This week was filled with more than its fair share of disappointments: a few people I trusted let me down; the heavy emotional challenge of having a foster pup who not only isn’t happy to see me when I get home but who actively runs away from me because of the tough life he’s had is a painful circumstance for both of us; opportunities that I hoped would work out and didn’t despite my best efforts.
Of course there were bright spots this week, too: NYC’s Secrets & Lies, my storytelling show on the 28th, sold out and I’ve hit upon a great ghost story to tell; I had a great conversation about the show with a podcast host I admire; I was finally able to get supportive meds for my foster pup so both of us could get a full night’s sleep; I read, researched, and wrote about topics that matter to me.
Also, this month is my 5-year cancer-free anniversary so really that far outweighs any disappointment life will ever throw at me. I looked death in the eye and didn’t flinch, multiple times. A few disappointments? I’ll take ’em!
After a long work meeting this afternoon for a new project I’m about to begin, I walked home through Green-Wood Cemetery. The sun on my face and the scent of autumn leaves felt like a gift. It occurred to me that the challenges I’ve had this week are pointing me in the direction I’m meant to go. The universe is closing some doors so that the path for me to take going forward is clear.
Over the past year I’ve felt a bit stuck and unsure of which way to go, and so I’ve waited – hoping some insights would emerge. While I prefer insights with positive outcomes, learning where not to spend my time and effort is also valuable. It just doesn’t feel as good when the revelation arrives. I put a lot of effort into making plans and when those plans don’t work, it can feel discouraging.
Looking back on my life, the best things that happened to me aren’t things I planned. They were opportunities that found me and that I grabbed with both hands because they were even better than what I had planned. Maybe this week has again taught me to be open to possibility, to change, to growth. Maybe there’s some even more wonderful than I could ever imagine just up ahead, around the bend, and what I need to do to find it is to keep going.
In the meantime, I made myself a sunny bake – something I often do when I don’t know what to do. This week my lovely friend, Stephanie, posted a recipe for zucchini lemon cake and I gave it a whirl. Fuel for the sweet journey ahead.
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.
I want to tell you a story about darkness and light. When I was diagnosed with cancer, and when almost died from cancer treatment (twice), it was often difficult to see beyond the darkness. I was standing in the crucible. At one point a lethal, unknown allergy to a chemo drug shattered my lungs and I was suffocating. We were deep in the pandemic in New York City before vaccines. The attending physician wanted to intubate me in the ICU, surrounded by COVID patients. At that time, being intubated was almost certainly a death sentence.
The ICU nurse insisted we try two more types of bedside respirators. “You have 10 minutes,” yelled the attending physician. “If her oxygen number doesn’t go up, I’m taking her to the ICU.” I had 10 minutes to save my life.
The nurse smiled at me. She tried the first machine. We waited. It didn’t work.
The nurse’s smile shrank. We tried the second machine. We waited. I looked at the ceiling. I called my ancestors. They were there. Not to intervene, only to catch me if it was my time to crossover. In that moment, all I wanted was my dog and the people I love. Love was all that mattered. Love was the secret to living, and it took possible death to teach me that.
I looked at the attending’s face. Her eyes grew wider. Her mouth fell open. I looked at the nurse; her smile had returned.
“Holy sh*t,” said the attending.
My numbers were climbing. The attending left the room.
“I’ll be back to check on you throughout the night and we’ll be monitoring you from the desk just outside the door,” the nurse said as she placed the call button in my hand. “If you need anything, press this button.”
I nodded. The nurse left the room. My ancestors smiled and walked back over a hill.
“Not today, Death,” I thought. “Not today.”
When we’re deep in the darkness, we can only see our way forward if we raise our light and take one step at a time. Maybe that’s where you are right now. Things look dark. You can’t find a lamp. It turns out the light isn’t out there; it’s in you and the people around you. We are lights to each other. We can’t see the whole path, and that’s okay. Step by step, we’ll get there, together.
In the days ahead, I want you to hang on to that image of raising our light and being on the path together the way I hang on to what happened to me in 2020 in that hospital room when I was 10 minutes from death. Call your ancestors, friends, therapist, neighbors, religious leaders, and anyone in your community who is a light. We have a lot of challenges ahead to work on together and meeting them is going to take all of us being at our best. Take care of yourself now so we can take are of each other tomorrow. You got this, and I’ve got you. More tomorrow…
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.
