit to my new general practitioner. My doctor retired about a year ago and I wasn’t crazy about him anyway so I needed to find a new one. A friend of mine referred me to his doctor. The wait for an appointment with him was a bit long, though my friend assured me that he was the best. I can wait a bit for the best.
I went in to get my annual physical and to have my breathing checked. (The Red Cross had mentioned to me that after the apartment building fire, I should have my lungs checked just to make sure that everything is clear.) I expected to be in the waiting room for about 30 minutes for a routine physical that included about 5 minutes with the doctor. Instead, my doctor picked me up in the waiting room, exactly at my appointment time, with an extended hand and a smile. We spoke for about 20 minutes as he put my medical history into his computer in his office. I had the opportunity to ask him questions and tell him about any health concerns I have.
Then we went to a room that adjoined his office where he measured my weight, height, blood pressure, etc. He checked my breathing, my internal organs, and gave me my flu shot. The doctor. I will be the first person to stand up for nurses and say that they are underpaid, under appreciated, and overworked. And I will also say that it was very refreshing to have a doctor performing the mundane tasks of a check-up.
I told him about my upcoming trip to Costa Rica to make sure I didn’t need any additional vaccines. Turns out that he volunteered in the hospital in the center of the small town where I will be volunteering. What are the odds? He gave me a name of a restaurant his friend owns that I should visit, told me about a few museums and a theatre I should go to, and gave me the contact info for a nearby spa and beach that are also worth checking out. Then he handed me a card with his cell number and email address and told me that I should contact him at any time with any questions or concerns I have. “And please let me know how the trip goes,” he said. And he meant it. I thought I stepped into a healthcare time warp. A doctor was actually taking his time and showing concern and compassion for me as a person, not just me as a patient.
This gives me great hope for healthcare. This is proof that it is possible to deliver quality, empathic care, even for procedures like routine physicals. I recognize that I am one of the fortunate people in this country to have high-quality health insurance and access to top care. What I didn’t realize is that it is still possible in this day and age to deliver care with great concern.
Too often we are held at a distance from our medical doctors. We are seen as case studies and medical files and a combination of numbers and statistics. My doctor’s visit was different. It was compassionate and delivered with real care for the whole person. In other words, it’s exactly what medical delivery should be, not just in this country for those with a high income, but for everyone, everywhere.
The image above is not my own. It can be found here.
“A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.” ~ James Joyce, Irish novelist, from Ulysses
The passing of time can be a frustrating thing. We may spend time on one activity that leads us to a dead-end when we could have spent that time on something that would have lead us to a success. It’s easy to become overwhelmed by how many ways we have to spend our time; so many in fact that we might feel that no matter how much we love what we’re doing, we could always be doing something that would make us even happier. The odd paradox of choice, as Barry Schwartz calls it. Too many opportunities leads us to too many opportunity costs. These increased opportunity costs are beginning to effect the way we view failure and mistakes.
Rather than valuable learning tools, we might be tempted to view them as a waste of time. Why should I try and fail and learn when there are so many other things I could be trying and possibly succeeding at? And yet we know that failure is a part of this life. We have to fail. We have to stretch ourselves well beyond our comfort zones, well beyond even the most optimistic view of our own abilities. If we don’t push our limits and fail, then we’ll never know exactly how much we can achieve. Unrealized achievement that was within our grasp had we pushed a little harder is far worse than failure.
I think about failure a lot. In terms of jobs and relationships and pursuits I’ve considered, even in places where I moved and tried to make a home. Sometimes I feel badly about all my failures, and then I consider so many of my brave friends and family who just refused to let fear stand in their way. My friend, Phyllis, who just today wrote to me and said she left her job to focus on her own business full-time. “I’m secretly scared sh*tless,” she said. “I think that’s probably fairly normal for anyone who quits a well-paying job in this crappy economy.” I agree. And I’m so proud of her and inspired by her actions.
My friend, Allan, has a good paying job, albeit a little boring for him. He had the opportunity to continue with a new assignment there – one he could certainly do if he could just resign himself to not liking the job. Instead, he’s taking a risk and going back to school for a graduate degree in mathematics, his greatest passion.
I have a few friends who are getting married next year. And guess what? They’re all scared, too. They’re afraid of failing, of being hurt, of hurting someone else. They’re afraid of letting other people down, of wasting someone else’s time. They’re afraid they aren’t enough. When I asked them if they really thought this was a good idea, to be getting married, they all said yes unequivocally. “Marriage,” one of them said to me, “is the greatest leap of faith there is. We can be afraid of failure. We just can’t let it prevent us from going after happiness.”
What if we could think of failure as a blessing? What if we could seek out failure as a great teacher? And what if we opened up our hearts and minds and accepted and forgave our own failures and the failures of others, too? Would that kind of acceptance and forgiveness make the failures easier to bear and the successes that much sweeter to earn?
The image above is not my own. It can be found here.
“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” ~ 2 Corinthians 5:7
I went to the Egyptian Galleries today at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’ve been doing a little bit of fiction writing and needed to collect some research on Egypt. I suppose I could have could just looked it up on-line though it was a gorgeous day, I wanted to walk through the park, and there is not substitute for seeing the treasures of Egypt right in front of us.
