Me holding Emerson Page and Where the Light Leads on top of Arthur’s Seat, an ancient extinct volcano that is the main peak of the group of hills in Holyrood Park in Edinburgh, Scotland. June 2024.
Creativity is a lifeline for me. I’m so grateful to have writing as a spiritual practice that offers me the chance to bring my whole self to the page, and I’m grateful for every kind word, review, and note I’ve received from all of you. You raise me up.
In the author’s note of Emerson Page and Where the Light Leads, I wrote, “Since Emerson emerged in 2017 in my first novel, Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters, our world has been turned upside down. The pandemic, climate change, conflict across the world—all of it is cause for anxiety and distress. It’s okay to not be okay with any of this, to be scared in a world that seems so far out of our control. But what’s also true is that there is so much love, light, wonder, and beauty in this world, and in you. Emerson’s story is a mix of the joys and difficulties that are part of every life. She rises, falls, and rises again. And so do we.”
I believed that when I wrote it on February 29, 2024, and I believe it today. If ever there was a time to create, celebrate, and elevate love, light, wonder, and beauty, it’s now. Right now.
So, on this first birthday of Emerson Page and Where the Light Leads, this is my book birthday wish for all of us: that we will continue to create and love, that we will live out loud, that we will express our joy, without fear and without reservation. As Mary Oliver so beautifully wrote in her poem, Don’t Hesitate: “Life has some possibility left…Joy is not made to be a crumb.” Please, make your joy the whole damn cake. Today and every day.
These two photos are from that same trip as the photos above. On the left, I’m at Castlerigg Stone Circle in Keswick, England, a town in the Lake District. On the right, that’s a photo I took on the Isle of Skye, Scotland. Both June / July 2024.
This is Harold, a sweet, gentle senior dog who I watched overnight. He had a vet appointment the next morning and his full-time foster wasn’t able to take him so I offered to help.
When he arrived, I fed him his dinner. He was still hungry so I made him some chicken and rice, which he happily gobbled up. He was so incredibly sweet and trusting.
I walked into my bedroom at one point and Harold followed me. He went right to my full-length mirror and inspected himself. I felt like he was telling me he was seeing a younger version of himself.
I was up all night with Harold. He was restless, anxious, and confused, walking back and forth between his food bowl and the front door. He had some pain in his back legs and the meds didn’t seem to help. Sometimes, he walked in circles. His behavior reminded me of Phinny’s end stages. I tried getting him to lay down, taking him for multiple walks throughout the night, putting him in his crate. Nothing worked. He was so uncomfortable and I felt terribly for him. I asked Phinny if he could help me figure out what to do to help Harold.
At one point, I nodded off in the middle of the night. I had a dream about Phinny. He was standing in front of an empty food bowl, just staring at me with sad eyes. When I jolted awake, I was afraid something was terribly wrong. I looked in my kitchen and Harold was hovering over his food bowl. Then, I understood what Phinny was telling me: Harold was ready to cross the rainbow bridge. I got Harold to sit down next to me for a bit. I stroked his soft, curly fur and tried to soothe him with my words. He was telling me it was his time.
The watercolor of a dachshund at the vet’s office
Morning arrived. I got ready and then walked to the subway with Harold. He was an absolute champ on the train. When we got to the vet, we had a short wait. In the lobby there was a watercolor print of a dachshund. I knew Phinny was with us.
The nurses did an intake and asked me some questions. I explained I’d just had him for one night and told her what I observed. As I watched Harold walk away with the nurse, he looked exhausted and worn out. My eyes welled up. I’d only had him for 16 hours and yet I felt like I’d known him much longer. I was afraid I might not see him again.
I texted with his foster and another rescue volunteer. We were talking about him having fospice (foster hospice) vibes. She said he’d improved some since he’d been with her. I gave her a rundown of everything I observed while he was with me.
The vet messaged me a few hours later that Harold was ready to get picked up. I went to get him since his full-time foster couldn’t get there before the vet closed. They wouldn’t give me any info directly about his check-up. He looked about the same to me. We walked back to the subway to go home and wait for his foster mom. Again, he was a star subway rider with perfect manners. As we walked home, he seemed to be giving me the same message: It was his time.
When we got home, he drank a whole bowl of water, and had a full plate of chicken and rice. He was so hungry from having to fast for his vet appointment. Then for the first time since he arrived at my house, he curled up in Phinny’s bed. Another sign that it was time.
Harold’s foster mom arrived at my apartment soon after Harold laid down. I got him up and we went outside. His foster wasn’t convinced that it was his time yet. He had improved so much since he’d been with her and she thought what I observed was just anxiety about being in a new home. I knew it was something more, and said so. I had to advocate for him.
His foster messaged me that night about some of the symptoms he was now exhibiting. She was seeing now what I saw. She messaged me again the following morning. The rescue made the painful decision to help Harold cross the rainbow bridge.
My eyes welled up again. I knew it was the right decision for Harold and still, I was heartbroken. I’m grateful he didn’t die alone on the streets or in a crowded shelter. He left this world surrounded by people who loved him. He got to go with dignity.
Run free, sweet Harold. I sent Phinny to meet you and show you around your new forever. Thank you for giving me the honor of looking after you when you needed me most. Thank you for trusting me to be your advocate. I will never forget you.
This week, I had a short-lived health scare. A recent test came back with abnormal results. I was asymptomatic, as I was when diagnosed with cancer 4 years ago, so this threw me for a loop. It turned out to be a new side effect from my long-term meds that prevent cancer recurrence.
My doctor prescribed medication for a month to clear the inflammation and dietary changes to manage it since I have to stay on the meds causing this. It’s annoying. It’s also a relief that it was caught early and is reversible. I learned a lot with this recent scare. I’m leaning into these insights:
Slow down I’m terrible at sitting still. Between the election in less than 2 weeks, climate change, and a myriad of other challenges in the world, there is a push to go go go. Do more, and faster. While this is true, it is also true that we have to rest. Take a walk. Eat well. Care for ourselves and others. Health is the greatest wealth. We are no good to anyone if we aren’t also good to ourselves. It’s not either or. It’s and.
Mortality No matter how well we take care of ourselves, none of us will live forever. Time is our most precious resource, and we would do well to spend it on who, what, and where matters most to us.
Write Around this time of year, I set my near-term priorities and creative focus. While writing is always a big part of my life, in 2025, it’ll be the central work I’ll do because storytelling is the work I love most & the greatest need I see in the world. I have quite a few writing projects in various states. It’s time to get them all polished up and out into the world. More on this soon.
Betting on me Betting on myself is the best bet. I’ve never regretted it, even when things went horribly wrong. This is how I’ve learned and grown the most in my career and life. This is another reason I’m focusing on my writing in 2025.
Community Caring for ourselves and betting ourselves is not work we do alone. It takes a village. My community and my medical team is central to my health, well-being, and creative work. I’m never alone in it. Neither are you.
Thank you for being on this journey of discovery with me. Let’s enjoy the ride. We’re all just walking each other home.
Christa Avampato 