Me getting my recent Zometa infusion at Perlmutter Cancer Center
This is me at Perlmutter Cancer Center this week getting an infusion of Zometa, my own version of the Harry Potter Skele-Gro potion. The medications I take to prevent cancer recurrence have the unfortunate side-effect of decreasing my bone density. Zometa has the dual benefit of regrowing bone and reducing the risk of breast cancer recurrence. Isn’t that cool? The hope is I’ll only need 4 infusions (once every 6 months) so I’m halfway there! I also got all my annual bloodwork done and it’s perfect.
I get this infusion once every 6 months in the same chemo ward I went to during those dark days of active treatment in the midst of the pandemic before vaccines. I remember how sick and scared I was, how my dreams were on hold, and maybe out of reach. I’d flip through pictures of University of Cambridge and University of Oxford having put my graduate school applications to study environmental sustainability on hold, hoping I’d live to pursue those dreams.
Now I’m 3 months from finishing my degree at Cambridge Institute for Sustainability Leadership. The dream came true. It was a dream delayed but not a dream denied, thanks to the incredible care I received and the many people who made it possible for me to heal. Science and medicine are incredible. Better living through chemistry.
Managing through ongoing care can be exhausting. I’m also extraordinarily lucky to have access to the best medical care in the world. There are so many who don’t. And if this is what it takes to maintain my health and live the life I imagine, that’s fine with me. There is so much I’m learning on the journey, and I’m grateful to be able to use it to help others.
Friends, I have been away from this blog for over two weeks because of grief.
Phineas crossed over in my arms at 3:30am on Sunday, January 28, 2024. I went to dinner on Saturday the 27th and Phin was sound asleep in his new bed when I left. He had a good day, visited with friends Marita and Anthony, ate well, went outside, and was even walking better than he had been. When I got home, Phinny was collapsed on the floor and unable to stand. I ran him to the ER at 11:30pm. The vet felt he may have had a seizure, that his kidney disease had taken a turn for the worse, or his back legs had completely given out as a side effect to the prednisone he’s been taking for his chronic pancreatitis.
He completely fell asleep in my arms at the ER and never stirred again, not even when we placed the euthanasia catheter. I held him for hours. He was telling me it was time. Once the shot was administered, he took 3 big breaths and then was gone. He was at peace, and the last thing he knew on this plane was my heartbeat and me holding him. The cry I let out was the loudest and most guttural I’ve ever made.
This is the last photo I took of Phin just before I left for dinner on what would be the last night of his life. I have a tremendous amount of guilt that I went out that night. If I’d known what would happen, I never would have gone to dinner. The other two are me holding him in the ER shortly before he crossed over.
Phineas, I love you more than life itself and my heart is shattered missing you. I have no idea how I’ll get through this grief and life without you. You’ll always be the greatest love of my life.
Thank you to everyone who has loved and cared for us through all of our 13 1/2 years together. We’re so grateful.
I am feeling my way through. This grief is the worst I’ve ever felt. I couldn’t sleep for 36 hours. I sobbed so much my eyes were purple and swollen. My friend, Ashley, who loved and adored Phinny came over with bagels, chocolate, a prayer candle, tissues, fruit salad, and her dog, Cricket, who was one of Phinny’s best friends.
The day after Phinny passed, Ashley told me the constellation Canis minor (“the smaller dog”) was rising in the sky with Orion and Canis major. It’s no coincidence that it looks like a celestial Phinny. I’m absolutely getting this tattoo in his honor. Canis minor and Canis major are Orion the Hunter’s dogs. In mythology, the gods placed Canis minor at the banks of the river of the Milky Way so the dog would never be thirsty. Fresh water forever for Phin!