The Egyptian Galleries are well-known as one of the favorite attractions for kids to the Met. The fiction piece I’m writing is actually for a young adult audience so I must admit that a little of my motivation was some good eaves dropping. Kids, of course, were fascinated by the mummies. “There’s a dead person in there?” I heard numerous times. Followed invariable by the parents saying “yes” and the kids responding “cool”. (For the record, that was my response in my mind, too.) They also loved the myriad of figurines, depictions of dogs, and all the fancy gold jewelry that literally glowed within the display cases. I easily saw a dozen kids striking a pose that matches the many Egyptian etchings that lined the walls of the galleries. I wanted to do that too, though I knew it wouldn’t be as endearing an act for a 33 year old as it is for a 10 year old, so I held myself back.
To write fiction, we have to hang out with our characters, walk around with them, see the world through their eyes as well as our own. In this action, there are bits of dialogue that surface. We learn about the experiences of our characters the same way we get to know a new friend or someone we’ve just started dating. A little at a time, we learn where they’ve been, what they’ve seen, and where they hope their lives will go. I just walk beside them silently, recording everything.
There’s a lot of faith involved in writing fiction. At the top of a blank page, we’re never quite sure where we’ll end up by the time we reach the bottom of that page. We have to be generous and patient and let the story unfold naturally, taking comfort that it will go exactly the way it’s supposed to. It’s a mystical process.
Our lives are kind of like fiction writing, too. We might have some kind of basic outline for what we’d like to do and where we’d like to go, though the details of how we color in the lines is largely spontaneous. We meet new and interesting characters along the way, we veer off in many different directions, take advantage of one opportunity and then pass on another. We travel, we experience, we remain open to things that are new and strange and beautiful. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I see that living life really is exactly like writing fiction. We fumble around in the dark, not knowing exactly what is in front of us, forging ahead with only the faith and belief that the road we’re on is exactly where we are meant to be. All we must do is be present. The story, and our very lives, will unfold around us.
My friend, Alex, is renowned for her cards. I’m not talking about holiday cards or birthday cards. I always have a beautiful envelope show up in my mailbox with her curly handwriting on it when I expect it least and need it most. A new job, a new apartment, a tough time as showcased on this blog. This week I got a card from her that I loved so much I hung it up at my desk at work. It makes me smile every time I look at it.
The quote on the front of the card says, “Friend, you are a divine mingle-mangle of guts and stardust. So hang in there!” It’s a quote from Frank Capra. He also famously said that “A hunch is creativity trying to tell you something.” While on the surface, Alex’s card may just seem like a sweet gesture from a good friend, I also think there’s something else baked into it. She’s really telling me to just get on with it. It’s a message I need to hear, and if anyone can tell me that in a kind, supportive way, it’s Alex.
Tonight I had dinner with my friend, Katie, a fellow Pisces. She mentioned something about Saturn being in Pisces and causing all kinds of havoc. Apparently, the effect is cumulative and ends on October 31st. Essentially this means that universe has been whacking us around for a bit and decided to send Saturn out of our sign with a bang, explaining why just about everything in my life got flipped upside-down in the past month. Now, I’m not quite sure that I believe in astrology to this extent but goodness does it explain a lot!
I’ve also been feeling an increase in energy this last week and feeling the tides of change sweeping in. Before Saturn’s wallop, I was getting too comfy in my daily routine. Everything seemed to be “good enough”. And I’m not a person that can live with “good enough” for too long. I needed to be shaken awake and I have a hard head so it takes quite a bit of effort to change my mind.
To Alex’s point, I need to embrace my inner mingle-mangle of guts and stardust. I needed some new dreams and new drive to reach them. And that requires a little more risk than I’ve been taking lately. It requires a little more bravery than I’ve been exhibiting. Sometimes we need to be on a burning platform (please pardon this pun in light of my burned out apartment building) before we leap into the sea of possibility. So here I go – I hope those adult swimming lessons pay off.
On Tuesday, I’m attending an information session for a PhD program that I’ve been considering and re-considering for some time now. I’ve been putting it off for about a year. I’d sign up for info sessions and not go for one reason or another. One of my business school professors who I respect beyond measure has been encouraging this route since the middle of my second year at Darden. I always thought up a reason why I couldn’t do it. That leap was too scary. Me, a PhD candidate? No, I can’t possibly do that. I don’t have the money / time / attention-span.
Then I remembered a quote I read some time ago about time and the passing of it. “Don’t let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it. The time will pass anyway; we might just as well put that passing time to the best possible use.” It’s from Earl Nightingale. My best possible use is in writing, speaking, teaching, traveling and growing social change initiatives. I can’t think of another way to be more productive. And all of these things are made infinitely easier by going the PhD route. Or at least I have a hunch that they are. My creativity is knocking at the door, and I at least need to open the door and give her the opportunity to plead her case. I at least need to hear her out.
The image above is not my own. It can be found here.
Christa Avampato 