Nursing my broken heart, I left my apartment after two days for the first time since Phinny’s passing. I went to dinner with my friend Vicki. I was dreading returning home and Phin not being there to greet me. This gorgeous vase of flowers was waiting for me from Chewy, the pet supply company. I contacted them to thank them for all of the great service they’ve provided to us and to cancel any autoships and reminders that were set up for Phinny’s account. Sarah, the team member I chatted with, was so lovely, kind, and compassionate. I never expected anything like this. Sarah and Chewy made one of the worst days of my life a little brighter.
Sarah and Chewy exemplify heart-centered leadership, and concern for customers. This is how you run a business. I already loved them. Now I’m a customer and fan for life. Other companies could learn a lot from them.
I went to dinner with my friend Tara at Grey Dog, one of my favorite New York City spots. I went into the restroom and there was this dachshund print by Stephen Huneck. When I looked over at it, I swear to you I heard Phin say, “Hi Mom!”
Print at Grey Dog
Tara bought me a set of pens & this lovely notebook with Phineas embossed on it. She got it so I could carry it with me and write down any thought about Phin that pops into my mind.
The little prince is home now. I picked up Phinny’s ashes at Blue Pearl. A triumvirate of strong, compassionate, loving women working at the hospital that night helped me make the impossible choice to release Phineas’s spirit from his riddled physical body and usher him into the next realm. I will never forget their kindness. This was the most humane and loving choice for him, and a pain-filled choice for me.
I made an ofrenda for him in my apartment. He guards the door, as he always did in life, surrounded by a portrait of him painted by Ashley with the prayer candle she brought over the day he passed, his paw prints, tuft of fur, his sweaters, collar, harness, and water bowl that I never washed after he passed, treats and a piece of his kibble, toys he loved, his hair brush with his hair still in it, dried flowers from his Chewy bouquet, and a photo he had taken at his doggie daycare.
Many years from now, when I pass and am completely reunited with Phin, our ashes will be mixed together, and we’ll become a tree. For now, I’ll find him in everything everywhere all at once. His spirit is always next to me. Whenever I want to be close to him, I go to his ofrenda and talk to him. I say good morning and good night to him every day.
Phin has been showing up all over my dreams already! He showed up in a dream of mine less than a week after he passed. He was in the living room, guarding the door, just as he always did in life. He was sitting close to his ofrenda. I think he likes that spot. I said, “Phinny!” and he turned around and looked at me over his shoulder. I was so sad because the dream was so short but my friend Amy explained that short clear dreams are visitations, and that made me feel better.
I had another dream that he sent me two new rescue dachshunds. It was mayhem in my dream with them running all over the place, and it was the happiest I’ve been since his passing.
In that strange state between being asleep and awake, I had a flash of me walking across a pink bridge with a red stripe down the middle that looked like Central Park’s bridges, which we loved going across many times over the years. Snow behind us, spring ahead. I was carrying Phinny and he was asleep the way he was in the ER 2 weeks ago. I got to the other end of the bridge. I gave him a kiss between his sleepy eyes and put him down. He became his young self again and took off running into the green grass. I watched him go and then turned around and walked back over the bridge.
Our friend Cara sent me this lovely postcard and I imagine Phin running free and flying high in a beautiful place like this. She also sent me this valentine because she knew today would be hard for me. Our friend Celia painted this beautiful image for Phin and our friend KaRyn sent us this beautiful card.
Josh donated to NYCACC, Tisa donated to Frosty Faces, and Tunde donated to World Central Kitchen – all in Phinny’s honor. So many of you have sent me messages in so many forms and checked in on me. Please know how grateful I am. You are all helping me tremendously with every single small gesture. Phinny was loved by so many, and having that reminder really helps.
Phin helped me through so much – PTSD, the pandemic, cancer, new jobs, new apartments, breakups, and also celebrated an immeasurable number of joys and dreams with me. The void he’s left in my life seems like it has no end. Rest assured I’m trying to put one foot in front of the other and doing everything possible to find some comfort and peace after this impossible decision. The grief is heavy and will take a long time to process. This is just part of love persevering.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you. I love that we have a holiday that celebrates love in all its wondrous forms – for all the people and animals in our lives present and past, our communities, this beautiful planet we share, the work we do, causes and organizations we care about, and ourselves. I hope today and every day you let love fill you up and fuel your journey forward.
This is a photo of me and my forever valentine – my sweetheart of a dog. It’s from 2016 so he’s about 7 here. Love you & miss you, buddy. It was taken by our dear and talented friend Rachael when we lived in D.C.
It’s been just over two weeks since I held my little guy and it’s felt like 2 years. My great hope is that he’s happy, healthy, and running free. I love you, buddy. I hope your day is filled with all the things you love.
My front door for 2024. Photo by Christa Avampato.
I decorated my front door for the new year with my 2024 word for the year, a Rumi quote I want to carry with me every day, and a handmade house blessing for my new apartment from my dear friend, Kelly Greenaur.
My word for 2024 — vulnerability Instead of resolutions, I adopt a word for the year to guide my thoughts and actions, and I write out some of my wishes I hope the word helps me take. In 2023, my word was clarity and I did find more clarity in every area of my life. In 2024, my word is vulnerability. By embracing my own vulnerability and supporting others doing the same, I hope I can bridge the divides in our society, and between people and nature. By recognizing and naming my fears and concerns, I can alleviate them. I can only solve problems and challenges I’m willing to have. By recognizing and naming my hopes and dreams, I can realize them. I can only climb the mountains I’m willing to attempt.
My word for 2024. Photo by Christa Avampato.
Letting myself be vulnerable opens me up to experiences I need and want, and otherwise wouldn’t have. I don’t want to leave anything unsaid. I want to take more chances and risks, asking for what I want, explaining how I feel, and sharing what I believe. I’m excited to see who and what I’ll find on this adventure. I want to be open to the world, and whatever it has to show and teach me, even if that breaks me and cracks me open. With those cracks, more light will find its way in, as Rumi wrote and the late great Leonard Cohen sang.
Rumi The Rumi quote, “Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”, is one I want to use this year to help heal others and the world. We have so much capacity to help each other through this life, and I want to make sure I use mine to the fullest. I’m hopeful the light I find by being more vulnerable will be light I can share with others.
Rumi quote. Art and photo by Christa Avampato.
A handmade house blessing Kelly sent me this house blessing talisman for Christmas, along with a stitched bracelet and an ornament that says, “I wish you lived next door.” (Me, too, Kel!) They were made by two women — Dau Nan from Myanmar and Bina Biswa from Bhutan — who now live in Buffalo, New York and are part of Stitch Buffalo, a textile art center committed to empowering refugee and immigrant women through the sale of their handcrafted goods, inspiring creativity, inclusion, community education, and stewarding the environment through the re-use of textile supplies. These passions of helping people and the environment are ones Kelly and I share, and I’m so grateful for her friendship, love, and support.
Stitch Buffalo crafts. Photos by Christa Avampato.
I hope 2024 is everything you want and need it to be. This year will be turbulent, and holds opportunities for progress, joy, and love. Onward we go, together.
Ten years ago today, my apartment building caught fire and nearly killed me when I was almost trapped inside. I lost almost all of my belongings that I owned because my neighbor in the New York City apartment building I had moved into 3 weeks before set her gas stove on fire and then ran out of the building without turning off the gas. I used to think of September 5, 2009 as the worst day of my life. Now I think of it as my best. I wouldn’t wish my path on anyone, and I also wouldn’t change it, not one bit of it, because I love my life now and each of these difficult steps brought me here.
The first few years
Over the several years after the fire, I was dealt a hefty dose of PTSD that still persists in fits and starts today. I had intense anxiety attacks that would take over my mind and body without warning. I often felt like I was watching myself fall into madness. Being conscious of your descent and having no ability to stop it is a terrifying existence. I would be lying to you if I didn’t fully admit that there were nights I would lie awake in bed and wonder if life was really worth it. Many days, my answer to that question was “no, it’s not worth it.”
A nightmare that led to a dream
One night, I had a nightmare that I had climbed out to the balcony of my apartment and jumped to my death. I woke up just before I hit the pavement on Broadway down below. Obviously, I woke with a start. The moon was so big and so bright just outside my window that it was almost blinding. I went out to my balcony, and in my foggy state of mind, I could swear that moon spoke to me. I was in a job I didn’t like, in a romantic relationship with a narcissist, and I spent most of my time profoundly unhappy. Out on that balcony, I realized that I wanted to be a writer, that I had always wanted to be a writer, and if I had died in that fire, I never would be. I’d die with stories still in me. That’s when Emerson Page, the protagonist in my novel that would be published almost exactly 8 years later, began to take shape in my imagination. I would later learn that the name Emerson means “brave”, and that’s what she’s taught me—to be brave. Deep in my gut, I know that the moon and Emerson saved my life that night, and that they have saved me many nights since.
Therapy
Several months after the fire, I wasn’t doing well. One day I found myself sitting on a New York City sidewalk crying. I didn’t remember where I was going or how I got there. It’s as if I had fallen asleep and woken up in a place I didn’t recognize. A man put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was okay. My honest answer was, “I don’t know.” Shortly after that, a friend convinced me to go to therapy and recommended a therapist to me. Our first meeting was basically me throwing out a lot of words and a lot of emotions, Brian listening, and then him telling me two things that changed my life: “I’m not afraid of you” and “I think I can help you if you want to be helped.” And that was it. I entered weekly therapy for 3 years, and to this day I still go to see him here and there when I am struggling. It is not an exaggeration when I say Brian pulled me out of my deepest darkness many times and that he is one of the tiny handful of reasons that I survived those early years and went on to build a life I love today. Without him, my life now would not be possible. He is a miracle worker. I owe him everything.
Making peace with my past
As it turned out, the fire was one trauma that burned away the wrapper I tightly bound around many other traumas I had endured over the years. Once the fire happened and my PTSD was in full effect, I could no longer hide nor contain those earlier traumas. I had to deal with them. Those traumas were festering and wreaking havoc in my life in all kinds of ways that I hadn’t even known or acknowledged. It was painful to do the work to heal myself, and it was necessary.
A dog
About a year after the fire, I got my first dog on my own as an adult. I had grown up with dogs and loved them so much, but had convinced myself that I needed to be in a relationship before I could get a dog because raising a dog and taking care of one in New York City on my own was something I just couldn’t do.
My fire gave me a lot of occasions to say, “Well, if I’m not going to do this now, then when?” And so, I decided to foster a dog. The fostering lasted about 5 seconds. I saw my dachshund, Phineas, a rescue who desperately needed a loving, supportive home, and I knew he was the dog for me and I was the human for him. We have had our ups and downs – plenty of mental and physical health issues for us both – but he is by far one of the best beings I’ve ever had in my life. We rescued each other. We still do.
Grateful for the lemons
My fire stripped me bare of any and all pretenses, excuses, and denials. Though at first it made me afraid of everything, it eventually made me fearless. It made me strong and confident. I had run from a burning building, lost almost everything, and rebuilt my life—mentally, physically, and emotionally—from scratch. What did I have to be afraid of? What could I not do? That fire taught me that my only constraint was me. I wasn’t making lemonade out of lemons. I was and am grateful for the lemons, just as they are.
Life today
My life is not perfect now, far from it. There is still so much I want to do. There are so many places I want to go and see. There are still so many experiences I have yet to have, that I want to have. For today, I’m putting those aside. Today, I’m just happy to be here at all, still broken in some places and with all the pieces I need to be whole. Thanks for listening. Thanks for being here with me. It means more to me than I have words to say.
“I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted.” ~Jack Kerouac
No matter you age, your past choices, or your current situation, every day is a blank page. You can see it as empty, or you can see it as an opportunity. It’s the same page, just a different perspective. Your move.
I was walking home from a memorial service yesterday. The person being honored at the service poured his love into the universe, into every person he met, and it came back to him many times over when he needed it most. Even in the depths of his incurable illness, he found the light that every day offered. Right to the end. His life is a powerful example of the glow that comes from the blank page. He could do anything he wanted, and he chose to be of service, to create community, to welcome love into his life with wide open arms. And because of those choices, his impact will far outlast his much-too-short life. We should all be so lucky, and we can be, if we choose to be.
Everything in life is a long shot. Nothing is easy. Everything worth doing takes time, effort, and passion. And this idea is freeing, not stifling. If it’s all difficult, then you might as well do what you love.
Christa Avampato 